Until Valerie: Happily Ever Alpha World

  Until Valerie

  Happily Ever Alpha World

  Jessica Marin

  Edited by

  Emma Mack

  Cover Design by

  Najla Qamber Designs

  Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Marin.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Until Valerie

  Published by Boom Factory Publishing, LLC.

  Jessica Marin, CONTRIBUTOR, to the Original Works was granted permission by Aurora Rose Reynolds, ORIGINAL AUTHOR, to use the copyrighted characters and/ or worlds created by Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Work; all copyright protection to the characters and/ or worlds of Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Works are and shall continue to be retained by Aurora Rose Reynolds. You can find all of Aurora Rose Reynolds Original Works on most major retailers.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Crystal and Neil- thank you for inviting me into your world, but most importantly, thank you for your continuous support and calling me family.

  “Real Friends Treat You Like Family”

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Jessica Marin

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  ROWAN

  Yellow, orange, green and crimson.

  The dramatic colors of autumn in Tennessee fill my vision as I soak in the view during my daily commute to work. The morning air is crisp with coolness, the wind stinging my cheeks while the sun’s rays peek through the openings between the trees and their branches. The winding road makes me secure my grip on the handlebars, revving my engine faster as I steer the bike along the open, curvy backroads toward the town of Murfreesboro, my work home for the last three years. Never did I think a kid like me from Boston would come to love the country roads of the South, but they have captured my heart and I can’t contain the smile that spreads along my face, the feeling of freedom racing through my veins as I command my Harley along these old roads.

  Ten minutes later, I park my bike in the back lot of the Broken Eagles Motorcycle Repair Shop and head to the house that’s situated a few yards away from it. It’s a place where the members of the Broken Eagles Motorcycle Club hang out, have meetings and can relax. The house has a gym, kitchen, dining room, entertainment area and some bedrooms in case some of the members need to spend the night. The beds in those rooms have seen so much action that you couldn’t even pay me to sleep on them, even if I was drunk and couldn’t drive.

  I put my backpack in one of the lockers and head straight for the gym. As usual, I’m the first to arrive and I relish in the silence that gives me the opportunity to psych myself up for my workout. I have always been into fitness, ever since it was drilled into me by my father at a young age. Strong body makes up for a stupid mind, he would always say.

  Yup, my asshole of a father would say that to me. I never understood why my father thought I was stupid.

  Maybe he thought so because I didn’t walk as early as my siblings did.

  Maybe he thought so because I wouldn’t talk as early as my siblings did.

  Maybe he thought so because the doctors told my parents to hold me back a year from starting Kindergarten.

  Maybe he thought so because I wanted to be a professional hockey player, not a business entrepreneur like he was.

  Regardless of the fact that I eventually walked just fine, talked just fine, excelled at school and was actually really good at playing hockey, I still couldn’t convince my father that I was just as smart as my siblings were. Thank God you’re good-looking, he would say, gripping my chin painfully as he would study my face year after year until I was confident enough to remove myself from his grasp.

  I shake my head of the memories, wishing that little things like coming to the gym didn’t set off a painful path down memory lane. I set up my workout playlist on the gym’s sound system and hit play, cranking it loud enough so that the bass of Metallica’s Sad But True vibrates the mirrors on the wall. I step on the treadmill, set my speed and start to run. The constant pounding of my feet on the moving track is like white noise, lulling me back into thoughts of my fucked up family. It isn’t until thirty minutes later that a voice breaks through my concentration.

  “Rowan, get your pretty ass over here and spot me!”

  I smile, loving the sound of that deep, demanding voice. A voice that I’ve been listening to ever since we were part of the same platoon during deployment in the Navy SEALS. I decrease the speed on the treadmill until it’s safe enough to stop the machine and walk off. I grab my water bottle and take a drink before wiping off my sweat with a towel. I walk over to the bench and stand at the head, ready for Kyle to start his bench presses.

  “What’s the bet today, Row?” Kyle asks, waiting on my answer before adding weight to his bar. For the last couple of weeks, Kyle and I have been taking on physical strength challenges, betting that the other one can’t complete something that’s more physically demanding than what our normal routine is. I take a moment to think about what my bet will be for him today. I don’t want him to hurt himself, but I also don’t want to keep losing twenty bucks each week.

  “I bet that you can’t complete ten reps of three hundred pounds.” I laugh at the look of outrageous shock that crosses his face. Kyle is by no means a bodybuilder and while he works out daily, his eating and drinking habits keep a nice little food baby in his stomach. He didn’t have that gut when we were in the service. In fact, Kyle used to be rigorous with his workouts and clean eating. But, death changes you and watching your best friends get killed makes you realize how precious life is. Since then, Kyle has lived a faster pace of life. More food, more booze, and a whole lot more women. Ten reps of three hundred pounds would have been nothing for the old Kyle. New Kyle is going to struggle.

  “Dude, you high right now? I can’t bench press that! Bet not accepted!” Kyle pouts his lips, slashing his hand through the air at the same time. I can’t help but laugh at what a big baby he looks and sounds like right about now.

  “Sorry, Bro. I forgot how much of a pussy you really are.” I quickly duck to avoid getting struck by the water bottle he throws at me. Mic, another one of our MC brothers, is not so lucky as the water bottle strikes him in the stomach just as he walks through the door. He grunts, looking at us both in surprise.

  “Whose ball sack am I about to destroy?” He picks up the water bottle from the floor and stomps over to us.

  “Sorry Mic, that was meant for Rowan for calling me a pussy,” Kyle grumbles, giving me a dirty look. Mic raises an eyebrow at us, waiting for an explanation.
>
  “Kyle refuses my bench press challenge. I bet him ten reps at three hundred. I forgot he was incapable of doing it, so when he whined about it, I called him a pussy. Nothing new that he hasn’t heard before.” I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, not understanding why Kyle’s making this out to be a big deal. Lately he has gotten more sensitive when the guys joke with him about his softer physique. He’s still in better shape than most American men and it does nothing to deter the ladies of vying for his attention.

  “Rowan’s right - you can’t do it and you are a pussy.” Mic drops his bag to the floor and crosses his arms against his muscled chest.

  “Fuck you, Mic! I can do it!”

  “Would you do it already? I can hear your whiny voice all the way outside,” Everett bellows as he and Z make their way into the gym. Harlen and Wes, the owner of the shop and our boss, follow behind them, making the morning workout crew now complete with their arrival. They crowd around the bench and Kyle can’t take the heat of everyone’s mocking gazes. He proceeds to stack the three hundred pounds on his bar, lays back on the bench, positions his hands on the proper place of the bar, and takes a couple of deep breaths. I smile at each of the guys, hoping that our reverse psychology would motivate Kyle to push himself into trying.

  “Y’all can suck it!” Kyle grunts as he lifts the bar up, steadies himself, and slowly brings the bar down to his chest. We all start chanting the countdown, encouraging him to keep going when he reaches rep number five and struggles. His grunting gets louder and more frequent by rep number seven. His face looks like it’s about to explode at rep number eight. His arms are shaking at rep number nine. He moves at a snail’s pace, but eventually, I help him get the bar up and it lands with a loud bang on rep number ten. The noise level explodes into cheers from the guys.

  “I’m gonna fucking die,” he pants while I help him up into a sitting position. His chest heaves up and down with every new breath he struggles to inhale. The guys give him congratulatory poundings on his back before Mic pours the remaining water from Kyle’s water bottle over his head. The shock of the water makes Kyle yelp and stand up to try to get away, but we enclose him in a circle, blocking him in with a group hug. As we throw our arms around each other in celebration, I realize that I need to let go of the pain caused by my father thinking I was never good enough and move on with my life.

  I do have a family that loves me.

  I do have people who believe in me.

  I do have people who encourage me.

  My life in Boston is a distant past. Tennessee is now the place I call home and my brothers from the Broken Eagles are the only family I need.

  Chapter Two

  VALERIE

  “Please tell me you’re on your way?”

  I blink my eyes at the computer screen, trying to digest what my sister is asking me while wondering why these numbers on my excel spreadsheet are not adding up. I’m beyond frustrated since I’ve been crunching numbers for four hours without a resolution in sight. It’s already six-thirty in the evening and I wouldn’t have even picked up the phone until I got this right, but my sister has called fives times in a row. Thinking it’s a medical emergency, I finally picked up.

  “What’s happening? Are you okay? Mom and Dad? Did someone die? What’s wrong?” I panic, asking in one long sentence, gripping the phone in preparation for bad news.

  “You’re joking, right?” Her tone of voice is laced with disgust, making it obvious this wasn’t an emergency.

  “So, no one’s dying?” I question, my concentration going right back to my spreadsheet.

  “You’ll be if you don’t get here soon. You’re already fifteen minutes late!” Alyson says with anger, something I’m not used to hearing from her. I rack my brain, trying to remember what commitment I had with her on a Wednesday night. I have zero alert notifications on my phone for an appointment. Biting my lip, I reach for my bag to get my day planner, praying that I didn’t write something in there and forget to transfer it over to my phone calendar. I like to use both my planner and my phone calendar for appointments, but lately, I’ve been having a difficult time managing both.

  “Really? I haven’t been keeping track of time,” I say, making excuses as I continue looking for my planner in my ridiculously oversized work bag that has unnecessary papers and garbage in it, which of course are hiding the important items. “I’m leaving the office in five minutes. Where am I meeting you again?” I innocently ask, hoping it jogs my memory of why I’m meeting her.

  “Dress fitting!” she yells into the phone just as my eyes go wide in disbelief when I see the appointment written in bold in my day planner.

  Shit!

  “On my way! Love ya, bye!” I say rapidly, ending the call before she has a chance to tell me what a horrible sister I am for forgetting such an important event. I gather my papers and laptop and throw them into my bag as I race out of my office. Everyone else has gone home for the evening, so no one can see what a lunatic I look like running out of the building to my car. Fortunately, the bridal shop is only ten minutes away from my office in downtown Nashville.

  Saying a prayer of thanks to the traffic gods for no traffic and only giving me green lights, I make it to the shop in a record eight minutes. I slip out of my car, pull open the door to the shop, run toward the back, and throw myself onto the couch next to my mother just as my sister walks out of the dressing room. My breath lodges in my throat at the vision of my baby sister coming toward us.

  “Oh Aly!” I sigh as she steps up onto the podium, turns around and looks at herself in the full length mirror. Her eyes travel up her body, her gorgeous smile shining through those whiskey colored eyes as she looks at us in the mirror with pure happiness.

  “It fits perfectly,” she whispers, looking at us for confirmation. My mother and I just nod our heads, tears spilling down our cheeks in awe at the beauty standing before us. The lace bodice of the trumpet style wedding dress hugs her body tight in all the right places. When the sales consultant puts veil on her head, that familiar fierce protectiveness over my sister grips my heart as I realize in three months time, she’ll be traveling the world with her new husband while his band is on tour. My tears fall harder, turning to tears of sadness knowing I will soon be without my best friend. Even though she’s four years younger than me, Alyson has always been my protector, my biggest cheerleader, and my rock. She’s the light to my darkness and seeing her in this dress just makes my heart break even more. As she twirls around from encouragement of our mother, I put a smile on my face for her, despite the ache at the thought of her imminent absence. Regardless of my feelings of selfishness for not wanting her to leave me, I’m happy she has found someone who loves her as fiercely as she deserves to be loved.

  I was with her that night she met Gavin, a night that seems like yesterday since it wasn’t really that long ago. Eight months to be exact. She just graduated from Belmont University, working as an intern at one of the music labels on Music Row. She called me on a Tuesday, begging me to come with her to a special event her label was hosting at the famous Bluebird Cafe. Work had been grueling since it was tax season and all of us CPAs were working overtime for our clients at the firm. Normally I would have said no, but with the long hours I had been putting in, an adult cocktail, some good music, and my sister’s company was exactly what I needed. The moment Gavin came on stage, her eyes were glued to him, her mouth slightly agape with wonder at the sight of him. I understood her reaction at first since he’s very good-looking, but then he stared at her in exactly the same fashion she was staring at him. He wouldn’t look at anyone else while he sang. His green eyes caressed her face, then traveled downward as he undressed her with his eyes. It started to creep me out, seeing someone that intently stare at my baby sister. I looked at her to see if she was getting the weirdo psycho vibe that I was feeling, but instead, she sighed dreamily and stared at him like some rockstar god. As soon as his set was done, he handed her a card with his cell phone and mouthed
“call me”.

  “You aren’t seriously going to call him, are you?” I had asked incredulously as that same disgustingly cutesy look stayed on her face when we walked to our cars later that evening. My sister never chased men - they always flocked to her. With her long caramel locks, golden eyes, and a smile always on her face, she radiated sunshine and warmth that was a magnet for everyone to be attracted to. The polar opposite of me, the Ice Princess (not a nickname I gave myself, thank you very much).

  “Of course I am.” She gave me a seductive smile while typing in his phone number into her cell. She pulled away from the parking lot just as I heard her voice on her bluetooth phone speaker say, “Hello, Gavin? This is Alyson, the girl from Bluebird Cafe.”

  She went out with him the next night.

  She told us she was in love with him one week later.

  She moved in with him three months later.

  She was engaged to him four months later.

  Personally, I felt this was moving way too quickly. Every time I tried to gently tell her my opinion, she would say until I felt it, I can’t have an opinion on it.

  “Felt what? Love?” I asked in confusion.

  “Not just any kind of love - a soul wrenching, wrapping-it’s-claws-around-your-heart, kind of love the instant your eyes catch each other.” She stared off into space as she said it and I seriously questioned whether or not my sister had gotten into drugs. Her eyes finally came back to mine and as soon as she noticed the look of utter disbelief on my face, she got annoyed and threw her hands up in the air. “You know, that feeling that you can’t live without someone? When you see them, your heart starts to pound like crazy? You know… like a shazam!” she said, throwing her hands into my face that caused me to jump.