- Home
- Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Hope Series Box Set
Hope Series Box Set Read online
Hope Series Box Set
A Sports Romance
Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Copyright © Sydney Aaliyah Michelle 2015
Published by SAM & Associates, LLC
Cover design © Rebecca Berto
Berto Designs
Editing by Jenny Sims
Editing 4 Indies
No part of this publication may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photography, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other then that in which it is originally published.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to person, living or dead or places, actual events or locales are purely coincidental.
The characters and names are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
Contents
What others are saying
Books by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Hope for Her
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
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Hope for Him
Prologue
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
Hope for Us
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Bonus Material
Hope for Us Alternative Ending
Hope for Him Writing Journal
Another New Life Chapter One
A New Season Chapter One
About Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
What others are saying
“I couldn’t put it down.” MsDeeva
“It was stupidily-awesome.” Jessica
“This entire series was soooo intense. Starting with book 1 and continuing through book 3, the story line never faltered. Loved it.” Purple Haze
“What happened towards the end , I wasn’t expecting. As I read , I was feeling all kinds of emotions & the end left me ready to read the second book.” Artsy Book Lovin Sisters
“I am a big fan of these books and I have to say well played to the author, she could have rushed and made these two books but she didn’t because she never left out details.” LisaCharlie
“A great sequel.” Barb Online Book Club
“And the ride Continues!!!!!! . . .Another TOUCHDOWN for Sydney.” Bluz Queen
Books by
Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Stand Alone Romance
Another New Life
A New Season
The Hope Series
Hope for Her
(Hope Series Book #1)
Hope for Him
(Hope Series Book #2)
Hope for Us
(Hope Series Book #3)
Romance Anthology
Affairs of the Heart
To receive information about
Sydney Aaliyah Michelle’s
events and new releases, please sign up for
Sydney’s News.
Hope for Her
Chapter One
Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV
I stood on these same fraternity house steps fifteen years ago and pledged my allegiance to the Florida State Seminole Nation. I was four years old. All these years later, I craved the innocence of that four-year-old, because walking into my fraternity house after the way I screwed up was not an easy task.
I dragged my overstuffed bag up the steps, praying I wouldn’t see anyone.
With each step toward the door, the weight of my family, my name, and my father’s influence pressed on me. I half expected my father’s six-foot-two frame to be standing behind me, pushing me into the life he expected for me.
“This is your legacy, my boy,” he would say. I would nod and tune him out. I’d heard this speech a million times before.
His influence stained the floorboards; his shadow loomed. He probably haunted the place.
“Joshua Elijah Griffin the fourth.”
Oh, shit. Dad?
I stopped in my tracks and looked up to see Jackson Mitchell, my oldest friend, standing in the doorframe. A wave of relief washed over me. We’ve been friends since the fourth grade.
“Hey buddy,” he said and chuckled as he approached and hugged my torso.
His bear hug cut off the circulation in my arms, and I dropped my bag at my feet. As the leader and quarterback of the FSU football team, he personified the all-American football player. He stood six-foot-four and was listed at two hundred and twenty pounds. I looked like a twelve-year-old kid standing next to him.
Jackson and I met on the first day of fourth grade at Brentmore Academy, a private school in Orlando, Florida. I attended Brentmore since preschool, so I was given the task of showing our newest recruit around campus. I insulted him for being a former public school kid, he insulted me for my lame insult, and from that moment on we stuck up for each other. Everyone was surprised we became such good friends; we had nothing in common.
I shied away from my family’s expectations, but Jackson thrived on his. His father played professional football for twelve years; they moved to Orlando when he retired. As we got older, Jackson’s journey put him on the path to the NF
L, like his father, but I had jumped off the path of my father’s destiny a long time ago.
“Welcome to FSU,” he said. “And PKP.”
Phi Kappa Pi house, the proverbial and literal center of Greek life at FSU, sat in the middle of the block of fraternity row. Phi Kappa Pi, or PKP as we called it, recruited the wealthiest and most prestigious, but not necessarily the smartest, male students on campus.
As the oldest fraternity in the nation, we wore history and heritage like a badge of honor and relied on that badge to get ahead or get away with stuff, depending on how you looked at it.
I stood next to Jackson looking up and down the street. The exterior of our house, like most on the street, looked like an old Victorian mansion with an ornate front door: white columns, painted shutters, and manicured lawn—rich, opulent, and impressive. Pleasant place to raise a family, if you ignored the horny college frat boys running around with too much money and too much time on their hands.
If people witnessed what went on behind the shutters, they would be disgusted—our parents would be ashamed. But they created most of the current Phi Kappa Pi rituals and excused the debauchery by calling it tradition—my father and grandfather included.
I found the whole thing silly, brotherhood and unity, but I had no choice. I was a legacy. PKP chose me.
My family arrived in Florida around the time the United States acquired it from Spain. The Griffins stepped off the boat and bought everything they got their hands on. Their wealth afforded them a certain level of royalty-like status. As Joshua Elijah Griffin IV, my name carried with it a level of expectation. I started to rebel early against those expectations, but it never worked. My name, time and time again, saved me and put me back on track.
“Come on in. I’ll show you around,” Jackson said.
I followed Jackson through the front door, and nostalgia hit my brain while nausea clinched my insides.
Why am I always following him?
“This place even smells the same,” I said.
The brown leather couches, overstuffed chairs, and dark wood tables gave the place a staged hunting lodge GQ cover feel.
Jackson began his speech.
“We hold meetings in the theater every Sunday night. It’s mandatory,” Jackson said. I stared at him. “What?”
“J, man, I know. I’ve been PKP even before I was born.”
“Sorry, man. Habit, I guess.” Jackson sat down running his hand over his cropped brown hair—a nervous habit since we were kids. “You sure you’re up for this?”
My eyes narrowed and I gnawed on my thumbnail. I knew what he meant but waited for him to say it out loud.
“You got out of rehab like a week ago,” he said. “You sure you’re ready to be back on a college campus? Not worried about temptations?”
“What temptations?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I mean this is a frat house. We drink, and we party hard. Maybe pledges from FU do it different.”
“Yeah, FU’s PKPs snort pixie dust and sit in a smokehouse in the backyard singing old Negro spirituals.”
His smirk made me feel better. Getting shit from Jackson felt like the old days.
In a bitter failed attempted at getting out of my family’s—and when I say family, I mean my father’s—shadow, I applied and was accepted into University of Florida. It might not sound like a big deal, but it was a huge detour from the status quo. My great-great-grandmother graduated with the first graduating class at Florida State University in 1901. Since then, at least one Griffin graduated from FSU every decade, sometimes two or three. My great-grandfather went to FSU, my grandfather, too. My father, my mother, and both of my sisters—they all went to FSU.
When I told my family my plans to attend the University of Florida, hundreds of Griffins rolled over in their graves.
When it came to Florida State versus University of Florida, we weren’t talking ordinary college rivalry stuff. FSU students refer to the University of Florida as FU, instead of U of F, as in ‘fuck you if you go to the University of Florida’.
The north versus the south, U.S. versus England, North Korea versus South Korea, insignificant compared to the Florida State versus University of Florida rivalry. If a Chinese person married a Japanese person, the Japanese family would disown their child. If an FSU student married a U of F student, the families would disown them both.
I collapsed into the nearest leather chair. “Hey, but, we’re all brothers. No matter where I pledged, right?”
I stared at him, waiting for his answer.
“We are brothers,” Jackson said and nodded. He stood up. I followed and relaxed, knowing he meant more than our fraternity connection. I missed my oldest friend.
We headed up the curved stairs; the house was empty this time of day. I would meet the others soon enough.
“This is you. I’m next door.”
I peered into the room and surveyed my surroundings. The room looked like a nondescript hotel room with a queen-size bed and two nightstands in the same oak as downstairs. A small sitting area with a couch and two chairs was situated in the corner near the window. The rich garnet comforter, with its gold accents, reminded me of my childhood bedroom, including the family portrait sitting on the nightstand. I walked straight for it and put it in a drawer.
“Natalie sent this stuff up last week with detailed instructions, including a sketch for reference.” Natalie Palmer was the latest twenty-something blonde-haired, blue-eyed idiot vying for her turn as the next Mrs. Griffin. I dropped down on the bed.
“What are the guys saying?” I asked as I rubbed a hand across my forehead.
“The guys are happy you finally came to your senses.” Jackson leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
“You’re a terrible liar, Jackson.”
“It will take some time, but the guys will come around. It’s not like you’re the first brother who did something stupid.”
“Yes, but I did something stupid as an FU student.”
“As if being an FU student wasn’t stupid enough,” Jackson said and laughed.
“Thanks man,” I said.
“What are you thanking me for?”
“For vouching for me.”
“Well, don’t make me look like a dick,” he warned, heading out of the room and closing the door behind him.
I leaned back and squeezed my eyes shut. I should be grateful, having a place to go at all, anything to avoid going home.
Even after getting kicked out of U of F for substance abuse and spending the last three months in rehab, my brothers of PKP had to take me. My dad offered to remodel the game room, so fair trade.
I met with the Dean of Students this morning and listened to his speech on responsibility and second chances. I saw it in his eyes. The lecture, a futile attempt to assert his power, but he knew it, and I knew it, too. None of us had a choice in the matter.
FSU had to take me; no matter how much I messed up—another privilege of being a Griffin. No matter how misguided and off the path I went, I always managed to get back on track. Even though sometimes I was dragged back kicking and screaming.
When I left rehab, the head counselor sat me in his office and talked to me about taking advantage of my second chance. He had it wrong. This was my last chance.
You figure I’d be more focused on getting it right this time.
***
Carrington Olivia Butler
As we turned into campus, I stared out the window, tuning out my mother and brother in the front seat musing about nothing and everything. It had been this way since we left Dallas yesterday. Actually, it has been this way my whole life. My mother and I were never as close as she is to my brother, and this drive cross-country marked her final obligation as my mother. She was finally getting rid of me.
“The campus is really lovely,” Mom commented as she followed the signs to my dorm.
“Much bigger than SMU,” David, my brother, said. He turned around in the seat and stared at me.
/>
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m just surprised you decided to go so far away from home.”
He turned back around.
I knew it sounded ridiculous and childish, but I swore my mother grew more and more giddy the closer we got to Tallahassee.
I wasn’t a problem child. Quite the opposite, actually, I never got into any trouble at all. I was the youngest in my family, by almost ten years, and I had ruined my parents’ plans to travel the world once my brother left home. They liked to blame me, but maybe the fact that my mom’s diaphragm never made it into her luggage on a weekend trip to Jamaica eighteen years ago was to blame.
I applied to several schools, both in Texas and Louisiana. But, as I discovered that more and more of my high school classmates were going to those schools, I set my sights on someplace farther away from home. I wanted to go someplace where no one knew me, so I applied and was accepted into Florida State.