Ruined Things: A New Adult High School Romance (Folkestone Sins Book 4) Read online

  Ruined Things

  Folkestone Sins Book Four

  Samantha Lovelock

  Copyright © 2021 by Samantha Lovelock, Folkestone Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from 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 are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by LJDesigns

  Editing by Rumi Khan

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-7776775-0-3

  Print ISBN 978-1-7776775-1-0

  For

  Rose Olivia

  “Darlin wee one,

  the hale world welcomes ye:

  the mune glows;

  the hearth warms.

  Let your life hae luck,

  health, charm.”

  - Jackie Kay

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Also by Samantha Lovelock

  Playlists

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  This book is the fourth in the Folkestone Sins series and should not be read as a standalone.

  This book ends in a cliffhanger. Because it does.

  This book is the second part of Sunday and Payne’s story.

  Prologue

  Charlie’s ‘death’ broke me—left me in pieces that slowly became harder and harder to look at. Discarded in dusty corners like tired stuffed animals or strewn across the ground like dead leaves. Sandringham broke me all over again, but instead of leaving the pieces to scatter in the wind, they taught me how to put the puzzle of my broken self back together, even if a few of the pieces were missing.

  I don’t think I’ll survive breaking a third time.

  Payne Emerson is quite possibly the best person I’ve ever known, or ever will know, but we can’t be together. I want nothing more than for him to find true happiness. As much as I love him, and will love him forever, he’ll never find that with me; my life will always be a dramatic mess.

  My undead big brother.

  My deeply damaged, sexually abusive mother and absentee, clueless father.

  My addiction.

  These things will always be attached to me, and he’ll come to resent them; to resent me.

  And he’ll leave.

  Selfishly, I thought we could carry on the way we were, my feelings for him unrequited and hidden.

  Until he told me he loved me.

  And ruined everything.

  Chapter One

  Bodhi sits on the curb in front of his family’s garage half an hour later, holding me carefully on his lap.

  “How come we’re not inside waiting?” I ask drowsily.

  “Because you love the stars and the way things appear so different in the moonlight,” he says quietly. If I had any tears left, I’d shed them for this moment.

  “You remember that?”

  “I remember all kinds of things. My name, where I live, random things chicks say during conversations at treatment facilities.” His muted chuckle rumbles in his chest, before he gets serious again. “Know what else I remember? That you promised yourself this would never happen again, that you would never walk this path again.”

  “Well, to be fair, I’m not exactly walking anywhere right now.” My lame attempt at a joke falls flat.

  “Not funny.”

  “Why does everybody keep telling me that?” I ask the night sky above us. The familiar rumble of the Camaro purrs in the distance, slowly getting louder as the car approaches us. “I’m sorry, Bodhi, sorry for being a screw-up.” Dotting a chaste kiss on his cheek, I feel him sigh and can just barely make out the smile gracing his mouth.

  “I know you are, but you need to sort your shit out, Sunday. This is no way to live,” he says pointedly. “You and I both know that.” Stella’s car rounds the corner and pulls into the lot. Not bothering to shut off the engine, she and Poe jump out and hurry over to Bodhi and me. “She’s okay, just tired and hurting. A good night’s sleep and she’ll be fine in the morning. Physically, at least,” Bodhi says, handing me over to Poe before getting up.

  He stands and watches while my friends load me gently in the backseat. Stella stays with me, fussing and fretting, while Poe walks back over to the other guy. The little I can see from this position looks like Poe is thanking him. Bodhi nods in acknowledgement before waving once at Stella and walking through the lot back into the shop.

  “Sunday, I know you feel like complete shit physically and mentally, so I’ll let you have that tonight. But come tomorrow, you and me? We’re going to have a little talk and things are going to get real, real damn quick,” Stella says, relief and anger making her voice quiver as she slides into the driver’s seat.

  “You okay back there, Sun? Or you want to switch so you can sit shotgun?” Poe offers generously as he opens the passenger door and climbs in.

  “Wow, I must be in bad shape,” I say, my voice pathetic. “Poe Halliday offering to give up shotgun to a girl?”

  “Yeah, it’s a new thing I’m trying, not being a dick. Don’t get used to it.” He warns jokingly.

  The three of us are quiet as we head out of Ashbrook and back to Folkestone, the only sound in the car the muffled road noise and Alexisonfire’s ‘Season of the Flood’ playing softly on the sound system.

  Payne’s current favorite song.

  Curling into a ball, I drift between the notes, feeling like a shell of myself until I notice the car starting to slow.

  Why are we stopping? There’s no way we’re home yet.

  When I open my eyes, the interior of the car is lit with blue and red, flashing in time with the pounding of my heart. Even though some innate sense of self-preservation tells me it’s the last thing I want to do, I force myself to sit up fully to see what’s happening.

  We’ve just crested the hill that divides the towns of Ashbrook and Folkestone. There are a couple of cruisers blocking the road ahead, with the nose of an ambulance just visible past the front end of a fire truck off to the side.

  “What the hell?” Poe mutters under his breath as Stella pulls over and rolls to a stop. “Stay here,” he orders us and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Stella and I watch him walk over and speak to one officer standing next to his cruiser. Whatever the cop says has Poe dashing frantically around the back of the fire truck and sliding clumsily into the culvert beside it.

  “Do not move from this car!” Stella yells at me, and jumps out, running after her boyfriend.

  I sit frozen in the backseat, barely taking a breath as I wait for my friends to come back. Stella reappears first, sobbing and half dragging Poe
behind her. As soon as he gets to the top of the incline, he falls to his hands and knees and starts dry-heaving. Unable to stay in the safety of the Camaro any longer, I slip out from behind the driver’s seat and stumble toward the side of the road.

  “Sunday, no!” Stella screams too late.

  The twisted wreck of a beautiful silver sports car with truly ridiculous doors rests on its roof at the bottom of the short incline, steam rising from the undercarriage that’s folded almost totally in half. The blood thunders steadily louder in my ears, warning of the coming storm that will sweep me out to sea and leave me to drown in misery.

  Standing on the gravel shoulder watching everything that was supposed to be my future slip away, I reach into my pocket and pull out the tiny ring I gave to the boy I love so many years ago. My hand clutches around it tightly as the first piercing cry rips free of my lips, and the only thought echoing through my mind is that I never should have taken it back.

  Chapter Two

  This could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some monumentally stupid shit over the course of my eighteen years. But I can’t just sit on my hands and wait to find out what the hell is going on, and why Stella and Poe raced off like they did. The thought that something bad has happened to Sunday, and that it’s my fault, makes me want to throw up.

  My swirling thoughts and strong emotions mix badly with the beer I drank tonight, and whatever the hell it was that I snorted, and suddenly it’s not a matter of want to throw up but have to.

  The car crunches on the gravel shoulder, and I manage to get out before puking up dinner and the beer I drank at the party.

  Hell, this retching is bad enough that it feels like puking up everything I’ve had to drink ever.

  Bent over in the brush at the side of the road, I make the age-old—and rarely lived up to—promise of teenagers everywhere and swear I’m never drinking again, because that shit tastes way worse coming up than it does going down. When the heaving finally stops, I swipe the sleeve of my hoodie across my mouth and grimace at the streak of vomit left behind.

  That’s it, Emerson, go try to convince the girl you love to forgive you with regurgitated pasta on your shirt. She may love Eminem, but on you that’s just gross.

  After pulling the offending article of clothing over my head and yanking down the T-shirt I have on underneath, I wad the soiled black fabric into a ball and walk back to the car. As I open the driver’s side door, something tickles my peripheral vision, making my glance flick to the right.

  Maybe seven or eight car lengths down the shoulder, a dark nondescript sedan sits with its engine and lights off, even though I can see somebody in it, which is a little weird. Thinking that car trouble is the only logical reason anybody else would be parked out here right now, I toss my balled-up hoodie on the passenger side floor and grab my phone, fully intending to offer my help to the other driver. Before I can take two steps, though, the sedan’s engine roars to life and the headlights illuminate the surrounding area brightly enough to make me throw my arm up to shield my eyes. Disoriented, I stumble backward and crack the top of my head on the still open driver’s door in my hurry to get out of the way.

  Damn it. Sunday’s right; these really are ridiculous doors.

  The other car speeds past me, just barely missing sideswiping the McLaren and squashing me like a bug between the two vehicles.

  Okay, so I guess they didn’t need help, after all.

  The taillights disappear into the night, and I chalk it up to a couple of kids playing hide the sausage who didn’t want the embarrassment of getting caught. Personally, I’ve never had a problem with an audience, but I’m also working with above average equipment. I snicker and feel a cocky smirk slide across my lips as I climb back into my car, but both fade quickly at the memory of exactly where my equipment was tonight.

  My stomach has calmed down for the most part and the adrenaline rush of nearly being pancaked erased any lingering buzz I might have had. Now that I can think more clearly, I need to figure out where Sunday would have run after what she saw back at Aylie’s party. The answer is obvious within seconds.

  Bodhi Ranes.

  Since Stella was with us at the party, the only other person Sunday would’ve gone to is him. She’s always insisted that there’s nothing going on between the two of them, and I believe her, but that doesn’t stop the jealousy that floods my veins every time I think about the two of them together. Sunday’s taken me with her to Bodhi’s dad’s garage in Ashbrook a few times in hopes of cultivating a friendship between the two of us, so I know they hang out there sometimes. Starting the engine, I pull back onto the empty road and head toward the neighboring town and my mind wanders back to earlier tonight.

  Hali Torsten.

  How the hell could I have let that happen? Drunk or high or whatever, I still should’ve been able to fend off that nightmare—for both mine and Sunday’s sake. Hali gets off on being a mean girl and has made it her mission since grade school to make Sunday feel like shit. Now that Stella’s shown up and is both Sunday’s best friend and Hali’s secret half-sister, it’s gotten even worse. Nasty gossip, blatant lies—whatever she can think of, and she’s got quite the imagination. That girl spreads bullshit more often than she spreads her fucking legs, and that’s saying something.

  Disappointment at my role in this mess nearly chokes me, and I reach over to flick on the car stereo for distraction. HEALTH’s ‘Body/Prison’ screams from the speakers and I let myself sink into the heavy beat. The hill that signals the town line between Folkestone and Ashbrook looms in the distance, and I feel a small sense of relief that the Ranes’ family garage is only another fifteen minutes from here. Sunday’s face when she was standing in the doorway of Aylie’s bedroom and realized what was going on will haunt me forever. There is a desperate need rooted deep within me to never have her look at me like that again, and I refuse to let things end like this.

  A set of oncoming headlights crests the hill ahead, two pinpricks in the darkness. As they get closer, I watch them swerve into my lane, and a strange feeling of foreboding washes over me. With no other cars around, the driver obviously isn’t trying to pass anybody, and tonight is definitely not the night for a game of chicken. My palm presses flat on the horn, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up when I realize whoever is behind the wheel isn’t veering from their collision course.

  I change lanes.

  They follow.

  I change back.

  They follow.

  There is no question I can outrun this asshole, whoever they are. I mean, this is a McLaren for fuck’s sake. The problem I have right now is, how do I get around them? With every move I make, they mirror it, and things are getting a little too close for comfort.

  Fuck this.

  The only available option seems to be to pull over and let them pass. The only sane option, anyway. If they keep driving, great. If they decide to pull over and stop too, I’m more than happy to beat the living fuck out of them just for being an asshole and wasting my time. I take my foot off the gas and the car immediately loses speed. Unexpectedly, another set of headlights floods the night behind me, closing the distance between us quickly and riding my ass near enough that I can see the silhouette of the driver. Fear slithers its way down my spine.

  I’m boxed in.

  Trapped by these two fuckers.

  Adrenaline races through my system, and I make a rash decision. Not giving myself time to think about it, I jam my foot down on the gas pedal and the kick of speed is instant. At the last possible second, I white-knuckle the wheel and jerk it roughly to the left to pass the car coming straight at me in the wrong lane.

  I just need to get past them.

  Once I’m past them, they won’t be able to keep up.

  One more secon—

  The front bumper of the oncoming car clips my back end as the driver figures out what my plan is and abruptly changes course, sending me into a sideways drift.
They correct and swerve down the shoulder out of the way, while the vehicle behind me plows into the rear passenger side of my sports car, pushing me all the way into an out-of-control, high-speed spin to the far side of the road.

  I see what’s coming and there’s no way for me to prevent it. As the front tire catches the edge between the shoulder and the culvert beyond, I feel the car begin to flip and brace myself, knowing this isn’t going to be like the time Raff rolled his Porsche. There's too much speed, too much torque.

  I’m not coming back from this.

  The smell of scorched rubber floods the car, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the world outside the windshield goes topsy-turvy. Sunday’s beautiful smile and tawny eyes fill my mind, and I hope to God she knows how much I loved her.

  Chapter Three

  “What do you mean he isn’t here?” Poe’s voice stretches thin and tight. “We saw the ambulance leave. Even with Leadfoot over there breaking land speed records,” he gestures offhandedly in our direction, “they had a good ten-minute head start. Can you check again, please? Payne Emerson, E-m-e—”

  The charge nurse clucks her tongue in admonishment as she cuts him off.

  “I know who you’re looking for, and I can certainly spell his last name, Mr. Halliday.” She shrugs, sympathy dulling her brusque edges only slightly. “I don’t know what to tell you. There’s no record of your friend anywhere in this hospital. Perhaps he was taken somewhere else?” At her words, my empty stomach rolls and flips for the zillionth time tonight.