Forget me sloane a secon.., p.1
Forget Me, Sloane: A Second Chance Romance (Brooks University Book 2), page 1
Copyright © 2021 by Hannah Gray
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
contents
prologue
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
thirty-two
thirty-three
thirty-four
thirty-five
thirty-six
thirty-seven
thirty-eight
thirty-nine
forty
forty-one
forty-two
forty-three
forty-four
forty-five
forty-six
forty-seven
forty-eight
forty-nine
fifty
fifty-one
fifty-two
fifty-three
fifty-four
fifty-five
epilogue
Other Books by Hannah Gray
playlist
acknowledgments
about the author
prologue
Knox
“But that’s not my dream in life, Dad. I don’t want to be in a stuffy office all day, looking through the paperwork of a bunch of dumbass people, doing dumbass things,” I say, lacing my shoes up. “I’m all fucking set. Thanks, but no, thanks. Hard pass.”
My father has harped on me my whole life to go to college and then come back here, to Maine, and take over his private investigation firm. Something I have no interest in doing, but he’s a hardheaded dude.
“It’s not really a choice, Knox,” my father says condescendingly. “I provide everything in your life. All those fancy football camps, that truck—who do you think got the bills for those?”
Tucking one ugly-ass dress shoe behind the other, he leans against the counter. Trying to appear like he’s the boss. Fuck that. He might be other people’s boss but not mine.
Holding a finger up, I smirk. “Going to have to stop you right there. I worked on the boat every summer since I was twelve so that I could put all that money into attending those camps.”
I worked my ass off, lobster fishing in the summers with my grandfather. Something my mom made me do to help cover the cost, and I ended up loving it.
A cocky chuckle bubbles from his mouth. I wish I could grab a cleat and throw it at the fucker’s face. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but everything else in your life you got because of that business you like to shit on so very much. For someone who can’t stand it, you haven’t minded reaping the benefits.”
I sigh, glancing up at him. “Look, Dad, I think it’s great that you like the firm. What I don’t think is great is how much you push it on me and Mia to follow in your footsteps.” I run my hand up the back of my neck, feeling a tension headache coming on. “It’s not fair. It isn’t my dream; it’s yours.”
He stands up straight before pulling a paper out of his back pocket and slapping it in front of me. “Mia wants to join as soon as she graduates college. Seems as though your sister is the only logical one.” He shakes his head. “And while I think it’s a shame you don’t care to also carry on a legacy—my legacy—if you are so hell-bent on getting away from something that I’ve spent my entire adult life building, you should have no problem with doing this.”
My eyes dart from the paper he’s holding to him, narrowing. “Doing what?”
“Read it. It’s an email I received.” He hands it to me before strutting over to the coffeemaker, pouring himself a cup. Like we aren’t even in the middle of an important conversation.
Douche bag.
Gripping the paper in my hand, I look at it. After reading it for a few minutes, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m looking at. So, I read it again.
“Some dude at a car dealership is suspected of doing shady shit.” I shrug. “What does that have to do with me?” I put the paper out at my side. “Not really seeing how my freedom comes into play here, old man.”
“Jackson Silvine,” he says coolly. “He owns a pretty decent-sized car dealership, and guess what. He has a daughter.” He smirks, and even his eyes light up. So fucking happy to give me, his own son, a shit deal just so I can play football. “You want to try to make it to the pros?” He snorts. “Go ahead. Even if I think it’s a pipe dream, I’ll entertain it. But first,” he says, pointing to the paper still in my hand, “you’re going to do something for me. And you’re going to do that by getting close to that girl.”
I gaze down at the paper again, searching at the bottom for names of Jackson’s family members. Noticing one in particular that is highlighted.
Sloane Leighton Silvine.
“How will me getting close with her grant me freedom?” I ask, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Because you’re going to get so close that she opens up to you. Orrr … maybe she takes you to her hometown, Rangeley, where you find out what is going on inside that dealership.” He tilts his head to the side, scratching his chin. “Maybe her dad ends up liking you so much that he recruits you and spills all of their secrets. I don’t fucking know. All I know is, she’s going to Brooks University in Georgia next fall, and if you want out from this family business and your obligations here, well then, you’d better call Brooks University and let them know you’ve accepted that football scholarship they offered you.”
“But Brooks isn’t my first choice.” My forehead creases. “Hell, it isn’t even my third.”
“Well then, what do you say, we get you a desk picked out for your office? Right next to mine.” His lip twitches in an arrogant grin as he calls my bluff.
His face looks surprised when I shove the paper back at his chest. “Deal.”
Fuck it. It looks like I’m going to Brooks University.
one
Sloane
Freshman Year of College
“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just gone to college at Linscott.” My mother scoffs, looking out the window of my dorm. “Then, you would have only been fifteen minutes away instead of two hours.”
An unimpressed look rests on her face. Then again, her face always looks less than enthusiastic.
And continue to live a life where I’m told what to do? No, thanks. But I can’t say the words out loud.
So, instead, I just give her a small smile. “I just wanted to do something for myself,” I mumble, nervously chewing my nail. “Just to get away from Rangeley for a little while. A fresh start.”
The town of Rangeley is small. And the need to escape became almost unbearable this past year. I needed out. Linscott College is only fifteen minutes from our house. Clearly not far enough. If I’d attended there, I’d have felt like a bird who was let out of her cage for a few hours; once class was done, I’d be shut back in. I mean, they don’t literally put me inside of a cage—that would be illegal. But mentally, that’s what it’s always felt like. In a cage and pushed aside.
“Yes, well, just because it’s a fresh start, it doesn’t mean you can open up to everyone. You need to keep your guard up,” she quietly snaps back. “And don’t get in with the wrong crowd. I don’t want to see you go down a bad road. I worry.”
I frown at my mother’s constant need to nitpick every word that comes out of my mouth. “I know. I know you do. But I promise, you don’t have to worry,” I assure her. “I am very capable of making smart decisions.”
“I don’t want you committing to a major. Yet. You need time to think about it before deciding.”
I swallow hard as I force the next words to come out. “I’m not going to declare anything yet. But you know how much I want to study criminal justice.”
She loudly blows out a breath. “Yes, well, hopefully, you come out of that phase and choose something more sensible.”
For some reason, my parents hate the idea of me joining the police force. In fact, they’ve been very vocal about how much they disagree with it. I tell myself that they’d worry about me being in danger, but I know that isn’t it. They don’t respect the law, so obviously, they don’t w
I shrug, feeling myself beginning to shrink into my own skin, just as I always do when she disagrees with me. “Maybe. But … I don’t know. It’s just what I really want to do. I think … I think I could be good at it.”
The pink polish on my nail comes off in pieces in my mouth, causing me to grimace. I feel the skin around my nails growing more tender with each second that I chew them, like a dang basket case.
“Sloane, do you ever stop and think about—”
“Vic,” my dad says as he brings in my last load of things. “We’d best be letting Princess get settled in.”
“Her roommate isn’t here yet; we haven’t even met her.” My mother sounds irritated. “I’m not comfortable with leaving her before meeting her first.”
“Yes, well, no need to worry, sugar. I had a background check done. She’s fine.” He rubs his hand on her back. “You can relax.”
My father was born and raised in Georgia; his accent is very apparent. My mother, on the other hand, is from Connecticut. They met in college. They couldn’t be more different in some ways if they wanted to. Other ways, like thinking life revolves around business and money, they are cut from the same cloth.
I’d like to think my parents are good people. I’d like to say that I would be sad to see them behind bars. I’d like to say a lot of things. But the problem is, it’d all be bullshit. Though I don’t know the extent of what they do illegally, I’m quite sure they likely do belong behind bars, in a prison, in orange jump suits. A tray to carry their crappy meals on and a wall of glass separating them from their visitors. They probably deserve the whole shebang.
At a young age, I was taught to keep my mouth shut and to not draw negative attention to myself. My mother dresses like a respectable businessperson, as does my father. In high school, I wore cardigans and sundresses. My hair was curled in long barrel curls hanging down my back. Light eye makeup, nothing too crazy. Blend in with the rest of them—that was the goal. Student council? Check. Yearbook committee? Check. Homecoming queen? You freaking know it. Anything and everything to make me seem sweet and innocent. And part of me thinks I am that girl. The other part of me thinks I have someone else living inside of me, dying to come out.
I did all of those things to help my family seem inconspicuous. I did all of those things to keep us looking like the perfect Southern family. Respectable. That’s what we’re alleged to be. Which is good and all. Only it’s fake.
Brooks College might be within driving distance of Rangeley, where my family is, but it provides me some much-needed space and freedom from the kingdom of the Silvines.
Jackson and Victoria Silvine, also known as my parents, have a car dealership. And to most people in the small town we come from, that’s what they truly believe. What they’ve been told to believe. But what they don’t know is that the dealership is also a secret place for them to do illegal activity. I’m not sure what goes on there exactly. I mean, I’ve done some digging around in my dad’s office, but he’s very secretive. And if I must say so, he’s a very clean criminal. Never leaving behind too much evidence. Even so, I know they do shady things.
What I’ve gathered is that they likely steal cars for parts and rip off people by selling them vehicles that have far more miles on them than it reads on the dash. It’s gross. And it makes me feel dirty.
Pools, hot tubs, fancy clothes, summer houses on the beach. You name it; I’ve got it. And, yeah, even I’ll admit, it’s nice to have it all … sometimes. But not when I carry the guilt of why we have what we have. It’s sick.
Her eyes lift to mine before she finally nods. Walking in front of me, she puts her arms out. Embracing me in a stiff, awkward hug. “Just be careful, Sloane. You don’t know anyone’s real intentions. I don’t want to see you get hurt. I just … worry.”
“I know. I love you, Mama,” I say, blinking back tears because she’s being so open with me. Moments like this are few and far between in my family. Giving her one more squeeze, I smile. “Thanks for following me down here to help me unpack.”
“All right then, Princess. That roommate of yours ought to be here soon. Y’all have fun but not too much fun. You hear?”
“Yes, Daddy. I hear you loud and clear.” I smile, braiding my long blonde hair into a side braid.
My parents, especially my mother, can be quite frosty. I know it’s not because they don’t love me—because they do. But this lifestyle they live—a lifestyle I’ve been raised in—while I don’t agree with it, it’s who they are. And because of their love for their business, they keep me under their thumb. Locked away like a princess in a tower. I know some of it is so that I don’t get hurt. But it still sucked, growing up, feeling like I had to fight for my parents’ attention. And since I wasn’t a fighter, I just found comfort in books and stories instead.
As I watch them through my window, walking toward my dad’s truck before driving away, I can’t help the freeing feeling that comes over me with every inch the truck takes them farther away from me. Soon, it’s just a tiny dot on the horizon, and it’s like a ball and chain have been cut from my ankle.
Finally, I get to live my life the way I want to live it. Within reason, of course. I’m sure they’ll have eyes on me. But I won’t have to constantly worry that they’ll get in trouble and my classmates will be watching. Brooks is about two hours away. And a huge school. If my parents did ever get caught and arrested, it’s likely no one here would link them to me.
Let’s hope not anyway.
This year, it’s time for me to figure out who I really am. Not who everybody wants me to be or expects me to be. But who I really am as my own person. It’s not always easy for me to come out of my shell, but now that I’m at college, I’m sure going to try.
Knox
“Jesus Christ, this place filled up fast,” Cole mutters as he drives us through campus toward the football field. “The fuck knew this place held so many students?”
“The rest of the campus moves in this week,” my roommate, Weston answers, glancing up from his cell phone. “No longer just us here.”
“I already miss when it was only athletes here.” Cole groans as we stop at a stoplight to let more students pass by on a crosswalk. “This is insanity.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “Just look on the bright side, brother. Think of all the fresh meat in the women department coming in this week. It’ll be like when they cook fresh French fries at McDonald’s. Only … ladies.”
“You’re so fucking weird,” Cole says, shaking his head. “Who compares chicks and French fries?”
“Well, think about it. If you go to McDonald’s, do you want the fries that have been around all morning? The ones that are stale and taste like crap?” I glance at Weston. “Fuck no, you don’t, my man.” I hit his shoulder. “You want those delicious, warm, salty ones that they just took out of the fryolator. The ones that have that perfect layer of oil on them. Proving they were freshly made.”
I look toward Cole, but he says nothing. Just grumbles something and then yells out his window for some dude to get the fuck out of the road. Cole is one of those guys who only likes the bare minimum of people around him. He doesn’t need the whole fan club that comes with being a star football player; he’s more content with his close circle and nobody else.
Weston is more of a mystery. He’s somewhat of the quiet, broody type. Only speaking when he’s got something to say. But that mothafucker can be hilarious. He’s had me leaning over and grabbing my stomach, laughing so hard, many times.
“Bud, you could have asked that guy to move nicely,” I joke. “He could be having a shit day, and now, he’s got your grump ass yelling at him. Making it worse.” I widen my eyes. “What if his dog got run over or his old lady just dumped him?”
“I don’t give a fuck about his day,” he grunts. “Besides, who brings their dog to college?”
“You’re a cranky mothafucker.” I take a bite of my apple. “You need to get laid. Or perhaps eat a steak dinner. Steak dinners always put me in a better mood. Maybe get some cheesecake after. Get really crazy with it.”
He holds up his middle finger, but I can see him trying not to laugh in the mirror. He pretends he’s a hard-ass, but he isn’t really. He just takes everything more seriously than I do. Aside from football, I think everything is a joke.
