Where I Found You (Heart's Compass Book 1) Read online

  Where I Found You: A Heart’s Compass Novel

  Copyright © 2017 by Author Brooke O’Brien

  All Rights Reserved

  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 written permissions of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Visit my website at: www.authorbrookeobrien.com

  Where I Found You

  Edited by: Roxane LeBlanc, Rox Reads

  Proofreader: Julie Deaton, Author Services by Julie Deaton

  Cover Design: Najla Qamber, Najla Qamber Designs

  Front Cover Photo: Photographed by Lindee Robinson, Lindee Robinson Photography

  Cover Models: Andrew Kruczynski and Daria Rottenberk

  Back Cover Photo: Shutterstock

  Interior Design: Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon!

  Playlist

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Connect With Brooke

  This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever ran from their past, only to find themselves right where they were meant to be all along.

  12 Years Old

  Sitting on the floor in my bedroom, I’ve been staring off into space for what feels like an hour now. My mom sent me downstairs to play, saying she didn’t want to look at me. It’s not the first time she’s told me she couldn’t bear the sight of me, but it hasn’t hardened my soul, doesn’t lessen the hurt. My thoughts continue to replay the way she was digging through the kitchen cabinets while tears streamed down her face. Her eyes red and her hair a tangled mess as she searched the cupboards for more alcohol.

  “Anything to make it go away,” she repeated over and over. She never said what she meant, but I knew.

  She wanted to take away the pain she felt after my Dad left us and went to heaven.

  I try to stay away from my mom when she’s drinking, but it seems like all the time lately. So instead I hide out in my room. It’s my safe place.

  I can hear my name being shouted from somewhere upstairs. I know my mom isn’t home. Coming up empty after a thorough search of all her hiding places, she headed to the store for reinforcements. Only one other person could be yelling for me.

  My heart starts to pound as I squeeze my eyes shut and say a prayer. I beg God every night for him to leave me alone. I’m living the same nightmares that keep me up at night.

  The dry, hoarse sound of my name being called again brings me crashing back to reality. On shaky legs, I stand while taking a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I want to run, but I know what would come either way, so instead, I leave the safety of my bedroom and head up the stairs. As soon as I reach the landing, the stench of cigarette smoke invades my nostrils, causing my stomach to turn.

  I hate the smell of cigarettes. It’s not only the scent or how they make my head hurt, but because they remind me so much of him. The two are synonymous and will forever be etched in my memory.

  The football game blares on the TV as smoke floats through the air. The curtains and windows are open. A fresh breeze flows and sunlight streams in onto the hardwood floors. I can hear the outside laughter of the neighbor kids, and for a minute, I wish I was like the other kids my age, spending the afternoon riding their bikes up and down the sidewalk or playing hide ‘n seek.

  I would give anything to be hiding in my room.

  Letting out a silent breath I didn’t realize I had been holding, I steal a glance out of the side of my eye to see him sitting in his chair in the corner of the living room. The ashtray on the end table is nearly overflowing with cigarette butts. My lip curls in disgust.

  “C’mere, sweet girl,” he says with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

  I stare at it as if I can somehow will it to fall, leaving burn marks on his skin in the process. Anything to get him to leave me alone for a while.

  “Come sit up here on my lap,” he commands, the tone forcing my feet to move.

  Advancing to stand in front of him, I take in the glassy, bloodshot look in his eyes. I wish I could say it surprises me, but it doesn’t. The clear liquid in the glass on the end table confirms what I already know. He’s been drinking. Vodka, to be exact.

  It’s not his first drink today, and I know it won’t be his last.

  Moving to sit on his knee, I turn to face the TV screen and use the football game to distract me from the way my stomach churns. I tell myself over and over to remain calm and remember to breathe, all while wishing I was anywhere else but here.

  Slow breaths, Ellie.

  Inhale slowly. Exhale slowly.

  He takes a deep drag from his cigarette and stubs it out in the ashtray. The smoke swirls around in front of my face. I hold my breath for as long as I can. He reaches out to pick up his half empty glass of vodka. Just before taking a drink, he tips his glass to me in offering. The grin on his face says it all. He thinks it’s funny, like the last time I fell for believing it was water.

  That’s not a mistake I will ever make again.

  Shaking my head, I somberly turn back to the TV. I can feel his chest vibrate against my back as he laughs before throwing back what’s left of his vodka. I want to be mad at him but I don’t have the strength to fight him.

  Not anymore.

  Wrapping his arm around my stomach, he pulls me back leaving no room between us. His hand runs along the underside of my chest, and it catches me off guard, causing me to tense. I don’t like it when he touches me. I harken my ears for the sound of my Mom’s car pulling into the driveway. At least when she’s home, he doesn’t bother me.

  Sweeping my long blond hair away from my face, he leans down pressing his nose against my neck. Running his cheek along mine, the stubble of his facial hair feels like sandpaper against my soft skin. He moves his hand down my stomach, groaning as he presses down, rubbing himself against my butt.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight back the tears that threaten to fall. The last thing I remember is the grunting sound he makes and the words my father used to say.

  Now they only cause me sadness.

  Pressing his cheek against mine, he groans, “That’s my sweet girl.”

  Today

  Losing someone close to you is one of the hardest things you can go through. The moment reality hits you, knowing you will never see them again can be the most difficult par
t to accept. The finality of death has a way of chipping away at your heart, bit by bit.

  You’d think by now I’d be used to it, I’ve spent most of my life picking up the broken pieces of my heart. But there is no guide to help you navigate through the stages of grief. Everyone has their own way of working through it, but for me what I wanted was to be left alone.

  The solitude of silence.

  I guess I’ve just gotten sick of seeing the look of pity on people’s faces and their constant questioning whether I’m okay. What did they expect me to say? It’s as if they believe there’s a difference in the pain you should feel between losing someone unexpectedly or knowing it’s their time. I started to wonder if they even gave a shit. If I were honest and told them how I felt, they’d be in tears. We can just leave it at that.

  I’ve spent the past three hours in the backseat of a cab. I suspected the driver was a lot like me, feeling weighed down by the constant need to fill the silence. If I wanted to waste my time with small talk and pleasantries, I’m sure we could chat about the rain beating heavy on the roof of the cab, or I could thank him for how fast he has managed to get me out of that godforsaken town.

  I don’t though, because what’s the point?

  The only sound that fills the silence is the GPS signaling we are approaching our destination. Pulling to a stop, I let out a deep breath as I look out the window taking in the dimly lit cafe.

  It’s been raining heavily all day, and the winds have started to pick up. Unzipping the front pocket of my backpack, I feel around for my coin purse, pulling out the cash I tucked away before turning to pay the driver. Mumbling a quick thank you, I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt as I open the passenger door.

  Rushing around to the trunk, I heave my suitcase onto the ground as I situate my backpack. I have less than an hour before I board the bus out of here. With a seven-hour bus trip ahead of me, I use my time wisely, stopping for a coffee and a quick bite to eat. My stomach growls at the thought.

  A bell rings as I open the old wooden door to the cafe. A wooden bar lined with barstools wraps around the front and tables sit around the outside of the room. It’s small and quaint.

  There’s an older man reading a newspaper at a table off to the side and a couple up at the bar laughing together as the waitress refills their coffee. By the looks of it, the weather must be keeping people away this afternoon.

  With a kind smile, the waitress raises her hand motioning for me to seat myself. Pulling my suitcase along behind me, I maneuver myself over to a table in the back corner, the sound of the wet wheels dragging along behind me. Pulling out the chair, I choose a seat closest to the window.

  The thunder cracks, drawing my attention back outside. Ominous clouds roll through the sky as another storm is brewing, leaving the sky an angry gray. I just hope the bus departure is not delayed. Another night here is not on my agenda.

  I moved in with my Grams when I was fourteen. Rarely would you see me venturing out of my house, much less the small town of Garwood where I grew up. A smile brightens my face as I think back to our talks at her dining table and her hopes that this day would come.

  “Ellie, promise me when you graduate high school, you’ll get out of here. You’ll do everything your father would’ve wanted for you and that I’ve hoped for you. Promise me you will no longer be held back by your fears and that you’ll follow your dreams.”

  I always knew I would have to go at some point; I just didn’t have the courage to leave her behind. She was the only person I had after my father passed away.

  It was nine days ago she, too, left me. You’d think after all the losses I’ve experienced I would be used to it by now, but laying her to rest was the hardest of them all.

  I decided it was time to make good on my promise. I knew if I didn’t, my past would eventually come crashing down around me. I’ve accepted no matter where I am, I will always feel like I’m looking over my shoulder. The fear of the day he’s released will always be there.

  “These bars will only protect you for so long, Ellie. When I get out of prison, I’ll find you. I’ll always find you.”

  It’s hard to move on from your past when everywhere you look, people remember what happened. I needed to start over, somewhere far from Garwood.

  I hadn’t given much thought to where I would go when I finally left. After heading to the library and browsing through Craigslist, I found a fully furnished farmhouse in a small town in Iowa. I don’t have enough money to make it much further, but I don’t need much to survive. It would do for now, at least until I could save up more money. Using the pay phone outside the library, I made a quick call where I learned not only was the house still available, but the landlord was also looking for someone to work at his store in town.

  I remember the sense of calmness that came over me after I hung up the phone. I know my Grams was with me at that moment. The decision felt right.

  So here I sit, thirty minutes away from boarding a bus and never looking back.

  After I eat and pay the tab for my meal, I stuff my wallet into the front pocket of my suitcase. Making my way outside, I look back and forth before heading down the sidewalk, suitcase still in tow. Thankfully the rain has let up, but storms still threaten.

  Nearing the bus station, I take in the short line of buses along the side of the building. Standing beneath the awning, I sling my bag around, taking out the ticket I had printed off yesterday. After checking the time on my iPod, I’m relieved to see I still have about fifteen minutes to spare before the bus pulls out of the station.

  Right on time.

  The wind has started to pick up, causing my hair to whirl around in front of my face making it difficult to see. Spotting the bus with the EVERTON sign on the front, I make a run for it, keeping my ticket clutched to my chest.

  Picking up my step, I rush down the side of the bus where bags are being loaded. Out of nowhere I’m knocked back, losing my footing. Everything’s a blur as I’m momentarily disoriented. My foot rolls as I crash into a hard surface just as two strong arms wrap around me.

  “Whoa, hey there!” I hear a deep voice rumbled against my ear. I don’t even register the words at first, too shocked by the sudden movement.

  His hands are splayed against my lower back, pressing me deeper against him. Lifting my head slowly, I am greeted with a small smile and the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. My eyes follow the path down his jaw that is thick with dark stubble to the outline of his mouth. For a second, I let myself think about how it would feel to run my hands along his cheek as I checked to see how soft his lips are. If I hadn’t already been struggling to breathe, the thought itself would nearly take my breath away.

  It’s embarrassing really, my immediate reaction to this man. A voice in the back of my head is telling me I should say something. Saying “hi” would certainly be a start, yet here I am just standing gawking at him.

  The sound of his throat clearing shakes me from my reverie as he tips his head with a knowing smirk on his face.

  “Sorry about that, beautiful. I’m not sure how I missed seeing you standing there.” The dark timbre of his voice captures all my attention, causing my heart rate to pick up speed. It takes me a minute before I even register what he said, too busy staring at his mouth, willing him to speak again.

  I could get lost in the gravelly way the words come out of his mouth and the feel of his arms around me. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s okay. I’m fine; it’s okay.” Realizing in my nervousness I had started to ramble, I mash my lips together to silence my utterings.

  Keeping my palms pressed against his muscular chest, I let my fingers slide over his strong body covered in a wet t-shirt. Taking a step back, I break the connection needing to put some distance between us. Just as I do, I lose my footing again, knocking my suitcase over into a huge puddle. The cold water splashing over my feet is like pouring a bucket of ice over my head, waking me up. Two strong hands shoot around me once again as I
quickly step forward out of the puddle.

  “You sure about that, sweetheart?” he asks, keeping his hands pressed low on my hips.

  Working up the courage to meet those beautiful baby blues, I see he is doing his best to fight off a smirk himself.

  Asshole.

  Nodding my head, I look down as I take a step back needing to separate myself from him. It’s near impossible to get my wits about me with my body pressed against him. I can’t hide the groan when I turn and find the suitcase full of everything I own, which isn’t much clearly, laying on its side in a puddle.

  “Ah, shit. Are you kidding me?” I groan, bending down to lift the handle of my suitcase out of the water. The only possession I care about is the one thing I can’t replace, the photo I have with my father before he passed away.

  Just the thought of ruining it has tears filling my eyes. Unzipping the pocket, I quickly pull out the wallet as I press it close to my chest. I struggle to contain my tears of relief when I find it to be a bit damp, but certainly not ruined.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks again, concern etching his brow, rubbing his hand along my shoulder.

  I feel the light rain sprinkling down against my forehead as I keep the wallet pressed against my chest, shielding it from any further damage. My only response is a slight nod of my head as warmth spreads through my body from his connection.

  “Here, let me help you,” he says, leaning down to zip the front pocket and lifts the suitcase off the ground. I mumble a “thank you” as he steps around me, depositing my bag under the bus. The movement causes the muscles beneath his t-shirt to bulge, and I’m momentarily distracted.

  I can hear him talking to the baggage handler. The sound of his laughter mingled with the soft sound of rain pattering against the concrete fills the silence around me. I’m so distracted by this handsome and kind stranger that I don’t even pay attention to the rain beginning to pour down on me, leaving my hair matted against my face.