Like Dragonflies Read online

  Like Dragonflies

  Copyright © 2019 K Webster

  Copyright © 2019 Danielle James

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Barren Acres Editing

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. 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 an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Like Dragonflies Playlist

  Books by K Webster

  Books by Danielle James

  Acknowledgements from K Webster

  Dedication from Danielle James

  About Author K Webster

  About Author Danielle James

  I’m the good girl from Ashton Hills.

  Rich. Pampered. Spoiled.

  Slowly suffocating under my mother’s stifling thumb.

  He’s the bad boy from Duncan.

  Poor. Abused. Criminal.

  Being swallowed by the darkness each passing second.

  Two lost souls searching for freedom and happiness.

  We’re lonely—broken—and trapped.

  Until the universe brings us together.

  Sometimes love is instantaneous.

  A supernova collision of emotions.

  Something that cannot be ignored.

  As our hearts tangle to the point they’ll never be able to part, the past comes creeping up like an evil villain. The mistakes of our parents become our consequences to face.

  We’re madly, deeply, foolishly in love.

  Soul mates who finally found each other.

  Two people who share the same father.

  To our readers who believe in love, no matter what form.

  Especially the forbidden.

  Once you make a decision,

  the universe conspires to make it happen.

  ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson ~

  Sage

  I can feel the defeating weight of stone sinking into my chest. I sit in front of my mother’s pristine vanity while she brushes my long raven locks, making sure to tame the unruly ends so they look perfect. Perfect like her hair.

  The stone wall threatening to crush me moves in closer until my breathing is noticeably shallow. My ears burn with the imaginary sound of stone on stone.

  “Sage, your ears are beet red. Are you nervous?” A sympathetic smile curves my mother’s ruby red lips.

  “A little.” I manage to get my voice to work in the face of being obliterated by a wall of anxiety.

  “Oh, honey, you’ll be fine. All of your friends will be there. I know you can’t wait to see them.” The smile fades from her face, but I still see joy swimming in her ice-blue eyes. How she finds happiness in social gatherings is beyond me. The thought of being around a crowd of people, with phony smiles and endless conversation, makes me itch.

  Is being allergic to people a real thing?

  I told her over and over, those girls she tries shoving down my throat aren’t my friends. She wants them to be my friends because she’s close to their mothers and birds of a feather…right?

  Wrong.

  I’m nothing like them with their perfect hair and matching outfits. I’m blue jeans and retro concert tees, and they’re busy following the latest Instagram trends.

  I bounce a curled knuckle against my lip and gaze into the brightly lit mirror. Mom stops fussing over my hair long enough to stare at me with her perfect brows gathered. I know that look. That is the stop-that-right-this-instant look.

  “You’re going to smudge your lipstick.” She gestures to my knuckle and I stare at the smear of mauve on my finger. I scrub it away with the heel of my hand, and she lets out a sigh that’s full of disapproval. The kind of sigh you give a kid who just spilled chocolate milk on a white dress.

  “There, look at how beautiful you are, Sage.” She twists her lips to the side at the sight of my eyebrows and before I can protest, out comes the brow gel. She rakes the cold gel through my misbehaved brows, and I stifle a groan in my throat. “Okay, much better. I knew my daughter was there somewhere under the T-shirt and jeans you insist upon wearing. You know they make you look like a boy, right, honey?”

  “Mom, please,” I beg. I want her to spare me the lectures about my clothes because I’m already nearly smashed by the stone wall in my mind.

  “I’m just saying, you’d look so much better if you actually took time to groom yourself. You’re not the kind of girl who just wakes up beautiful.”

  Not like you, right, Mom?

  I stand abruptly and turn my eyes away from the mirror. I hate seeing what I look like once all my personality is groomed away. I want to get the stupid charity event at the country club over with, then I can rush home to my room and detox from dealing with so many phony people.

  I hear Mom talking in the background as I leave the bedroom, but she sounds muffled through the wall closing in on me. I feel like a baby deer wobbling in heels toward the front door. When most women walk in heels, the bright click-pop noise their shoes make on the floor sounds like a melody. Not me. I’m pretty sure I’m the opposite of a melody…whatever that is.

  The moment I stumble out of the front door of my house and drink in fresh air, the stone wall recedes and my lungs inflate again. “Hey, kiddo. I see Mom got you in a dress.” My father smiles at me. His smiles have the power to chase away any anxiety kicking up dust in my mind. Maybe he’s outside waiting because he wants to escape any further inspection from Mom before we leave.

  “Yeah, I see she got you all dolled up too, huh?” A half-smile lifts one side of my mouth, as I take in his perfectly coiffed mahogany hair and tailored suit. He glances down at his formal wear and shrugs like it’s nothing.

  “I definitely wouldn’t say dolled up, but your old man cleans up nicely.” Most of the time, Dad prefers to be in a pair of khakis hitting golf balls on the course at the country club. Suits aren’t his thing. Neither are the huge charity functions Mom loves so much.

  “Yeah, well that makes one of us.” I tug at the hem of the silky blue dress Mom made me wear and fold my arms across my body. Dad shoots me a disapproving look, that I pretend to ignore, but there’s no ignoring the prickle of heat washing over my ears.

  “You know I don’t like when you say things like that, Sage,” he warns.

  “I know but…” I lose my words in the middle of my sentence. Way to go, Sage.

  “No buts. You’re my beautiful, unique little girl.”

  “I’m nearly nineteen, Dad,” I grumble.

  “Still my little girl,” he croons. I fight off a smile when he tosses his arm around my shoulders. “Listen, I know how you hate these events your mom goes to, but just humor her, okay? It’s only a few hours and you get to gamble.” He flashes a hopeful smile but I still loathe these big events.

  Mom and her women’s group decided to hold a casino-style charity event to raise money to help build a school in Ethiopia one day. They thought it would be an amazing way to help kids get an education. All the publicity it’ll bring to the town of Ashton Hills is just a bonus, I’m sure.

  When the chauffeured black Benz pulls around our circular driveway, I fight off an epic eye roll. “Mom had to get a driver for tonight,” I mutter as I slide in the back seat.

  “You really think she’d show up to an event, she swears she organized single-handedly, without a driver? Come on, Sage. You know your mother better than that.” He’s right. There’s no way Eleanor Emerson would show up to an event driving herself. “You’ll take the first car in and Mom and I will be right behind you.”

  Dad gives the top of the Benz a tap on the roof, signaling the driver to pull off. I look out of the back window as my house shrinks. For a split second, I fantasize about having the driver take off somewhere else. Somewhere quiet and country, where charity nights don’t exist and you don’t have to pose for pictures with familiar strangers.

  Instead of having the balls to tell the driver to take me away from Ashton Hills, I sit in the back seat, while he drives down streets
that twinkle with lights and tell false stories of a happy town. Ashton Hills is anything but happy.

  The slogan on the huge yellow sign that welcomes people into town says: Quality Living with Small-town Charm.

  What a crock of shit.

  There is no small-town charm about Ashton Hills. Just a bunch of posers searching for the spotlight. Well, they can have it. I’ll take the comfort of sitting in front of a blank canvas with my paintbrushes any day.

  My thoughts shift back to the present moment when I feel the car stop. We’re at the Ashton Hills Country Club. I peek out of the tinted window to see a red carpet and photographers lining the sides, just waiting for people to walk by.

  My ears blaze with heat. The crushing stone wall is back and it’s pushing all the oxygen from my lungs. My eyes dart out of the back window and I spot my parents’ car pulling up. Thank God. Maybe I can hide behind Dad and avoid having my picture taken.

  The driver opens my door and I look up at him, hoping he can see I’m being crushed. He doesn’t. He offers me a polite smile and holds his hand out so I can grab on.

  “Can I just have a moment, please?” I ask. My words shake as much as my hands. I lock my fingers together and try to swallow back the thick knot of nerves in my throat.

  The driver nods and closes the door. A rush of air escapes me and I try to pull myself together. I massage my tight chest and try to will the wall away.

  I can do this. I can walk down the red carpet and pretend to smile. My gaze jerks to the window when I see Dad approach. He opens the door and motions for me to get out.

  Like he can read my mind, he uses his body to shield me from the clicks of the cameras. Mom is front and center, smiling and posing like it’s her job. I watch as Dad tugs her inside the building before a photo shoot unfolds in front of the country club.

  “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. This will be over in no time and you can get back to painting.” Dad touches my chin, and I try to find a smile to offer him, but my mind is busy mapping out escape routes.

  “How’d you know I was stressing?” I ask him. He doesn’t say anything, he just taps my ears and I sigh in response. My ears were always a dead giveaway. Hastily, I move my hair so they’re covered.

  “Sage, I just saw your friends by the photo booth. They’re looking for you. Don’t stay attached to your father all night. Mingle. Have fun,” Mom says, grinning. All the words I want to say fill my mouth, until they press against my soft palate with sharp edges. I swallow the jagged ball of protests and nod at Mom. That’s what she wants. She doesn’t want me to object and run out of here like a crazy person.

  I find my way to the photo booth and listen to the carefree laughter of girls whom I’ve known since kindergarten but still aren’t close to. Now we’re in college together and I still feel worlds away from them.

  “Oh, Sage, hi.” Leah Michaels grins at me with perfectly applied lipstick and shining chocolate eyes. Her hair is brushed into a sleek bun, and she moves around in her heels like she’s walking on music. The sound of stone on stone roars in my ears.

  “Hi, Leah. My mom told me you were over here.” I tap my knuckle against my lip and try to think of more words to fill the silent cracks forming between us.

  “Yeah, me and Sophia are trying to get hold of some champagne. The guy working the bar is cute enough. I’m gonna go flirt with him.” Leah smashes her big boobs together and smiles at me. “Wanna come?”

  “Me?” I squeak. I take in small sips of air so I don’t pass out. “Oh, I’m not good with stuff like that.”

  “Stuff like what?” Sophia materializes out of nowhere and her gaze shoots between Leah and me.

  “Going to flirt with the cute bartender so we can get champagne,” Leah chirps. “You think my dress is low-cut enough?”

  “You absolutely look like a slut. A classy one though.” Sophia winks and then looks me over with a frown. “God, could you be any more awkward, Sage?”

  I wonder if my hair is unruly or if my brows rejected the tons of gel Mom smoothed on them. My fingers instinctively go to my face. I smooth the tail end of my eyebrow down and try to shake away the claustrophobic feeling of being shattered by my own anxiety.

  “Leave her alone, you know she’s shy,” Leah fusses.

  “She’s boring. Let’s go talk to the cute bartender.” Sophia locks fingers with Leah and I feel like an island alone in the middle of a sea of people.

  “Speaking of cute guys, did you see the new hot guy in town? You can tell he’s not from around here. I heard he has a record.” Leah leans into Sophia and speaks in excited but hushed tones. They share a bond I wish I had with someone. Not them but someone who gets me.

  “Wait, like he’s been to jail?” Sophia asks, her arched brows flying up to her hairline. Leah giggles and gives a nod as she pulls her friend off toward the bar. I watch them for a few moments then scan the room for an exit.

  I need to breathe. I need to get out of this stupid blue dress and these uncomfortable heels. I need freedom.

  I move through the crowded space, looking for the door. A firm grip on my elbow makes me pause abruptly. I look up and take a breath of relief when I see Dad.

  “Taking off?” he quizzes, moving me closer to the door. I can almost taste the night air.

  “Dad, I gotta get out of here. It’s driving me crazy and I haven’t even been here that long.”

  “Well…” He cranes his neck to see over the crowd, but at six foot three, it’s not hard for him to do. “I don’t see Eleanor anywhere so you’re free to go. I’ll cover for you, but I want that painting you’re working on finished tonight. Deal?” He winks at me and I crash against him, hugging him tight.

  “Yes. Thank you so much.” I dash out of the side door and tip my nose to the night sky. The air is cool and soothing against my warm skin. Once the roar of talking and laughing dies down, I can breathe easy again.

  I make my way to the front of the country club and see the black Benz already waiting for me at the curb. The driver steps out and opens the back door for me. “Your father said to drive you home,” he tells me with a courteous head bow. I blink a few times and climb in happily.

  “Can we stop past The Grind House?” I ask, tapping my knuckle against my bottom lip. His eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror.

  “The coffee shop?” he asks.

  “Yeah, please.”

  “You drink coffee at night?” He chuckles and turns down the street that takes us to The Grind House.

  “When I need to stay up and get things done, yes.” The driver pulls into the parking lot and I hop out. I walk inside and inhale the rich smell of coffee beans in the air. It’s nice being able to breathe freely again.

  I don’t mind being at The Grind House. Actually, it’s one of the few places I love to go. The soft murmur of scattered conversation and the clink of mugs and saucers is a pleasant symphony I don’t mind at all.

  “Hey, Sage,” Martina, my favorite barista, greets me with a kind smile. She knows my order by heart and never gets it wrong. “You sure do look pretty. Just getting back from a date?” I don’t even have to ask, she begins making my latte immediately. A wave of calm washes over me, then settles into my bones.

  I slide my fingers through my hair and marvel at how silky Mom managed to make it. “A date?” I snort and shake my head at the thought. Who would want to date me? “No, my mom had a charity event and I bailed,” I explain. Outside, the driver honks the horn, sending a ball of nerves crashing into my chest. “Hey, Martina, can you hurry up? The driver is being impatient.” I shift from one foot to the other while she whips up my drink. The loud whirring sound of the espresso machine drowns out everything else in the coffee shop and calms me down a bit.

  It feels like an eternity waiting for my drink, but it’s only been two minutes. I look at the huge clock behind the counter and sigh.

  Stop making things bigger in your head than they are in reality, Sage.

  “Thanks.” I smile at Martina and take the cookies ‘n cream latte with extra whipped cream. I leave her a nice tip before I tilt the red cup to my lips, testing out the scalding liquid. “Perfect.”

  “Oh, Sage, there’ll be a new barista in here on Monday. Just a heads-up. I know how particular you are about your drink,” Martina calls after me. The driver outside honks once more and I nod my head.