Waking Rory Read online

  Elizabeth Jeannel

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

  Copyright © Elizabeth Jeannel

  Cover photography by Elizabeth Jeannel

  ISBN 978-1-7353239-1-6 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-7353239-0-9 (ebook)

  First Edition

  First Edition: July 2020

  This paperback edition first published in 2020

  Published by Hansen House

  www.hansenhousebooks.com

  Acknowledgements

  When I first started this story, I never could have imagined it would become what it is now, and it never would have without some incredibly key people in my life.

  A lot changed for me when I joined a writing group on Discord. I made some amazing friends there, including Skye Kilean, JP Nadia, and Elka, who were so kind as to beta read this story in its first draft. They gave me advice and the moral boost I needed to make this a better story. Thank you. I couldn’t have possibly finished this story without you.

  I would also like to thank my editor, Kae Noble-Bray, who finished editing this story so quickly. You gave me the confidence to go forward.

  Another thank you to my best friend, Lainie, who has forever been one of my biggest supporters.

  Lastly, thank you to Kara, my wife, and the love of my life for putting up with everything that comes with each and every publishing journey.

  This book is dedicated to all those who dare to believe in fairytales, magic, and happily ever after.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  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

  “Mommy, read me a story!” I practically flipped into my bed, jumping on my knees on my lavender bedspread. I wasn’t supposed to jump on the bed, but I was on my knees, so it didn’t count.

  My mom let out a sigh, but smiled as she carefully pulled the covers out from under me and tucked me in. It was late, well past my bed-time—as it usually was when I insisted on staying up until my dad came home from work. My mom let out a yawn, but turned and reached for a thick and worn book of fairytales she’d been reading from for months.

  “Only one,” she insisted, as she sat at the foot of my bed and waited for me to get comfortable before opening to where we’d left off the night before.

  I pulled the covers up under my arms and wrapped my tiny fingers around a stuffed rabbit before clinging it to my chest. It was grey and faded and practically ripping at the seams. And it was still my favorite.

  From the doorway, my dad stood watching with a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looked tired too as he pulled his hands from deep in his pockets and crossed them casually over his chest, like he did when he was waiting for something.

  “Once upon a time,” my mom began, pulling my focus back to her, “A king and queen were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. Her name was Aurora, and she was beloved throughout all her kingdom.”

  My mom read through the story of Sleeping Beauty mostly as expected from what I’d already seen of the cartoon. There were tiny differences like no spinning wheel, and no prince dancing with her in the woods. But the ending really took me by surprise, as it often did with this particular book of fairytales.

  “And then the princess, under the magical spell, fell into a deep sleep, where she would wait for a true love’s kiss.” My mom looked at me with a grin on her face. She loved reading these stories. “But the prince never came! And some say, Princess Aurora is still waiting.”

  “Still?” I nearly shrieked.

  “That’s what the story says.” My mom shut the book and pulled the covers up to my chin. “Now, it’s time for my little princess to fall under a sleeping spell herself.”

  I felt a yawn come on as my mom kissed my forehead and turned to put the book back on the shelf. The last thing I remember before drifting off was my dad’s scruffy lip grazing my hairline before the light went out.

  Chapter 1

  The handcuffs hurt. I guess that was the point. They had to be so tight I couldn’t slip out of them. Which wasn’t putting anything past me, as I’d done that before. I’d been in more handcuffs than school desks that year, but it felt different this time. Something about this was more serious.

  They were cutting into my skin to where I couldn’t move, and every time I did, they only hurt more. I knew the guys were trying to get the message through, but I was getting a serious shoulder cramp, and it was almost 3AM, so I was actually ready for bed. Not to mention, I had the absolute worst itch on the tip of my nose just shy of my double nose ring.

  It wasn’t like I was some hardened criminal, anyway. All I’d done was a little underage drinking. In the park. On a school night. While putting my street art on a billboard. And, I know a crime is a crime, but the fact that I didn’t stab or maim anyone like some of the jerks being dragged in there should have counted for something, right?

  Whatever. It didn’t matter anyway because my uncle, Nash, would be there any minute to bail me out like always.

  But he wasn’t.

  I waited as minutes turned into an hour. And then two. And suddenly the tightness of the cuffs was making both my arms ache, but no matter how many times I asked to have them taken off, the officer behind the desk grinned like I was telling jokes. I kicked the floor with one of my Doc Martens, which only made him laugh. My butt was going numb.

  The fuck was taking Nash so long? I knew they’d called him hours ago. I heard Jim, the juvenile officer, talking with him over the phone like they were pals. I guess he’d gotten acquainted with my uncle, too.

  Of course, they had. Because Nash loved doing anything that made me unhappy. Like leaving me chained to a bench at the police station for three god damn hours.

  I guess I deserved it. I never learned my lesson.

  I sighed, “Hey, Matt.” I called to the only officer whose name I knew. “Matty! My buddy! What does a girl got to do to get a glass of water around here?”

  “Stay sober until she’s 21.” He grinned, and I heard a roar of laughter from the front desk. He continued to work through paperwork at his worn desk. I was pretty sure these guys had been there the first I’d been brought in.

  I slumped forward, the layers of my brown hair slipping out of my low ponytail. Fuck these guys. 40-year-old virgins, I swear. Eh. Except Jim. His wife was nice. She took me shopping a couple of times, maybe trying to break the ice, warm up to me, be some type of mother figure. Christ, I didn’t need a mother figure. I just needed my mom, and that wasn’t possible. Still, I wasn’t a little shit about it because I knew she was only trying to help.

  I leaned back, wincing as my shoulders rested against the chipping white paint of the cinderblock wall. I could totally do it if I wanted. Stay sober, go to school, keep u
p my grades, be a perfect angel, but what was the point? I’d been there. I’d done that. I’d still lost everything that meant anything to me. And if nothing matters, which it fucking doesn’t, then why try? Why bother? We all end up worm food in the end.

  Besides, the only time I could stop reliving my nightmares over and over was when I was drunk or high. Usually, though, I had to be both. I knew I was playing a dangerous game, even being a minor with a rich uncle for a guardian. But it wasn’t like I had much else to tame the demons in my head.

  “You could get out of here sooner if you told us who you were with.” I heard Jim’s familiar voice echo down the hall. He should have gone home by now. Hell, I thought he had. What was he still doing here?

  “Captain goes down with the ship, not the crew.” I sighed, still trying to get comfortable.

  “We both know you’re not the captain of that crew, Even. I know they’re your friends, but one of these days they’re going to—”

  “Get me into some serious trouble that Nash can’t get me out of.” I finished for him, looking up at the ceiling. “I know. I know. They’re always up to not good. I’m better than that.”

  “Why do you stick around them if you know they’re always up to no good?” he said, coming closer as his steaming cup of coffee came into view. He was staying up—staying here—for me. His eyes looked tired. Shit, that made me feel guilty.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. Would not be doing that again. Shrugging hurt. I winced, trying to sit up.

  “I think you do."

  Jim let out a tired sigh as he sat down on the bench next to me, set down his coffee, and pulled the cuff key out of his pocket. Matt rolled his eyes, trying not to look up at us from his paperwork, but I made sure to stick my tongue out at him anyway. At least someone cared about the ridiculous pain these cuffs were causing.

  If they were going to go ahead and send me to juvi, sure I’d get it. But, if that were the case, they’d have done it by now, and Jim sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting here waiting on Nash.

  Once the cuffs were off, and I was rubbing my nearly numb hands together, Jim tilted his head toward the hall that held his office. “Why don’t you come on back with me?”

  I nodded and followed willingly, mostly because I felt guilty that he was here so late.

  It didn’t bother me with Matt or any of the other guys because they had to be here regardless. Graveyards were their shift. They were here every night whether I was arrested or not. It just so happened that nights were usually when I got into the most trouble. More importantly, they were when I got caught.

  And it didn’t usually bother me with Nash, either, because pretty much the only time he was home was on nights when I had gotten into some trouble. Forgive me for giving him a reason to use his bed. You’d think the pull-out couch at the office would hurt his back, but apparently, he’s so loaded he can afford a comfy one.

  But Jim? He had a wife and a four-year-old little girl who he didn’t tuck into bed because of me. And, let me tell you, that ate at my usually ice-cold heart a little. At that age, my dad was everything to me, and if he didn’t make it home before I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. Same for my mom, so I guess I felt guilty about his wife now, too.

  Jim’s office was small with a tiny desk, outdated computer, and a worn brown leather chair. If it didn’t have floor-to-ceiling walls, it honestly could have been a cubicle, which seemed dangerous to me considering some of the juvenile delinquents were not so safe to sit down with in close quarters. But he clearly wasn’t worried about that with me because he offered me a seat, and I took it.

  “Even,” Jim sighed, taking a careful sip of his still steaming cup of coffee, “I’m going to put it to you straight. I’m tired. Nash is tired. I really think you’re on your last leg with this one. And you know you’re only a year from eighteen.”

  I nodded.

  “What I’m trying to say is that you really need to think about your future. What do you want to do with your life? Because there are some jobs that even juvenile records aren’t sealed for. But, more importantly than that, if you get hooked with the wrong crowd, the wrong substances, in the wrong places, you could wind up dead, and that’s not a case I look forward to seeing pass across my desk.”

  I swallowed hard. Jim had talked with me a lot over the last three years, given me talk after talk, but he never really told me I’d die. Shit, maybe I was on my last leg with him, too.

  “I don’t want to scare you, kid, but if that’s what it takes that’s what I have to do.” He grunted, standing up, as I heard a shuffle at the door.

  Nash.

  I should have been excited—ecstatic. My hero had at last come to rescue me from this hell. But I wasn’t. Nash wasn’t a hero, and even when I wasn’t in trouble, he never really seemed happy to see me. In fact, if I wasn’t in trouble, I could go weeks without seeing his face, period. Maybe that’s why I was always getting in trouble. It was the only time he was around.

  I stood up and turned to face him. In the doorway to Jim’s tiny office, my normally dashing uncle stood, no tie in his suit, his hair a little ruffled. He looked tired, and not in the way I was used to. His five o’clock shadow definitely looked like it was pushing 3AM. His brown eyes, the only real sign that we were related, didn’t meet mine, but went straight to Jim, as he offered a less than firm handshake.

  “Thanks, Jim.” Nash said gruffly as Jim handed Nash my cell phone. I was clearly grounded from that. “Even, let’s go.”

  He looked sad, and I pushed down the wave of guilt that came with the look he finally gave me. Jim reached my backpack and guitar case out to me, and I took them with a soft thank you, having to rushing catch up to Nash in the hallway.

  As I slipped the strap of the guitar case over my shoulder, my shirt rode up nearly to my bra. Nash sighed, shaking his head, but he didn’t say anything. He really was tired if he wasn’t commenting on my clothes.

  He was quiet, even as he led me out the front doors of the station, down the long path of steps, and to the waiting car, where Nash’s driver was waiting.

  “Gordon,” Nash nodded as he stepped into the back seat.

  Gordon held open the back door for us, and I waited, giving Gordon a quick hug that Nash didn’t see.

  “Thanks, G.” I whispered.

  Gordon nodded. He waited as I took the guitar and back pack off my shoulder and climbed in before he shut the door behind me.

  As Gordon climbed into the driver’s seat and put the car in drive, Nash cleared his throat, and I knew I was in for it. God, let me be back inside the police station. I’d take those handcuffs over what comes next any day.

  Chapter 2

  First of all, I hate cars, especially when it’s dark outside. I’m almost always on foot; the only benefit I’ve found to Nash forcing me to live in the city. If I don’t stare out the window during a car ride and count the parking meters, I’m likely to panic, or worst-case scenario, look at the oncoming headlights and black out. Which is why riding with Nash just means I piss him off.

  Second of all, I hate being in cars when it’s raining, snowing, or any other form of precipitation in which drivers might be poorly prepared for conditions. Which meant every day of the year for Seattle.

  And third, I really hate being in cars with Nash, who is either yelling at me or talking on the phone. To be honest, I’m not always sure which he’s doing most of the time because he rarely gives me an opportunity to respond anyway.

  Nash was yelling this time, going on and on about how long of a day he’d had, how work was killing him, and how I’d cost him yet another relationship. Good. This girl was worse than the last. He’d been on the bad side of more publicity in the last month since they’d gotten together than he had been since he got custody of me. That was saying something, because I’d been on the front page after an arrest at least once.

  That’s what happens when your uncle/guardian is the head of a major international computer information systems
company, and who makes friends with tons of celebrities. You’re forced to attend social gatherings, red carpet events, philanthropist galas, and, oh yeah, you’re constantly chased by the paparazzi. And you’re expected to be an angel, paraded around like being at those events means your CEO head uncle is not only a great businessman, but also a great dad.

  Of all the things Nash was, a good dad he was not. I’d had a good dad—no, I’d had the perfect dad.

  Good dads didn’t stay over at the office eight out of seven days a week. Good dads didn’t send their assistants to parent-teacher conferences. Good dads didn’t try to be a dad only when the cameras were flashing, disappearing for weeks on end when they weren’t. Good dads didn’t try to fix everything with money, ignoring that most of the problems couldn’t be fixed.

  Good dads didn’t expect a child to make them proud while simultaneously not being around to be proud. Why try if no one’s there to see it?

  “Even, are you even listening to me?” Nash snapped, causing me to jump. Add to that, good dads didn’t snap like that.

  Gordon and I made eye contact through the rearview mirror, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, though we both knew I wasn’t. I was counting parking meters from the police station to the penthouse. It was usually how I tracked the time of these car rides.

  “I’m serious this time.” Nash continued, ignoring the fact that I hadn’t been listening. “I had to work hard to get you this internship, so you had best not ruin it.”

  Internship? I looked over to Nash, who smiled a sly and damn near evil smile. He had my attention and he knew it. I hated when that worked. One big word like that, and I was all ears. Weakness maybe?

  “There you are.” He nodded sarcastically. If I did that, he’d probably smack me, but it’s cool if he does.

  I waited until he turned away to roll my eyes. Asshole.

  Too many parking meters were passing by. We’d passed the penthouse. I had no idea where we were going. Maybe Gordon was driving in circles for all I knew. Truth be told, I barely knew Seattle despite running around wild for the last three years. I mostly followed my friends around, and I rarely went home the way I came.