Falling for Hadley: A Novel
Jessica SorensenPlease forgive me for everything.
Love,
Mom.
I clutch the note in my hand, tears spilling from my eyes. When did she write this? And what is she sorry about?
My heart hurts so badly.
Before I can break down completely, though, my phone vibrates from inside my pocket. Quickly wiping the tears from my cheeks, I fish it out, check who the message is from, and cringe.
August: Tonight at exactly ten o’clock, you’re to go down to the docks with the package. Make sure to remove your license plates from your car and make sure no one knows where you’re going. Once you get to the docks, park near the trees on the right. Wait there until I give you further instructions. Do NOT open the box until I tell you to. And remember, your sisters’ safety is riding on if you pull this off.
Pull off what? He didn’t even tell me what I’m going to be doing. And I hate taking orders, especially when I’m not even sure what the orders are.
But as my gaze drifts to my sisters, cuddled up on the floor, comfortable and peacefully sleeping, I know I’m going to do it. I’m going to do everything I need to do to get this debt paid with August and Axel. And then I’m going to make sure that they have the best damn lives possible.
Coming Very Soon…
Holding Onto Hadley (Chasing the Harlyton Sisters, Book 3)
Added Chapters to Chasing Hadley (Chasing the Harlyton Sisters, #1)
Here are the added chapters to lengthened edition of Chasing Hadley (Chasing the Harlyton Sisters, #1) for those who didn’t read the lengthened edition.
Please read Author’s note for more information on this section.
Chasing Hadley
Jessica Sorensen
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2018 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.
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For information: jessicasorensen.com
Chapter 16
It takes me forever to fall asleep that night, and when I do, I sink into nightmares of the day my mom skidded off the road. The nightmare always plays out just like the memory of that day and always ends with that scream. I’m not even sure who the scream belonged to, yet the sound is branded into my mind like a hot iron searing flesh. I end up awakening before my alarm goes off with the sound of the scream echoing in my head.
Since the sun hasn’t even risen yet, I try to go back to sleep, knowing I’m going to need my rest to deal with Blaise and his favors. Unfortunately, my mind’s too wired and focused on that damn bag in the backyard.
Is my dad working for a drug dealer now? That’d mean Blaise’s dad is a drug dealer, which I guess could be possible.
There is another scenario, though. One that makes me restless with worry.
What if my dad stole the money and drugs from someone? Someone who’s going to be awfully pissed off when they find out.
My stomach clenches in knots. What if the latter is true? What if my dad stole from, like, a drug lord or something? What if the drug lord comes after my sisters and me to get back at my dad?
“Fuck,” I whisper, raking my fingers through my hair. “I need to chill out and stop overthinking this. Just find out the truth.”
How am I supposed to do that? My dad sure as hell isn’t going to tell me the truth. He hardly tells the truth anymore.
After half an hour of lying in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to Londyn snore, and stressing myself out, I give up on going back to sleep. I throw the blankets off, grab some clothes, and head to the bathroom to take a shower.
Since my family is fairly late risers, I figure everyone is still asleep, so when my dad steps out of his bedroom as I’m about to walk into the bathroom, I assume he’s coming into the house from an all-night bender. Then I notice he’s dressed in clean clothes, his face is freshly shaven, and his hair is combed. He’s also digging around in his pocket for something.
“Are you just getting home or heading out somewhere?” I ask, grasping the bathroom doorknob.
He jolts, dropping whatever he dug out of his pocket. “Shit, you scared me.” Exhaling a shaky breath, he scoops up the dropped object—a set of keys—then straightens and uses a key to lock up his bedroom door, fumbling a little like he’s nervous. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, so are you.” I eyeball the deadbolt on his door that wasn’t there when we moved in. “Did you just install that lock?”
He nods, stuffing the keys into his pocket. “Yeah, last night.”
“Why?”
“Because I want some privacy.”
“You say that like we snoop around in your room all the time.”
His digs a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his jacket, pops one into his mouth, and lights up. “Not all the time, but I know you guys do sometimes,” he says through a cloud of smoke. “I’ve caught Payton going through my stuff a couple times. She needs to stop doing that. What’s in my room is none of her damn business.”
I raise a brow. “Like you haven’t ever gone through our stuff?”
He takes another drag. “I’m the parent. I’m allowed to go through my daughters’ stuff if I think I need to.”
“The only reason you ever do is to steal money from us,” I accuse, beyond irritated with him. Not just for what he’s saying, but for locking the door.
First the bag in the backyard and now this? Just what is he up to?
Nothing good, I’m sure.
He ashes the cigarette onto the carpet with a hurt expression. “I’ve never stolen from you girls. I’m glad you think so lowly of me.”
I almost feel bad. A couple days ago, I may have. Now I’m starting to get really tired of his crap.
“We used to not think that lowly of you,” I admit. “But yeah, I’m not going to lie, lately, with the stuff you’ve been doing, my opinion of you has gone way down.”
“Lately?” he questions. “All I’ve done lately is work to take care of you guys.”
I resist an eye roll. Take care of us? He hasn’t taken care of us since we lost our mom.
“You’ve had a steady job for a week, Dad, and God knows what the hell you’re doing since you won’t tell us where you work.”
He shakily inhales from the end of his cigarette. “I work at the hardware store as a clerk.”
Yeah right. I know he’s lying. “If that’s true, then why didn’t you just tell me that last week when I asked?”
He lifts his shoulder, taking another drag. “Because you shouldn’t be worrying about what I do … Sometimes I think you forget who the parent is.”
“I understand you’re my father, but as for a parent …” I suck in a breath. “Look, Dad, I’m eighteen now, and honestly, I’ve been taking care of myself and Londyn, Bailey, and Payton for years, so you may be our dad by blood, but as for the parent of this household, that’s my job.”
His lips part then shut. Then he shakes his head and storms toward the stairway. “I don’t have time to argue with you, Hadley. I’m going to be late for work.” He starts down the stairway, but then pauses and glances over his shoulder at me. “I’m going to be home late, but …” He scratches the back of his neck. “Do you guys want to meet me someplace for dinner?”
I stare at him, unsure if I heard him correctly. “You want us to go out to dinner with you?”
He nods, his arm falling to his side. �
Yeah, I thought it might be nice to go out as a family. We havenât done that in a while, right?â He tries for a smile âIt might be nice.â
While the gesture is nice of him, we havenât had a family dinner with him in over eight years, and I really doubt any of my sisters are going to want to. Plus, with everything going on, I think it might be best to distance ourselves away from Dad.
He must read my hesitation all over my face, because he says, âCome on. Please say yes. I feel like I havenât talked to you girls in forever.â
Thatâs because he hasnât. Not about anything other than when our next move is.
âI wonât take no for an answer,â he adds, popping the end of his half-smoked cigarette into his mouth. âIâll text you the address of the place later, okay?â Then he hurries down the stairway before I can decline his offer.
Sighing heavily, I turn for the bathroom. Between dealing with Blaise this morning and my dad tonight, itâs going to be a tough day.
***
Sometimes when Iâm having a bad day, I visualize myself graduating and being handed my diploma. Then I say goodbye to my sisters, hop into my car, and drive off to college without so much as a second glance back. Today, though, the images arenât bringing me as much comfort, and I think I know why.
Between the almost-skid-off-the-road incident yesterday and that bag being in the backyard, Iâm not feeling the whole peace-out-old-life vibe. No, before I could ever leave, Iâd have to make sure my dad hasnât ⦠well, Iâm not certain how to finish that sentence.
Needless to say, by the time I stroll up to Blaiseâs front door, Iâm past being irritated and breezing right into donât-mess-with-me-because-Iâm-pissed-off-at-my-shithead-father territory, something Blaise notices the second he opens the door.
âWow, somebody doesnât look very happy to be here,â he remarks, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.
Strangely, his stupid smirk isnât present. Not strange, heâs dressed in black pants and a matching T-shirt. Seriously, itâs like the Porterson brothersâ trademark look.
âCan we please just cut the small talk and get straight to whatever the hell it is you want me to do?â I bite out bitterly.
He straightens, adjusting the leather bands covering his wrists. âWill you relax? Iâm not going to have you do anything bad.â
âI highly doubt that.â I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. âAnd besides, who said my bad mood has anything to do with you?â
A pucker forms between his brows. âYou act like Iâd be upset me if it wasnât about me.â
âDonât pretend you donât get off on pissing me off.â
He rubs his lips together, wrestling back a smile. âOkay, maybe I do get off on it a little.â
I roll my eyes. âOf course you do. I knew that from the moment I met you.â
âThat Iâd get off on pissing you off?â His amusement magnifies.
âNo, that youâre the kind of guy who gets off on pissing girls off.â
His smile dissolves. âThatâs not who I am at all.â
âLiar.â Sure, I may have discovered last night he didnât slash my tires or put up those flyers, but that doesnât erase the times heâs purposely tried to grate under my skin. âYouâre totally the type of guy to get off on getting girls riled up. I can tell.â
He shakes his head, strands of blond hair falling into his eyes. âNope. I actually just do it with you.â
My lip twitches in annoyance. âWhy? Because I rejected you the first time we met? If so, thatâs really fucked up.â
He gives a nonchalant shrug, his posture a bit stiff. âIt wasnât just because of the rejection.â
âThen, what else was it about?â I pry, curious if it has to do with why Alex loathes my family. If it has anything to do with my dad working for their dad.
All he does is offer me another shrug and, âYou just bring that side out of me, I guess.â
âSo, youâre putting the blame on me?â
âNo. What Iâm saying is that you do seem to get off on pissing me off, too.â
My mouth opens with a comeback, but then I zip my lips shut, realizing heâs right. âOkay, maybe I do ⦠a bit.â
âHmmm â¦â He rubs his jawline. âI wonder why that is.â His tone carries insinuation. Why, who the hell knows?
I give a nonchalant shrug. âProbably because youâre the most annoying person Iâve ever met.â
âAnd youâre the most stubborn girl Iâve ever met,â he quips. Then he steps aside and motions for me to come in. âSo, stubborn girl, quit stalling and come inside so you can complete your first favor.â
I step over the threshold, arching my brow at him as I pass. âPlease donât say youâre going to start calling me stubborn girl now.â
He bumps the door shut. âYou wanted me to stop calling you sweetheart, didnât you?â
I waver my head from side to side. âYeah, I guess so.â
He smiles as he lightly tugs on a stand of my hair. âSo, stubborn girl it is.â Then he takes off toward a hallway. âIâll be right back. I just have to grab my stuff.â
Before I can ask what heâs grabbing, he disappears down the hallway.
Iâm left standing alone in his living room, which is surprisingly clean. The furniture is decent, too, way better than anything my family owns. The Portersons also have a flat screen television, an item my family hasnât owned in a while, ever since my dad took ours and pawned it. He tried to lie about it when I confronted him, but I found the receipt in his pocket while I was doing the laundry. He never would admit what he did with the extra cash, which I guess is kind of his MO. Well, that and getting drunk.
Talk about a great father figure.
Sighing audibly, I trudge over to the sofa to sit down when Rhyland comes wandering into the room, carrying a bowl of cereal. His hair is damp, as if he just got out of the shower, and heâs wearing black jeans and a blue T-shirt.
Huh. So they do own different colored clothing.
He pauses mid-bite when his gaze lands on me. âHey.â He lowers the spoon from his mouth and wipes a dribble off milk off his chin with the back of his hand. âYouâre here early.â
âBecause I was ordered to be.â My tone comes out light instead of bitter, like I was aiming for.
Man, I really must be tired.
He smiles, relaxing as he plops down on the leather sofa and kicks his feet up onto the table. âGlad to see youâre being chill about the bet.â He stuffs another bite of cereal into his mouth then pats the cushion, indicating for me to sit down. âAlex thought youâd bail out of this whole favors thing.â
Rolling my eyes, I take a seat. âOf course he did.â
âI didnât, though,â Rhyland clarifies with an easy smile.
I twist to face him, bringing my knee up onto the cushion between us. âOh yeah? And whyâs that?â
He raises a shoulder. âYou donât seem like the type to back down. Yesterday proves that.â
âTrue.â I canât tell if heâs insulting me or not.
âThatâs a good thing,â he assures me, as if reading my mind. âAt least, I think so.â He rotates, facing me. âI have to say, after watching you race, I definitely think you should start racing on weekends.â
âWhy?â I question. âI didnât even win against your brother.â
âYeah, but youâve got mad skills. Seriously, a lot of people wouldâve overcorrected when they hit that patch of gravel, but you handled it like a fucking boss.â
I shrug, my stomach getting queasy at the reminder of how I almost walked in my momâs footsteps yesterday. âIâve had a lot of practice.â
âWith almost skidding road?â he teases with a smile.
I roll my tongue in my mouth, trying not to smile back. âNo, with racing.â
His phone buzzes from inside his pocket, and he digs it out. âHow long have you been doing it?â he asks, frowning at something on the screen.
I wonder wha
tâs on his phone thatâs got him looking all Charlie Brown.
âSince I got my driverâs license. But I started going to drag races when I was, like, four.â There I go again. Talking about my life aloud to a Porterson. Have I not learned my lesson?
His gaze elevates to mine in surprise. âSince you were four? Holy shit, thatâs young.â
A slow breath eases from my lips. âMy mom was into it and wanted me to be into it, too. Guess it worked.â
âShe was?â he asks with a hint of pity.
My chest tightens a bit. âShe died a while ago.â
âIâm so sorry.â His Adamâs apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard. âThatâs got to be hard. To lose your parent at such a young age, I mean. Blaise and Jaxonâs mom died when they were both young. My mom actually raised them. Well, until Blaise was old enough to get guardianship of us. That was one of the best day of our lives.â
Wow. No wonder I couldnât find anything online about Blaiseâs mom. I feel bad for him and Jaxon, and kind of for Rhyland and Alex, too. If their eighteen-year-old brother got guardianship of them, things with their mom had to be super effed up.
âWhat was the best day of your life?â Blaise asks as he re-enters the room, his gaze dancing back and forth between Rhyland and me, and his lips sinking into a frown.
âThe day you became my dad.â Rhyland grins as he rises to his feet.
Blaise rolls his eyes. âHow many times have I told you guys not to call me that? Youâre almost as old as me.â
âWhich is why we do it.â Rhyland walks up to Blaise and whispers something quietly enough that I canât hear.
Blaise grimaces, grinding his teeth from side to side. âFine, Iâll handle it.â
âSorry, man. Iâd do it myself, but you know he wonât be as cooperative if I go.â Rhyland pats Blaise on the shoulder then smiles genuinely at me. âThanks for talking to me this morning, Hadley. We should make it our morning routine for the next month.â
âAm I going to have to come over here every morning?â I direct my question to Blaise.
âMaybe,â he replies distractedly, fumbling to get his keys out of his pocket. Then he turns for the door, nodding for me to follow.