RELENT (Love Me Again Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Thirteen Years Ago…

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Twelve Years Ago

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Eleven Years Ago

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Eight Years Ago…

  Proof

  RELENT

  Love Me Again Book 3

  Alison Ryan

  Copyright © 2017 by Alison Ryan

  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.

  Contents

  1. Thirteen Years Ago…

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  4. Twelve Years Ago

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  7. Eleven Years Ago

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  10. Eight Years Ago…

  11. Proof

  1

  Thirteen Years Ago…

  “Macon!”

  Macon Moultrie had been asleep, so at first he wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard someone calling his name. After all, it was two in the morning on a school night.

  And he was only twelve years old.

  He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat still, listening for his name again. Maybe he’d just been dreaming…

  “MACON MOULTRIE!”

  Nope, someone was definitely calling his name— in a sharp whisper— as if they were trying to be loud and quiet at the same time.

  It sounded like, whoever it was, was standing right outside his window.

  Is this how serial killers lured their victims? Macon had to take pause for a moment and consider his options. He could ignore it, and stay up the rest of the night wondering who was calling to him, or he could look out the window and risk being murdered.

  Against his better judgement, he decided to take a peek.

  To his genuine surprise, it was his friend Josh Pruitt and Josh’s twin sister, Norah. They were looking up at him, their eyes wide, both of them shivering in their pajamas.

  Macon cracked open the window. “Hey. What are y’all doing here?”

  Josh looked at Norah, who looked like she was about to cry.

  “Mom’s boyfriend,” he said. “He locked us out.”

  Macon wasn’t completely shocked to hear that. Everyone in the trailer park knew the Pruitts’ mother had plenty of sketchy men coming in and out of her trailer at all hours of the night. There were always loud arguments at least once a week, many times only ending after Metro was called and a police officer or two would stop by to tell them to keep it down— that people had to work.

  Macon had only known the Pruitt twins a couple months. He’d moved to Las Vegas with his mother after his grandpa died. Grandpa had left them a small inheritance, which gave them a chance to start over somewhere new.

  Macon’s mother was the kind of woman who needed a lot of do-overs.

  “What better place to start over than Vegas?” Momma had said.

  “I can think of a few,” Macon had replied, but she’d just ignored him. Once his momma had an idea, there was no stopping her.

  When they’d arrived in the desert from Broken Bow, Oklahoma, Macon had been less than impressed with their new digs. He’d hoped they’d at least graduate from trailer parks to an apartment or townhouse. But Momma liked how close the trailers were to the Strip.

  “We’ll get something better eventually,” she’d said. “Once I hit the jackpot, we’ll buy a big ol’ house with a pool and a hot tub. It’s best we don’t spend too much on where we live now, this is just temporary. The thing about money is, you can either save it, spend it, or get it working for you. And in Las Vegas, you’d have to be a fool not to put your money to work. Macon, they even have slot machines in the 7-11! You’ll be glad we didn’t settle.”

  Except this place felt like worse than settling.

  His second day there he’d met Josh and Norah. They were nice enough kids, especially in a trailer park full of mean ones. Macon was a quieter sort, bookish and a loner, so he hesitated to play with the boys who hung out around the generators in the back of the park— smoking cigarettes and carving gang signs into their arms with safety pins. The one time he’d approached them and tried to introduce himself, they’d made fun of his country accent and made it very clear that he wasn’t welcome on “their turf.”

  Josh and Norah were more like him. They stuck to themselves mostly, but they weren’t slow or dumb. Just outsiders, even among outsiders. All they had was each other. They were the first kids that made Macon feel cool because they were so uncool themselves.

  And now here they stood, outside his window in the middle of the night. Josh was taller than Norah, even taller than Macon. He was a good looking kid; the kind you could tell would turn into a good looking man one day. And Norah was definitely his twin. They both had large eyes framed by long lashes.

  If they’d been born to better people, they wouldn’t have had any problems in life.

  “He really locked you out?” Mason whispered, looking around. “Well, what are y’all gonna do?”

  Norah was full out crying now. She was trying her best to keep her sobs quiet, but her frail shoulders were shaking. Josh put his arm around her and pulled her close, whispering something in her ear. She nodded and looked up at Macon, the look on her face breaking his heart right there.

  “We were hoping you might let us stay with you. Just until the morning,” Josh said. “We wouldn’t make a sound and we’d be out before your mom would even have to know. It’s just… really cold. And Norah is so tired. Even if it’s just her you let in, it would mean a lot to us, Macon. And we’re sorry to put you in this predicament.”

  Josh Pruitt had a way of sounding so much older than he was. And Macon couldn’t stop staring at Norah and her sad eyes. They were like a Keane portrait. Macon’s mother had one piece of art in their trailer and it was a Keane print, a painting of one of the girls with big eyes that hung in her bedroom next to his third grade class picture. He’d never look at it the same after that night.

  “Sure,” Macon said. “You can both come in. I have a trundle under my bed that I can pull out.”

  Josh let out a sigh of relief and smiled at his sister, who was still somber, but slightly less so.

  “See, Norah? This isn’t so bad,” Josh said. “We can sleep a couple hours and go back in the morning and get ready for school. Okay?”

  Norah didn’t say anything, just looked up at Macon, her expression one of gratitude.

  “I’ll let y’all in the front,” Macon said. “My mom isn’t even here. She works graveyard at Bally’s. She won’t be home until like nine or so.”

  Macon was wide awake now. He walked quickly to the front door where Josh and Norah were waiting for him, eager to get out of the desert chill.

  “We can’t thank you enough, Macon,” Josh said. “If there’s anything we can ever do to repay you, just let us know.”

  Macon shook his head, “Naw, man. It’s the right thing to do. We’ve gotta look out for one another. My mom used to have a pretty mean boyfriend who would drink too much and get kind of crazy. So I get it.”

  Josh nodded. “Thanks for understanding. Norah, you want the trundle?”

  Macon spoke up. He was trying his best not to stare at Norah Pruitt.

  “You can both have my room. I’ll sleep out here on the couch,” Macon offered.

  Josh waved his hand. “No, man. That’s too much. It’s no big deal, we sleep on the
couch at my mom’s place. We’re used to it.”

  Macon insisted. “Seriously, no worries. Just get some rest. I’m gonna watch some TV for a while anyway.”

  Josh shrugged. “Alright, I won’t fight you over it. It’ll be nice. You ready, Norah?” Josh looked at his twin, but she was staring at Macon.

  Macon looked at her and it was like time stood still for a moment. Norah Pruitt was more than beautiful. She was angelic. He could barely stand to have her eyes on him. He didn’t feel worthy somehow.

  Then she finally spoke.

  “Thank you so much, Macon,” she said, in the sweetest voice he’d maybe ever heard. “I’ll never forget that you did this.”

  As the Pruitt twins shuffled back to Macon’s tiny bedroom, Macon couldn’t help but think that it was he who would never forget.

  2

  Norah Pruitt really hated entitled people. And her day had been full of them.

  “I’m cursed,” she said to herself. “I should have just stayed home. No one is tipping for shit.”

  Norah had been a limousine driver (or chauffeur as her boss insisted she refer to herself) for a year now and she was over it. Some days were fantastic. She’d pick up excited people at the airport from places like Cincinnati, Dallas, Chicago, or Tampa. Everyone was excited to be in Las Vegas, where anything was possible.

  They’d smile as she swung their massive suitcases into the trunk of her town car, always chatty, always wanting to know the secrets to all that Sin City held; as if Norah must know the dirt on everything, as if she was only driving a limousine because she had nothing better to do. On her off time she must always be counting her constant winnings.

  As if.

  “What casino do you live in?” a middle aged man from Akron would ask, completely serious.

  “I don’t live in a casino,” Norah would say, politely. “There are some beautiful neighborhoods in Las Vegas.”

  Not that I live in any of them, she thought.

  “Do you gamble a lot?” a woman from Raleigh would ask.

  Norah would shake her head. “No, not much of a gambler.”

  “Do you know any hookers?” A doughy-faced twenty-something jackass from Los Angeles would ask. “That’s legal here, right? Are all the girls here prostitutes?”

  Norah would shift uncomfortably in her seat. “Actually, that’s a common misconception. Prostitution isn’t legal here in Clark County.”

  But the guy and his friends weren’t listening. They were too busy consuming vodka and Red Bulls in the back of the stretch she sometimes had to drive, high-fiving one another while chanting.

  “Vegassssss! We’re gonna get so fucked up in Vegassssss!”

  They’d always be on their way to the Palms. Or Caesars. Maybe the Hard Rock. Trying to live out their own version of The Hangover. It was pathetic.

  Norah knew it was part of the gig. She was a cog in the well-oiled machine of this town, a bit part in everyone’s Vegas fantasy. And for the most part, she played that role very well. She was beautiful, knowledgeable, and always smiling. She didn’t judge the people she drove. They were here to be versions of themselves that they were too chicken-shit to be back in their hometowns. She understood that.

  And as long as they tipped her, she didn’t care. She’d play along.

  But today they weren’t tipping, and it was pissing her off.

  Her first ride of the day had been doctors, in Vegas for a conference of some sort, staying way out at Red Rock. They were heading to the airport and had requested she pick them up in the stretch. Not a problem.

  Like most doctors, they hadn’t been big on conversation. That was fine too. They’d had minimal luggage, which was a plus. The airport was about a thirty-minute ride with the traffic on the 215. She’d taken them straight to departures, hoisted their bags out of the trunk, and wished them safe travels.

  They’d all avoided eye contact once they were out of the car, a move she knew all too well. People felt guilty when they knew they weren’t going to tip.

  One of them handed her some crumped bills. She didn’t look at them until she was back in the car.

  Two dollars. On a sixty-dollar fare. From anesthesiologists that made a few hundred thousand dollars a year.

  She sighed. Oh well. Off to the next one.

  She staged at the Venetian, hoping for a ride, but all she got was Felix, the creepiest doorman in town.

  Since things were quiet, he took advantage of the downtime to rap on Norah’s window and lean inside when she rolled it down, gnawing on his ever-present toothpick and practically drooling over her, as he did all the female cab and limo drivers. He was a sweaty pig, one who’d had several complaints for his aggressive behavior toward women, but in Vegas knowing the right people could keep you out of just about any jam you managed to get yourself in. Felix’s sister was married to a Venetian executive, so his lecherous behavior went unchecked, save for the occasional warning letter.

  When she’d had enough of his “compliments” and suggestions as to how a pretty girl like her could supplement her income, she faked having gotten a call and rolled off the property and south on Las Vegas Boulevard making a mental note to avoid the Venetian unless she was picking up a charter there.

  At the Bellagio she’d taken four sorority girls to the outlet mall at the end of Las Vegas Boulevard. All had Chanel bags, fresh blow outs, and red bottom soles on their stilettos. They’d split the cost among themselves, handing her over cash that covered only the fare.

  No tip.

  As they teetered away, she wanted to scream at them to get a taxicab next time, but no. That’s not how it was done.

  Hopefully other rides would make up for them.

  But it had been one of those days where she’d continued to get people who wanted the limo experience, but weren’t interested in paying the limo price. A married couple from Jersey actually tried to get a discount when she dropped them off.

  “This limo smells like cigarettes,” the bloated husband had said. He was sweating on the curb as his wife looked away, unable to deal with what Norah could only assume was his typical cheapskate behavior. “I don’t think we should have to pay full price.”

  Norah had driven them for over three hours and neither had mentioned a smell. They’d gone as far as Hoover Dam and back. Besides, she didn’t allow smoking in her car. So she knew it was bullshit.

  “We don’t offer discounts,” Norah calmly said. “I’m sorry you weren’t happy with your experience.”

  He’d muttered some expletives under his breath and thrown cash at her, walking away, his wife following after him.

  Five-dollar tip. Sigh.

  At that point, Norah was done. Some days you were hot and other days you were definitely not.

  She’d gassed up the limousine and dropped it off at the yard of the company she drove for, Naked City Limo and Cab.

  It was time to call it a day.

  Norah lived in an apartment off Tropicana and Jones with her roommate Hadley, who was a cocktail waitress at Mandalay Bay. They’d met when both were underclassmen at UNLV. Neither had finished college, but they’d stayed in touch through the years and when Norah found herself in need of a roommate, Hadley fit the bill perfectly. It was definitely better than a random crazy on Craigslist.

  It was around dinner time when Norah walked in the door. Hadley was sitting on her yoga mat in the middle of their tiny living room, stretching.

  “Good morning!” Hadley called to her. “You’re home early.”

  Hadley’s shift didn’t start until after nine, so this really was morning as far as she was concerned.

  “Yeah, well,” Norah sighed, flopping down on the cheap futon that they called a couch. “It was unbearably slow. It actually cost me money to work today. So I bailed.”

  “Can’t blame you,” Hadley said as she stood up, balancing on one bronzed leg like a flamingo, her hands together in front of her buxom chest. “How’s my tree pose?”

  “Great,” Nor
ah said. “You’re really sticking to this yoga thing.”

  “It centers me,” Hadley said, closing her eyes. “I’ll need a lot of fucking Namaste to deal with the drunk losers at work tonight. They’re getting really grabby these days. Really pisses me off.”

  “I know,” Norah said. “I think we’re getting too old for these Vegas gigs. It was fun when we were twenty-two. Now that we’re pushing thirty, I’m just kind of done with the whole scene. I need to get an office job or something. That scumbag doorman I was telling you about from the Venetian was practically jacking off in the window of my car today. I should have run over his foot.”

  Hadley opened her eyes, but still held her pose. “But remember, cubicles are hell too. Remember all the office jobs you had before this? You hated them all. At least with your job now, every day is different. You never know who’s going to climb into your limo. It could be the man of your dreams!”

  Norah laughed. “You always say that. So the man of my dreams is going to fall in love with the limo driver? This isn’t one of your romance novels, Hadley.”

  “Don’t hate me for being a romantic,” Hadley said, going from tree pose to warrior stance. “My foolish dreams are what get me through the day.”

  Norah smiled. Hadley was a dreamer, and Norah had always liked that about her. Hadley was also drop dead gorgeous and could have her pick of anyone she wanted. She was bright, sweet, and had basically zero emotional baggage. Norah envied that.

  “You’re my favorite little optimist,” Norah replied. “Don’t ever change.”

  “I’ll try not to,” Hadley said, standing up. She put her hands together and bowed at Norah, making her laugh. “I’m feeling so Zen now. Time for a shower.”

  Hadley patted Norah’s head as she walked past her toward her bedroom.