Reclaiming Madelynn (Reclaiming Book 1)

  Table of Contents

  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

  Reclaiming Madelynn

  (Reclaiming, #1)

  Jessica Sorensen

  Reclaiming Madelynn

  Jessica Sorensen

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  For information: jessicasorensen.com

  Cover Design by Najla Qamber

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  I. The Start of the Storm

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  II. After the Storm

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  III. The Start of a New Storm

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  Also by Jessica Sorensen

  I

  The Start of the Storm

  Chapter One

  I never go outside when I know there’s going to be a huge, major, off-the-chart storm. Not since I was sixteen years old and my grandma passed away. There’s never an exception, either. Luckily, my hometown of Honeyton rarely gets massive, windy, rainy, blow-trees-up-from-their-roots storms, so I don’t have to suffer through agoraphobia.

  In London, where I live now, it isn’t too stormy, either. I moved here after I graduated from high school, and in those two years, I’ve only had to be homebound three times.

  My phobia might sound crazy, but whenever a storm blows in, my life can potentially be ripped apart. Like the day my grandma died. A rare, high-speed windstorm swept through the town, collapsing houses and ripping up ancient trees from the roots. My home literally shook with the determined wind. I remember being afraid the house would blow away like in the Wizard of Oz, so I hid up in my room, crying my eyes out. Then I felt a strange calmness overcome me. For a crazy, mind-boggling moment, I swear I heard my grandma whisper, “Everything’s going to be okay, Madelynn. Just hang on. You’ll be all right.”

  She was the only person who ever called me by my middle name, Madelynn, so I knew it had to be her. Everyone else called me by my first name, Jessamine, or Jessa for short.

  When I heard her whispering to me, the storm ended and our house remained upright. Then Mom got a phone call from my grandpa, saying Grandma had passed away from natural causes.

  I didn’t think too much of it at the time, although I was a bit weirded out. Then, two months later, a freak rainstorm flooded the streets. Everyone was talking about how they’d never seen so much rain and how insane it was that two storms had tried to destroy the town within such a small amount of time. All I was worried about was that all the water was going to rush into the house and I was going to drown.

  As I started to cry, racing upstairs to higher ground, I felt a familiar calming sensation wash over me as my grandpa’s voice settled my anxious thoughts.

  Later that day, while my mom and dad were working on cleaning up the water damage, the phone rang. I was the only one in the house. The sound gave me a heavy sense of dread. Somehow, I knew that, whoever was calling, they were delivering bad news.

  And I was right. The call was from the hospital. My grandpa had passed away.

  That’s when my storm phobia first developed, and it only grew the day my parents died. That time, though, the storm had aided in their deaths. They were heading out on a trip with my younger sister Annabella when a rainstorm blew through town. Though I was already in London, I knew about the storm going on back home. I remember being a bit nervous. Then I became so overpowered by a feeling of sadness that I had to run out of a class and sob in the hallway. Later that day, my older brother Loki called me and broke the news about the accident. Me, him, and our three younger sisters and brother were officially parentless. Loki became the guardian of our younger siblings, but I was nineteen and already living out of the country, so I was on my own.

  That storm did the most destruction. Not only did it take our parents away from us, but it altered our lives forever. My fear of storms grew.

  I won’t say storms themselves are what I’m terrified of, but what the storms represent. Chaos. Death. Destruction. Omens? I’m not sure, but I definitely haven’t told anyone about my weird gift. If I did, they’d think I’m crazy. Hell, sometimes I think I am crazy. Although, my grandma used to be a firm believer in people who possess a sixth sense and told me she believed I had one, so maybe the storm thing was what she was talking about. Then again, she also believed in horoscopes, psychic readings, and conspiracy theories.

  Whether I’m crazy or not, the storm intuition happens frequently enough that I do a morning check of the weather report the second I wake up. This morning’s forecast warns a major storm may be blowing through tonight.

  I hurry and send my brothers and sisters messages, letting them know to please be safe. Then I spend almost the entire day worrying about them and wishing I lived closer.

  By the time night rolls around, I’m a hot, emotional mess. It doesn’t help that my best friend Zoe is trying to convince me to go out dancing and drinking with her.

  “Come on, Jessa. There’s supposed to be this awesome new club that just opened. I really want to check it out.” She clasps her hands together. “Please, pretty please come with me. It’s just a storm. If it gets too rainy, we’ll get a cab.”

  “Are you sure it’s even going to be open?” I ask, closing my laptop. “The Weather Channel said the storm’s going to be pretty bad. Some places might close early.”

  She rolls her eyes as she heads for the kitchen attached to the living room. “The storm’s not going to be enough for a club to close down.”

  I don’t agree with her. The weather report said it’s supposed to be a rough night. Convincing her of this is an entirely different story. Once she makes her mind up about something, there’s no changing it. And that’s part of the reason I love her. She’s the irrational balance I need to my sometimes overly rational side. On nights like tonight, it can drive me a little crazy.

  “I have class early in the morning,” I lie, reclining on the sofa. “And I don’t want to have to suffer through it hungover.”

  She shoots me a seriously look from over her shoulder as she opens the fridge. “First of all, you go to school for cooking. Most of your classes don’t take a ton of brainpower.” I open my mouth to protest, but she talks over me. “And second, you told me that you once went to class completely hungover and with a fever and aced
a final.”

  Shit. She has me there. That doesn’t mean I want to roam the streets while the wind and rain make silent threats of what is waiting for me if my phone rings.

  I dare a nervous glance out the window of our two-bedroom apartment, watching the stormy sky. I might lose someone tonight. I can feel it in my bones, see it in the dark grey sky, smell it in the rain-kissed air.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  She turns to me, worriedly biting her lip. “Please. I know you hate storms, but I really … I just really want to spend some time with you tonight.”

  I’m reaching for my phone on the coffee table when I pause to study her. Why does she look so worried? Zoe rarely gets worried. In fact, she’s so bubbly most of the time that people often wonder if she’s on uppers. She has been a little down and distant lately, and spending more time in her room and less time socializing. I’ve asked her about it, but Zoe’s all about not having heavy conversations. “I like things light, simple, and fun,” she always says. “Because, if you’re not having fun in life, then what’s the point?”

  “What’s up?” I ask. “You seem, I don’t know … Is something bugging you?”

  She waves me off. “Me bothered by stuff? That’ll be the day.” She collects her purse from the countertop. “Look, if you don’t want to go out, I get it. But I really wish you would.” That foreign, worried look flashes across her expression again.

  My body fills with the same sense of dread it did right before I found out my parents and grandparents died. The uncontrollable urge not to let Zoe go out alone knocks me hard in the chest.

  She has a knack for getting into trouble, and I’ve spent a lot of time keeping track of her and making sure she doesn’t go home with random strangers. But I like taking care of Zoe. It reminds me of all the years I looked out for my younger siblings and kept them out of trouble, and how my older brother used to do the same thing for me.

  I open my mouth to beg her to stay home with me, but then I stop myself. I’ve been friends with her long enough to know I can’t convince her to stay. She’s obviously made her mind up, probably because something’s troubling her and she’s trying to work through it by having fun. That’s what Zoe does. It’s one of the reasons I befriended her, drawn to her ability not to dwell on life’s problems. She’s always moving forward, in constant motion. Though, sometimes she moves so fast I can barely keep up.

  I sigh in defeat. Either I’m going to have to spend the entire night stressing out about her or endeavor the storm for the first time in four years.

  “All right, I’ll go,” I tell her, getting to my feet. “Just let me change first.”

  A smile lights up her face, but her eyes look haunted, distant, distracted. Maybe after a few drinks, I can coax her into telling me what’s wrong. That is, if the storm leaves me alone.

  For the next three hours, I sip on drinks, dance, and watch Zoe flirt with guys, doing my best to pretend I’m having an awesome time. All I can concentrate on, however, is how hard the wind is howling outside and how much the building shakes every time thunder booms.

  “Are you ready to go yet?” I shout to Zoe over the song blaring through the speakers in the club. The too bright lights flashing above the crammed dance floor are giving me a headache, the air reeks of sweat and beer, and people keep bumping into me. “It’s almost one o’clock, and the storm sounds like it’s getting really bad.”

  She tears her attention away from Cole, the guy she’s been flirting with for the last hour, and focuses on me. “Jessa, you’ve got to stop worrying about the storm. You’ve been stressed out all night. Seriously, you’re acting like a Nora.”

  “Hey,” I say, a little offended. Nora is a mutual friend of ours, and while I love her and everything, the girl has the tendency to be a major downer. I once saw her put an entire party to sleep after she got into a very heated debate on whether people should be charged money to use public restrooms or not. “I’m not being that bad, am I?”

  Zoe offers me an apologetic look. “Sorry, but right now, you look like someone just told you your dog died.”

  Died.

  The storm.

  My grandparents.

  My parents.

  As the words echo in my head, I swallow hard. “I’m trying to have fun,” I lie. “But I’m too restless. Plus, it’s getting late.” And the music is too loud to hear if my phone rings, which means, if anyone tries to call, I’ll miss it.

  “Here.” She hands me a shot of Jäger. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

  I take the shot from her, but I don’t drink it. “How much longer are you planning to stay?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a while.” She flicks a glance in Cole’s direction and bites her lip.

  Cole pauses from chatting with his friend Nolan to wink at her. Zoe giggles in response, and I resist an eye roll.

  Guys are always all over Zoe, drawn to her mysterious, flirty charm. Normally, I’m okay with being her wing woman, but it’s bothering me tonight. Maybe it’s the storm. Or maybe it’s how Cole keeps throwing drinks Zoe’s way, like he’s trying to get her trashed. Or maybe it’s because Nolan sort of looks like a guy from my past. A guy I haven’t seen in years, but who I think about a lot. A guy whose heart I once broke, a decision I often regret.

  Milo.

  Milo. Milo. Milo. My best friend and the only person I’ve ever told about my little storm ability. He didn’t laugh at me, either. He was a good friend. And how did I repay him? By ripping his heart out.

  Stop thinking of him, Jessa. You’ve already got too much shit on your mind.

  “How long is a while?” I ask, tearing my focus away from thoughts of Milo.

  “I don’t know, Ash.” She twists a strand of her cotton candy pink and mermaid blue hair around her finger as she returns her attention back at me. “Maybe, like an hour?”

  Cole steps up and drapes an arm over her shoulders. “I can get her home if you need to go,” he tells me. “I don’t mind.”

  I resist an eye roll. “I’m sure you don’t.”

  He raises his hands in front of him. “I was just trying to be a nice guy. That’s all.”

  Sure you were, asshole.

  Zoe glares at me and mouths, “Chill out, please.” Then she turns to Cole, dazzling him with a smile. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room. Do you mind ordering me and Jessa another round of drinks?”

  Cole grins from ear to ear, his bloodshot eyes drinking in Zoe’s curvy body. “Absolutely.”

  Zoe presses a kiss on his scruffy cheek. “Thanks, gorgeous.”

  “You’re welcome, beautiful.” He looks so happy you’d think she’d just offered to fuck him in the bathroom.

  “Come with me, Jessa.” Without waiting for a response, Zoe snags ahold of my hand and tows me through the thick crowd toward the back area of the club.

  As we’re squeezing between a group of guys taking shots, thunder reverberates from outside and the lights momentarily flicker off. Panic chokes me and I let out a blood-curdling scream right as the lights turn back on. Almost everyone stares at me, and a few people laugh. Then music blasts through the speakers again and everyone goes back to their dancing and drinking.

  To calm my nerves, I throw back the shot I’m still holding, hoping the alcohol will help calm me the hell down.

  As liquid burns down my throat, I hand the empty glass to a random stranger as I trip after Zoe, my platforms scuffing against the dirty, sticky floor.

  Once we make it into the vacant bathroom, she reels around with her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with you? And don’t feed me any shit about the storm. There’s no way a little rain can make you this bitchy. And that scream? What the hell was that?”

  “I’m sorry, but you knew I didn’t really want to go out tonight.” I fan my hand in front of my face. Between the muggy air, the crowd, and the shot I just took, I’m starting to sweat. “And the scream was … I’m just edgy over the storm, okay?”


  She throws her hands in the air, exasperated. “If storms bother you that badly, then why did you come out tonight?”

  I shrug. “Because I didn’t want you wandering around alone.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” She glares at me, but her lips tease upward. “I mean, I know I’m short, but you do realize I’m not a child, right?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Exhausted, I slump against the wall behind me. When I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, I pull a face. My light brown curls that looked perfect when I left the loft are now wildly untamed, dark circles reside under my lightly lined eyes, all my lipstick has worn off, and my red velvet dress has a dark stain on the hem.

  “I think it’s time to go home,” I mumble through a yawn. “It’s late, I’m tired, and you’ve drank so many shots I’ve lost count. Plus, I look like shit.”

  She snorts a laugh. “Oh, will you shut up? You’d look hot in sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt.” She strolls up to the mirror, dropping her head to the side as she squints at her reflection. “Didn’t you see Cole’s friend checking you out? He’s hot. You should talk to him. And those lips …” She makes a mmm sound. “I bet they taste yummy.”

  I shake my head and the entire bathroom moves with it. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I think they’re both creepers.” And he reminds me too much of Milo.

  She wipes off a drop of smeared red lipstick just below her lips. “If you were acting like the normal, happy Jessa I love, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

  I drag my feet across the bathroom and move up beside her. “I love you to death, and you know I’m usually down for drinking and flirting,” I tell her, “but I’m too distracted right now. If you’ll compromise with me and go home with me now, I promise we can do whatever you want next Friday and I’ll be the happy, fun Jessa you love.”