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  Choosing Henley

  Copyright © 2014 Anne Jolin

  Cover Design: MG Book Covers

  Cover Photo: Love N. Books & Scott Hoover Photography

  Editors: Mickey Reed

  Formatting: Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Anne Jolin

  Dedication

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Breaking Bennett

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Also by Anne Jolin

  Chasing Rhodes, Rock Falls Series Book 1

  Coming soon!

  Breaking Bennett, Rock Falls Series Book 3

  Keeping King, Rock Falls Series Book 4

  YOU KNOW THAT family… That family with the big house, the white picket fence, and the adorable dog. The family with the beautiful children, the parents with a happy marriage, and those permanent, perfect smiles constantly affixed to their faces. Do you know that family? Well, I did. I was part of that family for the first twelve years of my life—until the walls and the ceiling of that perfectly constructed lie came crashing down. I didn’t make it out of the rubble as the same hopeful little girl. I am jaded, I am closed off, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust a man again.

  The girls Googled it once. They determined that I must have intimacy issues and likely abandonment problems. I laughed because who actually Googles a medical diagnosis? But the truth is that they’re right. I probably do. On the eve of my thirteenth birthday, my entire outlook on men changed—and not in a good way.

  The hero of my world, my first love, and the man I looked up to left. He packed his bags, kissed me on the top of the head, and walked out the door.

  People get divorced all the time. I know that. I could have stomached it if I’d known my parents weren’t in love anymore. Even at thirteen, I could have survived that. I would have wanted them to be happy even if that meant not staying married. It wouldn’t have mattered, because at the end of it all, I still would have had both my parents.

  Well, that isn’t what this was.

  My dad never abused us—physically or verbally—and he told me every day how much he loved me. He came to every lacrosse game and dance recital, celebrated every birthday, and supported every dream. My parents went on date nights and danced in the living room, and they were happy. We were happy.

  That is why it was nearly impossible to comprehend that my perfect daddy left us for another family. He traded us in. He abandoned us. He never came back.

  It’s been twelve years since my father broke my heart. Twelve years since the one man who was genetically programmed to love me left me.

  I’ve been absolutely scared shitless of loving another man ever since.

  YOU CAN DO this. You can do this. You can do this.

  Oh great. I’ve resorted to giving myself mental pep talks. Good God. I seriously have to get my shit together.

  I’m sitting in the driveway, white-knuckling the steering wheel and staring up at my best friend’s house. I love her to death and I’m beyond thrilled that she found her happily ever after, but why does she have to torture me like this every month? She has to know how much this royally sucks for me. It’s December and I’m trying to work up enough courage to go inside for our monthly super-fun friend dinner. What a load of crap.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love my friends, but this fucking blows. I’m about to walk into my very own horror-themed version of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. At least no one’s emptying a shitter on the street. I raise my eyebrows at myself in the rearview mirror and let out a laugh. That really is a great movie.

  Hannah and Greyson’s townhouse looks beautiful. White Christmas lights run along the roofline of the house, and there’s a brilliant wreath on the front door. I’ll hand it to my bestie—she really has good taste. If she ever wanted to give up the massage therapy thing—which I hope she doesn’t because Lord knows I love a free massage—she could totally do interior decorating. I’ve always hoped that, if I ever have my own salon, she’d help me decorate it.

  The heat is blasting in the car, and I can see them all through the bay window of the living room. Looks like I’m the last to arrive. Typical. I turn off the engine, grab my purse from the passenger’s seat, and pull on the door handle. My black knee-high boots crunch in the snow, and I shiver as the wind blows a chill into my unbuttoned dress coat. Goddamn, it’s a cold winter in Rock Falls.

  I’m just standing there beside my car door like a complete asshat. I would have called to cancel, but Hannah would have known it was a crock of shit. Then she’d have driven to my house and dragged me here kicking and screaming. So on the plus side, at least I salvaged some dignity by coming on my own. I give one last look at the safety of my Chevy Equinox and shake my head. Time to nut up or shut up, Lennon. You can do this.

  I don’t bother knocking when I get to the front door; I just reach for the handle. Normally, if it were just the two of them home, I’d bang obnoxiously on the door before walking in. These two lovebirds are always going at it and, well, some things you just can’t unsee. Like your best friend butt naked riding a tattooed god of a man. Yup, that happened. I learned my lesson, but being that everyone else is here, I make my way inside, shutting the door to the cold night air behind me.

  “She’s here!” I don’t have to be able to see the owner of the voice to know that it’s Beth.

  Their townhouse is a split level, so when you’re at the front door, you either have to walk upstairs or downstairs to go anywhere. So I take off my coat and boots, leaving them on the landing by the front door, before making my way upstairs. I’m wearing my usual salon attire, which is black, always all-black clothes. It works for me because I don’t particularly love to wear colours anyway. Today, I have on a black, fitted, long-sleeved dress that ends just above my knee and black nylons. It looks a little funny now that my boots are off, but who cares.

  My long, brown hair is twisted up in an elegant, messy bun. It’s my go-to hairstyle when I’m doing colour in the salon. I always have this fear that I’m going to accidently colour my own hair if I leave it down. Orange streaks in my brown hair? Pass.

  I paired the dress with some of my favorite jewelry. Call it cheesy, but Hannah, Beth, and I wear matching rings on our right ring fingers. They’re all slightly different but very much the same. I smile as I unconsciously spin the ring on my finger, continuing my way up the stairs. I also have on diamond studs from my mother and my Johnny Cash necklace. Hannah got it for me as a birthday gift a few years ago. It’s a small circle pendant on a lo
ng chain that reads, “I keep a close watch on this heart of mine.” I loved it instantly and I wear it almost every day.

  Hannah gets me. She gets me in the simplest way. I’ve never been a big communicator, which is a stark contrast to my best friend’s need to discuss everything, but it works for us. She doesn’t allow me to bottle up my emotions until I explode, even if getting information out of me is like pulling tooth and nail every single time.

  And then there’s Beth, Hannah’s older sister and the last member of our Three Musketeers. Beth has always been the one out of the three of us who knew what she wanted in life and was going to get exactly that. In that order. Despite that, though, she’s the one who keeps us light. Comic relief if you will.

  I hit the top step and turn to walk into the living room when I trip on something. Sugar, I’m going down. I’m in that awkward free-fall stage of limbo that feels like it’s happening in slow motion. The kind where you know you’re about to fall right on your face and completely embarrass yourself, but there is nothing you can do to stop it. Looks like I might be the comic relief tonight.

  I’m halfway down when I feel strong arms grab me around the waist, effectively saving me from my less-than-graceful entrance.

  “Easy, Beatle.” His voice is smooth, and I can feel his breath on my ear.

  My back is pressed up against his front, and even through our clothes, I can feel the warmth radiating off his muscular body. He’s hot. Literally and figuratively. I’m overwhelmed from the sheer closeness of him and it paralyzes me completely.

  “You’re such a klutz sometimes, Len,” Beth slurs from somewhere in the living room.

  Her voice is enough to release me from the spell I’m under, and I pull away from him. He lets his arms drop from my waist. I feel myself starting to blush, so I look down to see what I tripped on, locating the culprit immediately.

  Motherfucking St. Nicholas himself tripped me. Jesus Christ. “Why is your Santa trying to kill me, Han?” I laugh. Deflect with humour. Number one in the Lennon Montgomery playbook.

  “Oops. I didn’t realize he’d fallen down.” Hannah giggles, and I look up to find her winking at Greyson.

  I wave my hands in the air in front of me. “Never mind. I don’t even want to know,” I say, shaking my head. Bloody sex fiends.

  I’m still standing in the same spot when I feel him move around me.

  “Be careful, Beatle. We can’t have you messing up that pretty face,” he whispers before continuing on into the living room.

  As soon as he’s out of my space, I feel like I can breathe again. But my palms are still sweaty and I’m starting to fidget. I know I need to move, but I can’t. He literally makes me so nervous that I’m unable to function.

  “I need help in the kitchen, Len. Can you mash the potatoes?”

  I look up into my best friend’s green eyes. She’s arching her eyebrows at me and shifting her gaze towards the kitchen.

  “Len?” she says again, tugging on my elbow.

  “Uh. Yeah. Potatoes. Sure,” I stammer and follow her into the kitchen. There’s only a small wall separating the two spaces, but it still gives us some privacy. I make my way over to the pot on the stove. “Okay, where are they?” I ask.

  “Where is what?” Hannah responds, digging through a cabinet.

  “The potatoes?” I laugh. “The ones that so urgently needed mashing?”

  She looks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes at me. “Oh please. Don’t even. I already did them. But you looked like you were going to pass out and crack your head open on my hardwood floors, so voila, potatoes were your out.” She turns back around and continues to search in the cabinet.

  “Oh, thanks,” I reply quietly. I should have known she could read it all over my face. Hannah is incredibly perceptive.

  She finally finds what she’s looking for—a serving platter of some kind—and turns around to look at me. “Listen, I’m sorry. I would have warned you, but I didn’t know she’d be here.” Her eyes look sympathetic and I’m confused.

  “You didn’t know who’d be here?” I question just as Beth comes bouncing into the kitchen. I say bouncing because what she does cannot be called just walking.

  “I can’t believe you two left me alone with that bimbo,” she says almost a little too loudly, and Hannah peeks out into the living room to make sure no one heard her. “Not cool, buttheads.”

  “Inside voice, Beth,” Hannah hisses back to her sister. “You’re about as subtle as a freight train. Jesus.”

  They both turn to look at me, but I’m at a loss. “Yeah, hello… I still have no idea what you two lunatics are going on about.” I cross my arms over my chest and stare at them.

  “I’m guessing you haven’t done a head count in the living room, have you?” my best friend asks and exchanges a glance with her sister.

  “Uhm, no,” I say. “I was too busy trying not to fall and bleed all over your floor, remember?” I start to move to peek out into the living room when Hannah stops me. I turn to look at her but before I can answer, a whirl of bleach-blond hair almost knocks me on my ass.

  Twice in one night. I knew I should have stayed home.

  “Oh my gawd. I’m so sorry,” the Malibu Barbie purrs at me, clasping a manicured hand over her mouth. Her nails are bright pink and shaped into points. You know, the kind girls get that almost look like claws? Yeah, they look like that.

  “What can I get you, hun?” Hannah coos.

  I smirk to myself because, even though her voice is like honey, it’s faker than Barbie’s boobs.

  When the timer on the oven goes off, I turn around to check on the roast while Hannah plays hostess. I hear Barbie giggle as I put on the oven mitt and roll my eyes. I go to pull the oven door open but stop halfway when she starts to talk.

  “I just wanted to get Jamison another beer.” Her voice is high pitched and whiny.

  I feel my grip on the oven tighten and I clench my jaw together involuntarily. He hates to be called Jamison. My blood is running hot. I hear the fridge open and close and someone pop the top of a beer bottle before she speaks again.

  “You’re the bestest!” she squeals before I hear her leave the room.

  I’m still bent at the waist with the over door half open when Beth starts to whine. “Her voice makes me want to stuff cotton balls in my ears.”

  Hannah’s small hand lands on my shoulder. “Are you okay, Len? I’m sorry. That’s what I was trying to warn you about before. I didn’t know he was bringing…a new one…” she trails off.

  I nod my head, closing the oven, and turn to look at her. “I’m fine. It doesn’t bother me. That’s great that he’s happy,” I say a little too enthusiastically with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

  Han gives me a look that says I’m full of shit, but it’s Beth who actually says something. “Well it’s a good thing you aren’t a lawyer because that statement would never hold up in court.” She giggles and slides off the counter. Beth has no filter to start with, but tipsy Beth just downright calls it like she sees it.

  I’m saved from having to answer when the second timer goes off and dinner is ready. The girls and I, sans Barbie, put the food on the table and call everyone to sit. Greyson sits at the head of the table, Hannah to his left, and me to his right. Beside me is Jay, Beth is next to him, and across from them are Jami and his Barbie doll. Everyone starts to dig in and I take the time to study her. I didn’t pay that much attention to her when she came into the kitchen earlier, but now, I can’t take my eyes off her.

  She’s a little shorter than I am, maybe five foot six, and she absolutely looks like a real-life Malibu Barbie. She has bleach-blond hair—not professionally done, I note—and her fake tan makes her look like she was gang-banged by a bag of Doritos chips.

  I know, I know. That’s bitchy, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

  Her impressively large, fake boobs are barely contained in a bright-blue tank top—Helps make those pink claws stand out, I guess—and
she’s wearing skintight white jeans. I didn’t even know people wore white jeans in the winter. She’s just pushing the food around on her plate, barely eating, when I realize that I don’t know her name.

  “What’s your name?” I blurt out, interrupting everyone else’s conversations at the table. Oh boy. I guess liquid courage really is a thing. I mentally curse myself for downing my first beer.

  She smiles her very white teeth back at me. “I’m Kelsey.”

  I’m Kelsey, I mimic in my head. I know I should stop now. I know I’m acting silly, but I’ll be damned if that actually makes me quit.

  “What do you do, Kelsey?” I ask, returning an equally fake grin.

  “I work at Hawaiian Beach.” The rest of the table must look confused too because she clarifies. “The tanning salon.”

  Well, that explains the Doritos look.

  Beth snorts from down the table and Hannah shoots her a death glare. Greyson must notice the awkward tension because he starts talking about last night’s hockey game, and everyone quickly falls into conversation.

  Rock Falls doesn’t have a hockey team being that we’re not a very big town, but Vancouver, the town over, does. God bless the Vancouver Canucks. They manage to distract everyone from my crazy behaviour.

  The rest of dinner goes by without incident. I stopped drinking to ensure that I didn’t interrogate Barbie again in front of all our friends.

  After dinner, we clean up and all settle into the living room. I curl up on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me, and pull the elastic from my messy bun. Second best feeling to taking your bra off at the end of the day is taking your hair down. I shake my long, wavy hair down and run my fingers through it.

  I’ve managed to avoid looking at Jami for most of the night. Partially because just looking at him makes my body do crazy things, but also because I just laid into his new plaything during dinner. While everyone else is talking about New Year’s Eve, I decide to take the opportunity to steal a glance at him.