Ghosted

  Ghosted

  J.M. Darhower

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously.

  Copyright 2017 by Jessica Mae Darhower

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever loved a story so much they could quote it.

  There's nothing in the world quite like being part of a fandom. Never let anyone shame you for it. Read those books. Watch those movies. Binge those TV shows. Love those characters. Admire those celebrities. Write that fan-fiction. Draw that fan art. Go to those conventions. Sing that (on-hiatus, totally-not-broken-up) boy band at the top of your lungs. Do what makes you happy.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  “Tragic Hero in The Making”

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  “Eff Your Clubs Club Meeting”

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  “The Field Trip to Trouble”

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  “Hitting It out of the Park”

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  “Birthday Presents”

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  “Illegal Rendezvous”

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  “Not Ready to Say Goodbye”

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  “The Start of a New Life”

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  “Dreamiversary Presents”

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  “Heartaches in Hollywood”

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  “Missing Voices & Stolen Time”

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  “Tragic Hero’s Fatal Flaw”

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  “Broken Promises”

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  “Time to Say Goodbye”

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Rain fell from the overcast sky in sporadic bursts, quick manic showers followed by moments of nothingness. The weatherman on channel six had predicted a calm day, but the woman knew better. A tumultuous storm was rolling in. There was no way to avoid it.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Her heart beat frantically, blood surging through her veins, mixing with enough adrenaline to make her stomach churn. She might’ve been worried about getting sick if there had been anything left inside of her to give, but no… she was empty. Burying her mother had taken everything out of her. This, on top of that, was too much for her to bear.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  Kennedy Garfield stood on the front porch of the two-story white house, staring out into the yard as thunder clapped in the distance. Lightning illuminated the darkened afternoon sky, giving her a better view of him. Her uninvited visitor stood a mere ten feet away, dressed in a designer suit that cost more than she made in a year, but yet he still somehow managed to look thrown away. His black tie hung loosely around his neck, his button down soaked and clinging to his ashen skin.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, unable to handle his silence or his presence. As quickly as this storm rolled in, she needed it to go back away.

  “You know why I’m here,” he said quietly, his voice shaking. Even from a distance, she could tell he’d been drinking, his eyes bloodshot and glassy.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “Not now. Not like this.”

  He said nothing for a long moment, running his fingers through his thick dark blond hair, the ends curling from being wet. He was drenched, although the rain had since slowed to a steady trickle. She wondered how long he’d been standing outside before she noticed him. Before she sensed him.

  She imagined it had been quite awhile with the condition he was in.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  The yellow cab parked along the curb blew its horn, the middle-aged driver growing impatient. Kennedy nearly laughed at the sight of it. She figured taking a cab would’ve been beneath him those days. Limos and town cars, with chauffeurs and security, were more his level.

  Or so she’d heard, anyway.

  He glanced back at it, his face flickering with a hidden aggression, before he turned to face her again. His expression softened when their eyes met.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I heard about your mom and I just… I wanted to be here.”

  Crack. Crack. Crack.

  It was the sound of her heart being torn apart once again.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” she said. An assault of tears burned her eyes, but she refused to shed a single one. Not while he was there. Not while he was looking at her. So many years later and he still got under her skin. “You know that. You’re just making this all so much harder.”

  “I know, but…” He paused, his blue eyes imploring. “I was hoping I could… I mean, I wondered if it would be okay if…”

  “No,” she said, knowing right away what he was asking, but there was no way it would happen—not then, and certainly not with the condition he was in. He knew better than to even ask.

  “But—”

  “I said no.”

  He sighed as the driver laid on the horn for the second time. Eyeing her warily, he took a step back, and then another, before turning to leave without saying ‘goodbye’.

  They’d already said enough goodbyes to last them a lifetime.

  Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

  Kennedy stiffened as footsteps stomped through the house behind her, on a mission as they hurried her direction. The front door flung open, a tiny human tornado appearing at her side, wearing a fluffy black dress with her brunette hair in pigtails. Despite all the darkness surrounding the little girl, she was all bows and sunshine, innocence and happiness, and Kennedy would do everything in her power to keep her that way. She didn’t need to know more devastation. She was too young to endure that kind of pain.

  Too young to have her heart broken by Jonathan Cunningham.

  “Who was that, Mommy?” the little girl asked, watching the cab as it disappeared into the storm. “Did they come for Grandpa? Were they Nana’s friend?”

  “It was no one you need to worry about, sweetheart,” Kennedy said, gazing down at a pair of twinkling blue eyes—something her sweet little girl had inherited from him. “The man was just a little lost, but I sent him back on his way.”

  Chapter 1

  KENNEDY

  The beeping of the checkout scanner is monotonous, a dull drone I barely hear anymore, as it melds with Wilson Philips’s Hold On playing on the loudspeaker radio. The same songs, day in and day out. Same constant beeping. Same everything.

  Same customers in and out of the store, buying the same things they’ve bought before.

  My life has become a predictable loop, a real-life version of Groundhog Day that I have no intention of trying to change. I’m the personification of an alternate ending where Phil accepts that he’s stuck listening to Sonny & Cher every morning until the end of time.

  If you’d have asked me years ago if this would be my future, I would’ve laughed in your face. Me? Kennedy Reagan Garfield? I was destined for greatness.

  I’d been named after a pair of iconic presidents. My mother, the idealistic liberal, and my father, a strict conservative, never saw eye-to-eye on much… except for me. They never agreed on healthcare or taxes, but they were both convinced their little oops baby would be somebody.


  And here I am—somebody, all right. Assistant Manager Somebody at Piggly Q Grocery in a ‘blink and miss it’ kind of town in upstate New York. Thirteen dollars an hour, forty-plus hours a week, with a full benefits package including (unpaid) vacation days.

  Not that I’m ungrateful. I’m doing better than a lot of people. My rent is paid every month. My electricity hasn’t been cut off. I've even got overpriced cable! But deep inside, I know this isn’t the kind of greatness my parents envisioned for me.

  “Assistance needed on three!”

  The high-pitched voice squeals over the loudspeaker, drowning out the music. My gaze scans the register area, waiting for someone else to respond, but nobody does. It always falls to me. Shaking my head, I stroll over to lane three, to the young blonde girl running the ancient register, ringing up an older woman’s groceries.

  The cashier, Bethany, looks at me, dramatically pouting as she wiggles a can of chicken noodle soup in my face. “It’s coming up a buck and a quarter but Mrs. McKleski says there’s a ninety-nine cent sign back there.”

  It’s $1.25. I know it is. Even Mrs. McKleski probably knows and just wants to make a fuss about something. I smile, though, and override the register, giving it to the woman at the discount.

  I step away to let Bethany finish ringing up the groceries as Mrs. McKleski asks, “How’s your father doing?”

  I don’t have to look to know she’s talking to me. I start straightening up the candy rack near the register. “He’s hanging in there.”

  “Thought about baking him a pie,” she says. “Does he have a favorite? Apple? Cherry? Thought it might be pumpkin, or maybe pecan.”

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate whatever you make,” I say, “but he’s more of a chocolate cream pie guy.”

  “Chocolate,” she mutters. “Should’ve known.”

  The radio moves on to Lisa Loeb’s Stay, and that’s about when I decide I’m done with this day. I stroll to the front corner of the store, to where Marcus, the manager, hangs out in an office tucked behind Customer Service. Marcus is tall and slim, with brown skin and black hair that’s starting to show signs of impending gray.

  “I’m going home,” I tell him.

  “Now?” He glances at his watch. “It’s a little early.”

  “I’ll make up for it,” I say, clocking out.

  Marcus doesn’t argue. He knows I’m good for it, which is why he gives me leniency.

  “Actually, I know how you can make up for it,” he says. “I need an extra shift worked, if you’re willing to pull a double on Friday. Bethany asked for the day off but there’s no one to cover.”

  I want to say no, because I hate running registers, but I’m too nice for that. We both know it. I don’t even have to say a word.

  “Do me a favor,” he says. “Stop by on your way out and tell Bethany I’m approving her request.”

  “Will do,” I say, walking out before he can ask me for anything else. I stroll down the cereal aisle on my way through, snatching a box of Lucky Charms off the shelf. Bethany stands at her register, skimming through a magazine she grabbed from the rack beside her.

  I glance at it, rolling my eyes.

  Hollywood Chronicles.

  The epitome of trashy tabloids.

  I set my cereal down on the conveyer belt and pull out a few dollars. Bethany closes the magazine and tosses it down in the bagging area before ringing me up.

  “Marcus approved your day off,” I tell her.

  She squeals. “Really?”

  “He told me to tell you.”

  “Oh my God!” She shoves my cereal in a white plastic bag. “I didn’t think there was anyone to cover my shift.”

  “Yeah, well, I could always use the overtime.”

  Bethany squeals again, reaching across the lane to grab ahold of me, squeezing me in a hug. “You’re the best, Kennedy!”

  “Special day?” I guess when I pull away, holding the money out to her before she can even tell me my total, hoping she’ll take it instead of hugging me again. Alanis Morissette’s Ironic is coming on, and if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to lose my sanity.

  “Yeah… I mean… sort of.” She blushes as she shoots me a look. “It’s kind of stupid, really. There’s a film that’s supposed to be shooting in the city. My friends and I are hoping to go down and maybe, you know... see what we can see.”

  I smile softly. “There’s nothing stupid about that.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Of course not,” I say. “I went to a movie set once.”

  Her eyes widen. “Really? You?”

  The way she says that makes me laugh, although I probably should be offended by her incredulous tone. It’s not like I’m some uptight old lady. I’m not Mrs. McKleski. I’m only a few years older than her. “Yes, really.”

  “What movie?”

  “It was just one of those teen comedies. The titles all kind of sound the same.”

  “Who was in it? Anyone I might know?”

  She wants to hear all about it. I can tell by the curious gleam in her eyes, but I have no desire to get into that story. “It was so long ago that I really can’t even say.”

  Bethany counts out my change, and my eyes drift to the magazine she’s been reading as I grab my bag. All at once, my insides freeze, ice running through my veins, the cold striking me straight to the bone. Plastered on the cover is a face I know. Even wearing a black hat and dark sunglasses, ducking his head, he’s easily recognizable.

  My gut burns, twisting and coiling and ugh ugh ugh…

  He’s standing beside a woman with platinum blonde hair. While he shies away from the camera, she’s wide-open, looking right at it, her green eyes vivid in the photo. Black leather covers her supermodel frame, while red lipstick accentuates a set of pouty lips. Her skin is a deep tan, like the woman lives on a beach somewhere.

  Ugh, it makes me sick.

  Even I have to admit she’s beautiful.

  Below the photograph of the pair is a massive caption, written in bold:

  JOHNNY AND SERENA’S SECRET WEDDING

  My eyes linger on those words.

  I think I’m going to throw up.

  “Do you believe it?” Bethany asks.

  My gaze lifts to meet hers. “Believe what?”

  “That Johnny Cunning and Serena Markson eloped.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know why it even matters to me. Don’t know why my chest feels tight at the mere insinuation that a wedding might’ve happened somewhere, at some point, a wedding where he was the groom but I wasn’t present. I feel like an obsessed, lovesick fangirl, convinced the heartthrob was supposed to be mine, but he wasn’t.

  “I think, where Johnny Cunning is concerned, anything’s possible.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Bethany says, picking the tabloid back up as I head for the exit. “Really hoping to run into them this weekend.”

  My footsteps falter. “Them?”

  “Yeah, the movie that’s filming? It’s the new Breezeo one.”

  Something happens inside of me when Bethany says that, something that knocks the wind out of my sails. Whoa. It’s a crushing, soul-sucking sensation that starts deep in my chest, right where I used to keep my heart. It’s gone now, locked away in a steel-reinforced safe, padlocked and hidden where no one can get to it without my blessing, the spot where it used to beat now nothing more than a black hole that desperately pulls at the rest of me, trying to swallow me up at the sound of that word.

  Breezeo.

  “They’re still making those?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but even I can hear the change in my tone. Pathetic.

  “Of course!” Bethany laughs. “How do you not know? I thought everyone knew.”

  “I haven’t really been paying attention.”

  More like I’ve actively avoided, but that’s another long story.

  “You’ve seen them, though, right?” Beth
any narrows her eyes. “Please, tell me you’ve at least watched the others.”

  “I’ve caught bits and pieces,” I admit.

  She throws her hands up dramatically, like my answer is absurd. “That’s just… insane. Oh my god, you need to watch them! The stories are amazing… so funny and just… I don’t even have words! And Johnny Cunning, that man is serious eye-candy. You’re totally missing out. I’m dead serious, you need to watch them!”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good,” she says, smiling like she won something. “The first one is called Transparent and the second one is Shadow Dancer.”

  “And the one they’re filming now?”

  “Ghosted.”

  I look away from her when she says that.

  “Well, good luck this weekend,” I mumble. “Hope it works out for you.”

  Bethany says something else but I don’t stick around to hear it, carrying my Lucky Charms as I jet out to the parking lot. Puddles cover the asphalt, since it rained most of the morning. It always seems to rain at times like these. I dodge the water, making my way to my car.