Rewind to You

Until Next Time

“Well, if you happen to be on River Street again,” Austin says, breaking the silence. “If you’re out walking around late at night and some drunk pervs jump out at you and you need someone to break your fall . . .”

I smile.

He smiles, too. “Stop by the River Street Sweets.”

Laughter bursts through my lips. “You’ll be there, huh?”

He gives me a smile that sends my stomach flying again. “Most likely.” Reaching through the open window, he presses the button to lock my doors and steps away. “Until next time?”

I smile at his hypothetical question. With those three words Austin has glued himself in my brain . . .

REWIND TO YOU

LAURA JOHNSTON

eKENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Until Next Time
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
Epilogue
-
Sienna
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page

For KC

Acknowledgments

First, sincere thanks to Alicia Condon, my incredible editor, for loving
Rewind to You
and bringing it to light. Major thanks as well to Elizabeth May, Ellen Chan, and everyone at Kensington Publishing for the amazing support. You have been nothing but wonderful!

Special thanks to Kelly Nelson, an exceptional author, writing pal, friend and sister. This journey has been far more adventurous and unforgettable with a friend such as you by my side. Oh, the memories!

Thanks beyond measure to Kay Lynn Mangum, for endless encouragement, compliments and valuable critique. Thank you for believing in this story! Your writing inspires me, and I appreciate your friendship.

Thanks to Jennette Green, talented author and friend, for critique, advice, and praise. To Britney Gulbrandsen for critiquing my book and cheering
Rewind to You
on when I needed it the most. I also want to express thanks to Tracy Anderson, my photographer, sister, and one of my early readers. And to the many other friends and family members who read my book, provided feedback, and rooted me on—Cami, Kristyn, Julie, Jenna, Kelli, Sandra, Cari, and more—thank you!

To my ANWA writing group and online critique group—thank you for your friendship and for helping my writing shine.

To the many bloggers who have been so supportive and helpful in promoting this novel—thank you all!

I can’t forget Kristin B. Cherrington, my sweet mom who read and loved this novel. I’ve never been so happy to make you cry.

To Dave and Kerri Johnston, wonderful in-laws who raised an incredible son.

Thanks to Dr. Jason Samuelian for answering many medical-related questions. Also to Jessica Jackson for her friendship and her help on other medical details.

To my two little buddies, Tally and Savannah, who hung out with me during much of the writing process. Hopefully you will read this someday and maybe even enjoy it!

To the creator of all things, my Heavenly Father, for life and the opportunity to pursue my dreams. God has been good to me.

For my dad and the moments we spent side by side in our gardens that inspired much of this novel. I miss you!

And most of all, for KC Johnston, who sat next to me on a Georgia beach when the idea for this book first came. The rest of this novel was inspired by you. We both know I would have given up on this long ago without your support! Thank you for making me feel like I can do anything (keep fooling me!). If I could rewind to anything in life, I’d rewind to any of the many moments I’ve had with you.

CHAPTER 1

Sienna

R
egret washes over me when my gaze meets the photo of my dad and me. It starts with little warning, and I’m suddenly fighting to breathe. Heart pounding. Palms sweating. Vision fading.
What’s happening to me?
Then everything goes dark.

But shadows surrender to light, and I wonder if I’ve died, because I see him now like I saw him one year ago. Before the accident. We stand side by side, a dad and his little girl.

“Let’s make a pact,” Dad says, a smile touching his lips, his eyes. The scent of something sweet tempts me before I’m yanked back to reality.

I open my eyes. Slowly, I remember where I am and what happened—and basically how much my life stinks. If only I could turn back time and relive that last day with my dad, maybe he’d still be alive.

Let’s make a pact.

The porch door creaks open like a cricket and snaps back.

“You’re faking it, huh?”

I turn to find Spencer, my eight-year-old little brother, wearing a Batman cape, boots, and all. “Faking what?”

Spencer digs his hands into his hips and exhales. “You pretended to pass out.”

I massage my aching forehead. “Spencer, I’m not pretending anything. And I didn’t pass out.”

“Yes, you did! I saw you fall.”

“Yeah, right. You, like, weren’t even here.”

“Was too! I was on the porch.”

His Nintendo DS rests on the picnic table outside, supporting his claim. Despite an annoying headache, I smile as I remember running out there as a kid to play badminton, sand searing my feet on a hot summer afternoon in Georgia. But now this place, the sight of those waves and the creak of that patio door, only makes me miss my dad.

I turn back to Spencer. The sight of Batman standing with his hands on his hips, chest forward, head high, breaks my train of thought and I smile.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” I say, but a little chuckle escapes my lips.

“You’re laughing at me!”

I suppress my smile because the last thing Spencer needs is someone else laughing at him. “I’m not laughing. You’re just cute, Spencer.”

“
Cute?
” The word spews from his mouth as though he can’t stand the taste of it.

“Sienna,” my mom snaps, the tone of her voice spurring me to stand. I grab the nearest thing for balance. A vase and silk calla lilies litter the floor at my feet. The barrier in my mind crumbles then, my memory flooding back into place. My heart contracts at the sight of the photo on the coffee table, like it did when I first walked into the room.

“Sienna, what happened?”

I scurry to replace the vase I must have knocked over. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“Did you fall?” she asks.

“I don’t know. It’s—”

“You don’t know?” she cuts in. “It’s a simple question. Why were you on the floor? Have you been dizzy?”

Oh, man. Here it comes. “No.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No.”

Mom gulps like the next question is impossible to swallow. “Have you been . . . drinking?”

“No.”

“Have you been stressed?”

“No.”

“Have you taken a shower in the past five days?” Spencer pipes in.

“No,” I reply automatically and then shoot a glare at him in defeat. Got me that time.

“Of course she’s showered!” Mom exclaims, as though skipping a shower is worse than underage drinking.

Spencer dances out of the room with a smirk on his face. I’m not the one who has an issue with basic hygiene practices, and we all know that.

Mom’s probing stare burns through me. I glance at the car keys, thoughts of escaping her scrutiny luring me toward the door. Maybe because, for once, she’s justified. For one reason or another, I fainted after looking at that photo of my dad and me and recalling those last days we spent as a family before our lives took a sharp turn.

“Mom, relax. I showered. And I’m fine. I’m just exhausted after driving all day.”

She taps a manicured finger on the granite countertop. “I suppose we did drive quite a bit today. You should lie down. Perhaps you fainted from heat exhaustion.”

“
Heat exhaustion?
” Spencer returns, gliding across the wood floor in his socks while juggling a box of Legos. He rolls his eyes. “Mom, that’s so stupid! She’s sixteen, not fifty.”

“Seventeen,” I say.

“Seventeen. Whatever,” Spencer says. “And it was only, like, sixty-five degrees when we left Virginia.”

“Spencer, enough!” Mom shouts, and I can tell she instantly regrets it.

Spencer frowns at the floor, but I know he’s actually frowning at our mom without the eye-contact part. He flings the box, and a spray of Legos explodes like soda from an overshaken can. I feel my mom’s sharp intake of breath, sense her holding it in. Great. Just what we need.

Sometimes the friction between the three of us is hardly noticeable as we go through the motions of life. But the tension is always there, filling our home like a suffocating smog. It was never like this when Dad was around, and I wonder whether Spencer will remember those days. Years down the road when he’s all grown up, will he even remember our dad?

“Sorry I raised my voice, Spencer,” Mom says, but he’s already pretending she doesn’t exist. She throws her hands up. “He always overreacts.”

I glance over to see calm, medicated Spencer playing with Legos, wincing at the fact that Mom speaks as though he’s too dumb to understand. Heaven knows she does her best by Spencer. Still, her expectations of me only skyrocketed after Spencer was born and we discovered his ADHD and bipolar disorder at a shockingly early age.

“Always,” she continues. “No matter how much I work with him on—”

“Hey, Spencer,” I call out. I don’t dare a glance at Mom, but her glare pricks me nonetheless. “Want to toss the ball around the beach tomorrow?”

Spencer falters for a reply, anguish folding his face. “But, you can’t throw like
he
could.”

“Sienna Nancy Owens!” Mom snaps.

“Maybe you can teach me, Spencer. Please? I know I can’t throw as well as Dad, but at least I could try.”

“Sienna!” Mom shouts again, as though simply mentioning our dad to Spencer is a sin.

The Legos rocketing into the air shouldn’t surprise me. Nonetheless, I jump and so does my mom as Spencer flings another fistful. We duck, barely dodging them.

“Stop it!” he yells. I sense he wants to say more, but instead he kicks the empty Lego box and runs up the stairs.
Stop fighting.
I know that’s what he wanted to say.

“See?” Mom spits out. “This is what happens when you bring up your dad.”