Until June, p.1Part #2 of Until Her series by Aurora Rose Reynolds
Aurora Rose Reynolds
Copyright © 2016 ARR-INC.
Cover and Cover design by Sara Eirew
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons or living or dead, events or locals are entirely coincidental.
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June Mayson and Evan Barrister’s whirlwind courtship resulted in a secret marriage right before he left for boot camp. Evan knows deep in his gut that June is too good for him, but after getting a taste of the beautiful life they could have together, he’s unwilling to let her go. June promises to wait for him, knowing neither time or distance will ever change her feelings for Evan—that is until she’s served with divorce papers while he’s overseas and she’s forced to let him go.
With her marriage and divorce being a well-kept secret, the last person June expects to run into when she moves back to her hometown is Evan. Angry over the past, she does everything within her power to ignore the pull she feels whenever he is near. But how can she ignore the pain she sees every time their eyes meet? How can she fight the need to soothe him even if she knows she’s liable to get hurt once again?
Is it possible for June and Evan to find their way back to each other again? Or will they be stopped by an outside force before they ever have a shot?
Table of Contents
About the Book
Excerpt from Until Ashlyn
About The Author
Other books by this Author
To my boys the carriers of my heart.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror across from me, I cringe. My hair is a disaster, there are bags under my eyes¸ and the nightgown I have on isn’t even one of the cute ones I normally wear. It’s the one my sister December got me as a joke, but I wear it occasionally, because it’s comfortable, even if it was made for a woman three times my age. Resting my elbows on the desk in front of me, I run my fingers through my hair, pulling the strands back away from my face.
“I hate men,” I whisper into the empty interrogation room, where I was told to wait over an hour ago after the police kicked in my door and dragged me from my bed. Lifting my gaze, I look at myself in the mirror again and vow that whenever I get out of the mess my ex-boyfriend has gotten me into, I’m going to learn how to be a lesbian, even if I’m not sure that’s actually possible.
“June Mayson.” I glance over my shoulder at the now open door behind me, and my eyes meet those of a man who reminds me of my dad. He looks to be in his mid-forties and is one of those men time has been kind to. He’s built with dark hair that’s cut short and parted on the side. His eyes are a blue that stands out against his dark lashes and tan skin. “I’m Officer Mitchell and this is Officer Plymouth.” He nods behind him and is followed in by a man who must be playing the roll of “Bad Cop,” judging by the frown on his face and the look he gives me when our eyes meet. Time hasn’t been as kind to him. He looks like he has enjoyed one too many beers. His middle is round, and his skin doesn’t look healthy, in fact it looks yellowish.
Nodding, I cross my arms over my chest and run my hands down the bare skin of my biceps that’s chilled from the cool air coming from the vent above me.
“Would you like something to drink?” Officer Mitchell asks as he walks fully into the room.
Shaking my head, I mutter, “No, thank you.”
“Hot chocolate?” he offers, and I feel tears burn the back of my eyes. Since I was little, whenever I was having a bad day, my dad would offer me hot chocolate. His hot chocolate has magical powers that always make everything seem okay, but I doubt police station hot chocolate would have the same effect.
“No, thanks. I’d just like to know why I’m here,” I tell him as he takes a seat in the metal chair across from me and places a thick folder on the table between us.
“We may be here awhile, Miss Mayson, so I’d like you to be comfortable,” he says gently. I look at Officer Plymouth, who is leaning against the wall, then back to him.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Mitchell, but I’d really like to get to the point. I have class in a few hours and I really need to make it on time.”
“I’m afraid you’re probably going to miss your class today, Miss Mayson.”
Closing my eyes, I open them slowly and ask, “Can I get a sweater?”
Surprisingly, Officer Plymouth slips off his suit jacket and walks it over to me, placing it around my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I whisper up at him, and his eyes soften around the edges. Pulling my eyes from him, my gaze goes back toward Officer Mitchell.
“How long have you known Lane Diago?” Officer Mitchell asks, and I sit up a little taller.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” I tell him, and he opens the file folder, fanning out a few pictures of my ex-boyfriend Aaron and me directly in front of me. Each of them were taken while we were a couple, showing we had been followed more than a few times. Him coming to my apartment…him kissing me outside my car…at the store, walking hand-in-hand down the aisles…at the movies…out to dinner…both of us doing normal couple things.
“You mean Aaron?”
“That what he told you his name was?” he asks, and I nod looking up at him.
“I’ve known him for about a year,” I whisper, dropping my eyes to the pictures again, realizing I actually didn’t know him, since his name isn’t even Aaron.
“How long have you two been dating?” he inquires, and my eyes drop to the pictures once more.
“We dated for about four months. I broke up with him a month ago,” I tell him truthfully as a feeling of sadness hits me unexpectedly. I wasn’t in love with Aaron—or Lane. Not even close. But I cared about him and believed he cared about me as well. That was, until he sent me a text to meet him at his house. When I got there, one of his roommates let me in, and I found him up in his room with Susie Detrei’s mouth around his cock, proving I was wrong about him.
“You were close,” Officer Mitchell states, and I nod because we were, or I thought we were. “Can you tell me who this man is?” he asks, pulling out a picture of Aaron’s—Lane’s cousin, or at least the guy he told me was his cousin when he introduced me to him.
“Aaron…I mean Lane’s cousin Cody. He lives in Mississippi.”
“Did you ever overhear them talking?”
“Overhear them talking?” I ask, looking at a picture of Cody and Lane sitting in what looks like a bar. Lane is holding a bottle of his favorite beer in his ha
“Overhear them talking about anything out of the ordinary?” he clarifies, and I shake my head.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Maybe if you told me exactly why I’m here, I could give you the information you’re looking for.”
“Lane Diago’s uncle is one of the biggest distributors of illegal narcotics in Alabama, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Georgia, and South Carolina.”
“What?” I whisper as my eyes focus on one of the pictures of Lane and me standing outside my apartment. I was wearing a short, colorful summer dress and gold strappy sandals, and Lane had on a pair of black cargo shorts and a plain white tee. His head was bent toward mine, my hand was resting against his chest, and his was wrapped tight around my hip. It was our third date and our first kiss. I had waited forever to even go on a date with him, because I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I finally gave in to him, because he was so persistent. He asked me out every time we saw each other, and he was always dramatic in the way he did it, which I thought at the time was kind of cute.
“Did you ever see—”
“I never saw anything,” I cut him off. “Lane didn’t even smoke pot, and almost everyone I know smokes pot,” I whisper, pulling my eyes from the picture to look at him.
“You two were together a lot. You dropped him or picked him up from buyers.” He shifts through the stack of photos and pulls out one of me parked outside a house where I had been waiting for Lane. “My men saw you on more than one occasion.”
“To friends’ houses,” I tell him, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “If he asked me to drop him off at a friend’s, pick him up, or to run him somewhere when we were going out, I would. But I never witnessed him doing anything illegal.”
“Do you understand you can go to prison if we find out you spent any of the money he earned from selling drugs on things for yourself?” Officer Plymouth asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
Laughing, I cover my face with my hands and lay my head on the table while I try to pull myself together. I probably shouldn’t be laughing right now but it’s either laugh or cry.
“What do you find funny about this?” Officer Plymouth asks, and I lift my head to look at him.
“I paid for us to do things more than once. He even asked me for gas money a couple of times. I never, not once, took money from him, not even for a coffee,” I tell him, and his eyes go to Officer Mitchell, who mutters, “Fuck.”
“He cheated on me a month ago, and I haven’t talked to him since then,” I tell him, and he shakes his head.
“We have time stamps for phone calls between the two of you over the last month.”
“Did you ever look at how long those calls lasted?” I ask, knowing that if he did, he would know we didn’t actually talk. “He called. He called over and over. Finally, I had to pick up to tell him to stop calling me. I didn’t want anything to do with him a month ago, and I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with him now.”
“Another fucking road block,” Officer Plymouth grumbles, and my head swings to him.
“I’m sorry. I swear that if I knew anything, I would help you out, but I don’t. Lane never told me anything, and I sure as hell didn’t see anything. If I had, I would have talked to my uncle about it.”
“You’re sure you didn’t see anything, hear anything?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him, wishing I did know something, not because I’m a rat, but because I know what drugs can do to people. I know not everyone dies from using drugs, not everyone’s life goes to shit from using them, but my roommate during my freshman year of college overdosed and died, and that was after she turned into a completely different person. Someone I didn’t like much. Someone I couldn’t trust. So, there’s no way I would ever protect anyone who is responsible for supplying those drugs, no matter how much I cared about them.
“Would you be willing to get back in touch with Lane?” Officer Plymouth asks, bringing my attention to him. My heart flips in my chest at the thought, but I don’t get a chance to answer, because someone bangs on the glass mirror in front of me, causing my reflection to go funny.
“You have got to be kidding me.” I turn around, slamming my front door behind me, and walk right back into my house. I stride past the stack of boxes near my front door, down the hall, across the living room—where the furniture is all piled in the middle of the room, because I haven’t had time to think about how I want it placed—and into the kitchen. Picking up my cell phone from the counter, I dial my cousin and listen as it rings while nausea and anger fill my stomach.
“Why is Evan parked outside of my house?” I ask on a growl as soon as Jax answers, and I don’t even give him a chance to reply before I continue on a hiss, “I want him gone, now.”
“June, you know that’s not going to happen. Your dad’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. Uncle Nico’s worried about you. Everyone’s worried about you right now.”
“He’s in jail. Nothing is going to happen to me,” I tell him, trying to sound calm, even though I feel as far from calm as someone can possibly be.
“Until he’s sentenced, you’re gonna have someone watching over you to make sure nothing happens to you,” he states, and I want to scream at him. I want to tell him to send someone—anyone—else, but I can’t, because he has no idea Evan is my ex. Worse, he’s my ex-husband. No one knows that, and I don’t want anyone to know.
“I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. But this is totally unnecessary, Jax, and you know it.”
“Evan’s solid. You won’t even know he’s there—unless you feel like being nice and want to invite him in, so he doesn’t have to sit out in the heat.”
“I’m never inviting him in,” I whisper to myself, but Jax hears me anyway and chuckles, probably thinking I’m being dramatic.
“He’s not that bad. I’m sure he’d even help you set up your furniture if you’d ask him to.”
He laughs again, and my eyes squeeze closed as I whisper, “I gotta go,” and hang up, without even saying goodbye. Just the idea of Evan anywhere near me sets my teeth on edge. “He can roast for all I care,” I tell myself, even though I know it’s a lie. Love sucks. Love sucks, because sometimes even when you don’t want to love someone, you still do. No matter how many times I’ve tried to convince myself that what I shared with Evan is over, I still hurt. I hurt because I still love him, and I do not want to love him.
Not at all.
Pressing my fingers into my eye sockets, I let out a groan of frustration. I need to get to the store and pick up some groceries. That’s what I planned on doing when I went to leave and saw him standing outside next to his truck, looking more beautiful than ever, which doesn’t make sense. When we were together, I knew he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and it sucked big that he hasn’t changed in our time apart, that he hasn’t grown a third eye or turned into a slimy green alien with big bulging warts covering his body. He’s still the same beautiful Evan Barrister I fell in love with the moment our eyes locked.
His dark hair and warm brown eyes, that glittered when he smiled, were what caught my attention. But the first time he held me in his arms, the first time I sank myself between his broad shoulders, I knew he was it for me. I knew he was everything to me. It wasn’t about the way he looked, even though I knew he was the kind of man most women fantasized about. The kind of man you would see on the street and stop to stare at, because you knew you had never seen a man like him in real life and needed to remember every detail, since you would likely never see his kind of beauty up close again. It wasn’t about that at all. It was the fact that when I was with him, I knew it was where I belonged. Right down to my bones, I knew that, I was meant to be his and he was meant to be mine.
“You are not going there, June Mayson,” I scold myself as hot tears burn the backs of my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I pull in a breath through my nose, toss my cell to the counter, and head for the front door. There is no way in hell I will let him take over my life again…no way I will stop living.
I did that when he went away. I did it when he had his mom deliver divorce papers to me, too. I died inside when I knew there was no longer an us, and I just fricking finally got myself back. So no way will I allow him to stop me from moving forward with my life.
Not a chance.
Swinging open the front door, I plow down the steps to the sidewalk, keeping my eyes to my feet as I go. Just because I may be over him, doesn’t mean he doesn’t affect me, and he can do that, but I don’t want him to ever see he does.
I don’t want him to have even one single piece of me.
Pressing the button on the remote in my hand, I hear my doors unlock at the same time I put my hand to the handle, swinging open the door to my platinum grey with chrome everything Beetle R-Line 2.OT SE and slide in. I love my car. It’s a chick car, but it’s the first real thing I ever bought for myself with money I earned. My dad shook his head when he saw it, but my mom, she was a whole different story. She hopped in, and we went cruising around town with the windows down and the music up to the perfect decibel—loud.
Sadly, the cops felt differently about the volume of gangster rap coming from my car and informed my mother and me of that when they pulled us over. They went as far as to explain exactly what a “trap queen” was, only doing it smiling as they wrote me a noise violation ticket. I didn’t care about the ticket one bit. I was with my mom, and we were having a good time being silly. As soon as the cops were back in their car and out of hearing distance, my mom turned the volume right back up, smiled, and then yelled, “Drive, June Bug!” over the music pumping from my car’s speakers. I did, and we drove around for another half hour before my dad sent a text to my mom, telling her to get her ass home. Then we giggled all the way back like two kids. It was a blast.
Until June by Aurora Rose Reynolds / Romance & Love / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes