Breathing Wisteria Read online

  Breathing Wisteria

  Amali Rose

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

  Copyright © Amali Rose 2019

  Breathing Wisteria by Amali Rose

  Editing: Ellie McLove - My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreading: Judy Zweifel - Judy’s Proofreading

  Formatting: Kylie Sharp - Indigo Assisting

  Cover Design: Judi Perkins - Concierge Literary Designs & Photography

  Cover Image: Shutterstock

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning:

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI, and is punishable by up to five years in prison, and a fine of $250,000.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0648427414

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek

  CHAPTER 1

  OTHER TITLES BY AMALI ROSE

  Dedication

  This book is for Kim.

  For chasing your dreams and fighting for your HEA.

  You inspire me.

  “Dare to live the life you have dreamed for yourself. Go forward and make your dreams come true.”

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Wyatt

  Ten Years Earlier

  Smoke.

  My nostrils twitch as the subtle acrid smell hits them and a sliver of unease curls itself around my consciousness.

  The club is crowded, and I’m jostled carelessly between a sea of sweaty bodies. My hand instinctively finds my belly and I internally curse Flynn for convincing me to come tonight.

  I crane my neck, searching for the source of the putrid smell, but I can barely see past the people surrounding me. Their clammy skin pressing against my own combined with their loud voices ringing in my ear, the atmosphere practically suffocates me.

  My breathing begins to quicken. Short, shallow breaths that I have to fight to get into my lungs, heighten my anxiety and the mild apprehension I was feeling morphs quickly into full-blown dread that thrashes violently through my veins.

  Closing my eyes, I try to block out the crowd around me and concentrate on Flynn’s voice, which floats above the cheers and catcalls. My vision is blocked from my position over here, along the side of the room where I, wrongly, assumed I could avoid the crush of the congested dance floor.

  That’s when it happens.

  With my eyes squeezed shut, one hand pressed against my hammering chest and the other curled protectively over my stomach. My brain shuts down, focusing only on the voice of the man I love, singing the song he wrote about us. About cherry Chapstick and cheap beer.

  The moment my life was forever changed.

  One word screamed.

  Hundreds of bodies pushing, fighting each other, chased by the cruel heat and wicked burn.

  I’m shoved forcefully up against the wall as people lose all sense of decency in their own fight for safety. My eyes flicker to my left and I see the orange flames dancing with the plumes of black smoke above the stage. My heart sinks and I unconsciously begin fighting against the crowd. Sweat prickles along every inch of my skin and I fight every instinct in me as I try to make my way toward Flynn.

  A tall guy stops right in front of me, his face is panicked, and I can see a fear in his eyes that I know is echoed in my own. He bends down and grabs my shoulders, his fingertips digging in painfully. “Go the other way!” he screams in my face, his spit coating me. Shaking my head, I push past him and hear him mutter, “Stupid bitch.”

  The pungent smoke has filled the room and as my lungs struggle to cope, screaming for fresh air, I become disoriented. I spin around, my eyes burning while I attempt to gather my wits. But when a stray elbow connects with my already aching temple, I lose my balance, falling to the ground. And in a moment that I know will forever be imprinted on me, amidst the cacophony of terrified screams, flailing bodies, and heart-wrenching terror, I lose everything that I love.

  Wyatt

  This room is full of love. It’s almost a tangible entity that I can physically feel and a small smile dances across my lips as I stand in a corner, taking it all in. My smile explodes into a loud laugh as I watch one of my best friends, Cassidy, chase her three-year-old twins around the room, a small plate of food in each hand and long cotton-candy-pink hair streaming behind her.

  “I don’t know how she handles those two.” A gentle voice has me turning, and I see the last member of our trio, Skye, standing to my right, her own full mouth tilted in an amused smile.

  “I struggle with my two, and Poppy is barely even walking. If I were getting double-teamed like that, I’d be waving the white flag.” She groans.

  I bring the champagne glass left over from our earlier toasts to my mouth and take a small sip, enjoying the way the bubbles tickle my throat on their way down.

  “You know what?” My eyebrow quirks as I observe my beautifully ridiculous friend, who is the perfect, contradictory mix of virtue and venom, with her children. “If I ever doubted the existence of karma, that doubt vanished when she had Mack and Seb. I mean, look at that.” I raise a finger from my glass and point toward Cassidy’s parents on the opposite side of the room. They’re watching the quiet chaos their grandchildren are causing, gleefully. “Cass’ mom is practically giddy watching her chase those babies around. I’d say that’s a pretty blatant example of karma biting you on the ass.”

  Skye snorts out an adorable laugh as she takes in the Jensens’ expressions before she turns her attention to the newly engaged couple slow dancing in the middle of the room. The reason we’re here celebrating tonight.

  “So, how long do you think until those two start popping out some beautiful babies?” Skye tilts her head to Ethan and Layla, her warm blue eyes softening as we watch Ethan’s grip on his new fiancée tighten and he pulls her even closer.

  The pain that rips through my chest at her question is visceral and it takes everything I have to keep myself upright and a smile plastered on my face.

  “My guess is we get an announcement in the next six months. I can’t see them waiting,” I reply, confidently.

  Skye continues to watch them contemplatively, and I allow my mind to wander. My thoughts are trailing into dangerous territory when her next words take me completely by surprise and quickly snap me out of my dark reminiscences.

  “I guess it’s just you that we have to worry about now.”

&
nbsp; I whip my head around to face her, my eyes wide in surprise.

  “What?”

  She reaches across and takes the glass from my hand before gulping down the remains and placing the empty glass on a table beside her.

  “Well, it’s just you now. The rest of us are all married off, or as good as. Babies are popping out all over the place.” She looks pointedly over to a large table where Cassidy has managed to wrangle Mackenzie and Sebastian, getting them seated alongside Skye’s children, Summer and Poppy. Cassidy and her husband, Mason, are looking flustered as they deal with a pissed-off Mack (seriously, can you say, like mother, like daughter?) and Skye’s husband, Ben, feeds Poppy and watches on indulgently while Seb sneaks his much-loved potato chips to his much-loved Summer.

  “Now we just need to get you married off and we can all be horrible hot messes together!”

  My face heats at her declaration and for the millionth time since I met these women all those years ago, I regret holding on to my secrets so fiercely.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen, sweetie, so don’t hold your breath.” I hate the steel tone my voice carries.

  Skye’s eyes narrow shrewdly as she watches me and I’m sure she must be able to hear my heart thrashing wildly in my chest. Unbidden, my hand flies to my breast, my palm attempting to soothe the pain away.

  “One day you’re going to tell me, you know.”

  The ache intensifies at her words and a flush of anxiety washes over me.

  “Tell you what?” Denial. I’m an old hand at this particular method of self-preservation and the words slip out of my mouth with practiced ease.

  Skye’s hand finds mine and she gives me a gentle squeeze.

  “When you’re ready, I will be here for you. I need you to know that.”

  One thing you learn about Skye very quickly is that she may look like an angel, all innocent beauty and wide-eyed optimism, but she will have your back, no questions asked. Anytime, anywhere.

  I clench my jaw and my teeth grind against each other. A lump solidifies in my throat making it impossible for me to do anything other than nod.

  No matter how desperately I wish I could unburden my heart, it’s impossible to change the past. I have no choice but to continue to keep these scars hidden because, honestly, I’m not sure they could ever forgive me for concealing such a huge piece of my heart from them.

  As if this moment couldn’t get any worse, the song that was the soundtrack to the worst year of my life starts playing over the sound system. A song declaring true love and the desire to save something worth fighting for. Memories immediately run through my mind as I relive it all. Long fingers scrawling words, madly trying to get down the thoughts, emotions, and fears before they disappeared forever.

  Skye’s reaction to the song is vastly different. Her face transforms when she hears the opening chords, the air between us immediately defusing, and her hand grips my wrist.

  “Oh my God, I love this song! Can you watch the girls for a minute?” She gives me her best puppy dog eyes. “I want to dance with Ben.”

  Slipping on my best neutral mask, I agree and follow her back to our table.

  “C’mon, babycakes, hand the mac and cheese to Wyatt and come and dance with me.”

  Ben grins beautifully at his wife, his eyes crinkling up in amusement, and my mask slips briefly as I let a moment of wistfulness overwhelm me.

  Remembering, just for a brief moment, the way guarded brown eyes used to look at me as though I was perfection personified.

  Until they didn’t.

  Shaking my head slightly, I reach over and take the small bowl from his hands and gesture for Ben to go. He leans over and places a swift kiss on my cheek, along with a whispered thank-you.

  I can’t stop my eyes from following them across the dance floor and just when I start to feel those old papered-over cracks in my heart start to split again, Cassidy’s voice snaps me out of my reverie.

  “Ugh, those two make me want to puke. No one should still be that lovey-dovey after all this time. That is not what marriage is.”

  Mason smirks across at her, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I don’t know, we were pretty lovey-dovey this morning, if you recall.”

  She narrows her eyes at him, and I prepare myself for whatever scathing comment is to come. Looking at Mason, his grin has widened and he’s practically vibrating with anticipation. I suppress an eye roll. I’ve never met a man who enjoys getting his balls busted so much by his wife.

  But before she can say anything, a loud cry sounds when Mackenzie falls off her chair, crashing to the ground. Cassidy rushes to pick her up and is soothing her when Seb abruptly stands up on his chair, looking anxiously around the room. Mason tells him to sit down in a commanding voice that almost has my ass finding a seat, but Seb just looks at him, his eyes wide.

  “I need to go to the potty, Daddy.”

  Mason moves quickly, reaching over to pick him up, but when his hand lands on Seb’s butt a loud groan escapes.

  “You didn’t make it, huh, bud?”

  Cassidy continues soothing Mackenzie, who is still loudly screaming and looks at her husband and son, both of whom are now covered in pee.

  She turns to me slowly, a sardonic look on her face.

  “This,” she says calmly. “This is marriage.”

  The bed dips beneath me and I flop back onto the mattress, arms spread, eyes closed.

  Tonight was… I’m not even sure what it was.

  Seeing my friends all together in one place, so happy with their partners and children, it created a huge mess of conflicting emotions.

  And memories. So many painful memories.

  Sheets rustle under me when I turn to my side and reach under the bed for the box. The box.

  Where said memories are supposed to go and die a swift death.

  But they don’t. They merely hibernate in there until the next time my defenses are down, and I can’t stop from torturing myself.

  Sitting back up, I cross my legs and place the large box over my legs.

  Five years. Inside this ridiculous-looking box covered in garish pink flamingos is five years of my life.

  Four years of immeasurable joy. One year of immeasurable pain.

  My throat tightens while my fingertips move, almost involuntarily, ghosting across the top and my heart thunders as I try to compose myself before facing my nightmare.

  So, essentially, my usual reaction.

  Taking a deep breath, I do my best to steady my hands and I slowly remove the lid. Lying on top is the framed photograph that sat on my bedside table for almost two years. I’m wearing a gorgeous pink dress with a long, ruffled skirt. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the soft material tickling my ankles.

  I tripped over that damn thing so many times and very nearly ended the night with a sprained ankle. Plus, it clashed wildly with my bright red hair, but I couldn’t have cared less. I loved that dress so damn much and the boy staring down at me in the photograph seemed to agree.

  Although, if I recall he was just as eager to get it off me as he was to admire it on.

  I reach up and scrub a hand over my nose which is developing the unmistakable tingle of oncoming tears. Christ, I must be getting sappy in my old age, I normally last longer than this.

  Sliding my eyes back to the photo, I take in the tall, built guy next to me, his intense brown eyes glued to me as I grin at the camera. Full lips that so rarely lifted into anything more than a dirty smirk, are curled up into a smile so big, it almost rivals my own.

  He towers over me, and I remember the sense of safety that used to overwhelm me every time his arm slid around my shoulders and he would pull me in, close to his body. The sensation of his calloused fingers on my skin when they would inevitably start teasing along the curve of my neck.

  He was my home. Wherever he was, that was where I was supposed to be.

  Where I wanted to be.

  Until I didn’t.

  Sighi
ng, I shove the picture back into the box, aggressively.

  Flynn. Fucking. Maguire.

  One of the biggest singer-songwriters in the music industry is my ex. My first love. The man I stupidly thought I would spend the rest of my life with.

  Now, as the song says, he’s just somebody I used to know. Somebody who is impossible to escape, no matter how hard I try. His face appears on my Facebook feed incessantly, in magazines, on television.

  Don’t even get me started on his music. It’s everywhere. So many songs that he wrote when we were together, and I’m immediately propelled back in time, remembering the way his voice would deepen when he had an idea that he was passionate about. The way he would get so lost in creating he would forget to do simple things, like, you know, eat.

  Biting down hard on my lip, I dive back in, sorting my way through piles of random snapshots, corny love notes and lyrics scrawled in his god-awful writing.

  The pain of missing him is savage, intensifying as each memory washes over me, and only when I notice the wet heat on my face, do I realize that my tears have finally fallen.

  I allow myself to feel this so rarely and this is exactly why. It’s too much. Too much pain, too much regret.

  Too much everything.

  I begin to gently place everything back in the box when my eye catches on the corner of a picture sticking out of an envelope. Suddenly I miss the pain of only moments before, because this agony right here? It is the soul-crushing, life-altering kind.