Finding Memories (Breaking Free Series) Read online

  I MISS KISSING. And not just the feeling of lips against lips. The kind of kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more. When you have to use a whole tube of Chapstick the next day because your lips are chapped. When you get that numb feeling for hours after, and you think 'why are my lips tingling?' Then you remember, 'Oh yeah, because I was making out with someone all night.' I really, really miss it.

  I can't even remember the last time I had good sex. I’m pretty sure it was a Tuesday night, a long time ago, on a bed far away. The last time it was with him, the guy who was supposed to be the one. Nick. I gave him all of me—he was my first real boyfriend, my first sexual experience, and my first love. He was divorced, older than me by ten years, and very experienced. His marriage had ended badly after only a year when she cheated on him.

  After five years of being a couple, I thought we would move forward, but our relationship didn't seem to go anywhere. I was starting to wonder what our relationship would be like a few years down the road—engaged, married, or even children. It's almost laughable now that I think about it. In all the time we were together, we never discussed the future, and not once was there mention of marriage or kids.

  I was getting restless. While we were in bed one night, I questioned him.

  “Nick?”

  “Hmm.”

  “How many kids do you want?”

  I probably shouldn’t have started with that because as soon as I said it, I felt him tense up.

  “Jade, I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “I don't want children.”

  My heart sank. I always saw myself having at least one child. It only gets worse when he continues.

  “I already did the marriage thing. It's not for me.”

  “Never?” I question. Surely, I was wrong or misunderstood. He had to have meant just not right now.

  “Nope. I thought we talked about this before.”

  We never had, so I left after that. It broke my heart, but I would not waste my time with someone who didn't want the same things as me. Nick begged me to come back. He said he wanted to be with me forever, and I almost caved until he went on to say that we didn't need a ring and a piece of paper to make it official.

  It's been years since that night, but I still feel the sting from that breakup. It only gets worse when my phone rings while I’m driving home, and I see a name I haven’t seen in a while. Julie and I were close while I was dating Nick, and we still talk but not as much.

  “Hey, Julie,” I say with a yawn. Work exhausted me today. I started a new job as a photographer at a local magazine; it’s nothing glamorous, and I only work three days a week. The one other full-time photographer gets the exciting jobs while I mostly cover store openings and small pieces. Today, I photographed a new playground. The town thought it would be a brilliant idea to have a cotton candy machine, so the kids were overexcited and hopped up on sugar. Maybe it’s the fact that I had one too many cocktails last night when I went out, but my head is pounding, and my eardrums actually hurt. Seeing how exhausted all the moms looked, I think it will be many years down the road before I want children.

  “Oh, my gosh. Did you see the post?” Julie screams in my ear without saying hello. Good God, I really need a quiet room.

  “No. I'm guessing it's good since you blew my eardrum.” I rarely look at social media anymore.

  “He's getting married,” she shrieks.

  “Julie, stop screaming. Who's getting married?”

  “Nick.”

  If the phone was in my hand, I would have dropped it, but thankfully, I was talking through my Bluetooth. Unfortunately, Julie keeps going on and on and I don’t care to listen anymore. Thankfully, I am turning down my street, so just a few more feet and I'll be home.

  “That's nice.”

  “There's more.” How can there be more? Him getting married is enough. “They’re having a baby. It's a boy.”

  I pull into my driveway. “I'm so happy for him. Listen, I have to go. I just got home and have groceries to put away. Ice cream in the Florida heat is not a good combination. So I'll talk to you later.” It might be a lie, but I just need to be alone.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, sounding concerned when just a minute ago she sounded like she was rubbing it in.

  Seriously? She called me to get a reaction. Okay is not one of them. Tears, yes. Throwing things, probably. Eating copious amounts of chocolate, definitely.

  “I'm fine.”

  “Okay. Call me. We should hang out.” Not happening.

  “Sure.” I don't say bye. I just hang up.

  I charge up the steps, go to my room, and pull out my laptop because I’m about to torture myself. I bring up my social media page and search for Nick’s. Why? Because now I have to see for myself. Why her?

  His profile page was updated five hours ago with a picture of him standing behind a beautiful woman, his hands touching her stomach, and dammit, he looks really happy. And in love. I scroll down looking at picture after picture of their perfect life.

  Before I completely go insane, I slam my computer shut. This is my wake-up call. I've been dating on and off but nothing serious. And my two-month rule before I have sex with someone? Well, let’s just say I'm ready to throw that out the window. It's time to sign up for every one of those dating sites and find myself a man. There are plenty of guys better than Nick.

  First, I need chocolate, wine, and a good cry. And not necessarily in that order.

  I have this ritual when I’m having a bad day. I have a mix of songs for every mood I’m in, and I can’t seem to decide if I need to listen to a heartbreak mix or girl power moment, so I go with a combination of the two. I grab the bottle of wine I have chilling in the fridge and pop the cork. Tonight calls for my ‘you can never have too much’ wine glass. From the back of the pantry, I find my secret stash of my favorite chocolates. I set everything up on the coffee table before I crank the music, which I can play as loud as I want since no one is living above me. One of my best friends, Lexi, just moved out of the apartment. She now lives with her boyfriend, Hunter. Although she’d probably come over and join me in my misery if I asked her.

  Spice Girls “Wannabe” starts playing, and my hips move to the beat. I have this addiction to learning dances to pop songs. It’s my secret talent, or at least I like to think it is. Pop music makes me happy. It’s fun, angst, I hate you, and I love you all wrapped into a lollipop of goodness. After five or six songs, I start to feel better. Stage one, two, and three are complete.

  Stage four starts as soon as I sink into the mother of all Jacuzzi tubs in my bathroom. Instead of my normal cry it out time, I come up with Operation: Date my Ass Off. I decide I don’t want to get involved with any one person yet. I need to date. A lot. A lot, a lot.

  I get out of the tub feeling rejuvenated. When I go back to my computer, I start searching for a dating site that will work for me and what I want. The one I choose holds speed dating and mixers at a local hotel. I fill out the online application to Intuitions, answering all the questions honestly. I almost delete it, but in the end, I decide I need to do this. As soon as I push the submit application button, I close my laptop, afraid of what was about to happen. I am going sleep on it until tomorrow night.

  I WALK INTO work, feeling better than I did yesterday.

  “Jade, can you come in my office?” Mr. Reynolds calls from his desk as I walk by.

  “Sure, boss.” He’s not like most bosses; he’s laidback and prefers for people to call him by his first name, Jack. From time to time, he even goes out in the field to write for the magazine. I sit across from him, and I never really paid much attention to his looks before. I always saw him as my peer, but he’s close to my age. It seems like after my clarity moment, the blinders lifted, and I started to see men again. And Jack is not bad looking; I would even put him in the cute category.

  He’s blond with shaggy hair and doesn’t dress in a suit but in nice jeans and a short sleeve dress
shirt. He isn’t what I call muscular, but he’s toned. You can tell he does something outdoorsy like bike riding or running. He’s date worthy, maybe even bed worthy too.

  “I found a story I want you to head up,” Jack tells me.

  My cheeks heat because I was just checking him out. To cover my slip, I take a sip of my water to wash away the thoughts running through my head because he’s my boss, and there are policies. One that states no fraternization between co-workers.

  “What kind of story?”

  “You know the old elementary school that was abandoned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, someone bought it, and they are turning it into a youth center. Kids will be able to go there after school for a safe place to do activities or homework. I think that’s what the town had originally intended to use it for, but the funding fell through. Then the building was hit by a tornado and all was forgotten.”

  “Wow. Who’s restoring it?”

  He passes me a file. “J&H Construction are both the buyers and restorers. Here’s the info. Go look it over and let me know by the end of the day if you’re interested. This will put you at full time for the next few months.”

  I look at the first page and see they need video feed and still photography. I’m still new to the videography side of my career, but we all start somewhere. When I open the file and see the name Jeremy Slade, I blurt out, “I’ll take it.”

  Jack looks surprised. “You sure you don’t want to look over it? You’ll be spending a lot of time there. This is a full-feature video, article, and still photos for the city website, which we are creating. It’s not going to be a day job; it’s going to be a documentary of sorts. The town wants it covered from start to finish.”

  “I’m up for the challenge.”

  “I knew you would be, but I still want you to look over the file. It will give you the full details of the builder’s proposal, what we expect you to get photographs of, and who we want you to video interview throughout the process.” He tosses his pen on his desk and leans back in his chair as he tells me.

  “I’ll start going through it right now.” I leap from my chair, excited to be picked for this assignment.

  “Jade?”

  I turn back to face Jack. “Yeah.”

  “If this goes well, you’ll be looking at more features. Now, get to it. I’ve got to go out for a bit. I’m starting my hunt for the most eligible bachelors in Naples.”

  “Have fun with that.”

  He grunts. I’m almost positive I heard him say something to the effect of why not bachelorettes.

  I sit at my desk and quickly look at the contents of the manila folder. I pull out my phone to send a quick text.

  Me: Looks like we will be working together.

  Jeremy: Why? Did you start doing construction and not tell me? I’m always looking for good painters. How are you with spackle?

  Me: Hell, no. The youth center project. I’ll be the one behind the lens.

  Jeremy: Things are starting to look up. I didn’t want the hype, but if you’re going to be involved, I’m in.

  Me: I’ll let you know when we should get together and iron out the deets.

  Jeremy: Deets? Really, J?

  Me: Really, J. Okay. I must read about this builder and see if there are some hidden juicy details.

  Jeremy: Unless you think hammer, nails, and screws are juicy, you’ll be bored.

  Me: After reading those three word choices, I highly doubt this will be boring. I need to get back to work before I get in trouble for texting.

  Jeremy: Bad girl.

  Me: Look who’s talking.

  Jeremy: Later, J.

  Me: Later, J.

  Working with Jeremy is going to make this job easier. I don’t have to worry about the initial meeting or that the person running the show is a complete ass. I already know he’s not. Immediately, I start planning what I want to film and what I want to take photos of. By the end of the day, I have a notebook full of ideas to present to Jack tomorrow, but tonight, I am going to look at that dating site for any prospects.

  ONE TEXT MESSAGE ruined my good day. It wasn’t even a bad message, but hearing from Deanna wasn’t on my to-do list. In fact, it’s not on my calendar for the next, say … fucking ever.

  Deanna: How are you?

  I keep reading it over and over, looking for a hidden meaning where there is none. When I reply, I want to kick my own ass.

  Me: Fine. Great, in fact. How about you?

  Why the fuck did I hit the send button? Because I think that maybe it makes me look less pathetic that my ass got dumped, my heart ripped out, and I still haven’t gotten over her. Fuck.

  Deanna: I’m good.

  Me: That’s great.

  You’re an idiot. Not just an idiot, a fucking idiot. Her being great is not … great. It sucks. She needs to be heartbroken or miss me. Or even better, completely miserable.

  Deanna: Can I call you?

  Me: It’s not a good time right now.

  I call it a win that I didn’t say yes. That would for sure put me in the pathetic loser category.

  Deanna: Do you think we can still be friends?

  I almost typed are you still with Mr. California, but that would make me sound like a bigger ass than I already feel, so I take a different route.

  Me: I’m late for a date.

  It’s not exactly a lie; it’s one of omission since I do have a date, but it’s to give Jade a tour of the building. We are going over what her expectations are for this project, and she wants to see the layout first. Also, she mentioned taking some pictures before any work starts.

  Deanna: Oh.

  Once again, I start reading into her response. Is that oh, okay, or oh, jealousy. Hell, stop thinking about it and end this now.

  Me: Later.

  I regret when I hit send on that message. I shouldn’t have said later; it should have said bye. As in final answer. No, we won’t be talking. And, hell no, we can’t be friends.

  Deanna: Call me when you can. I’m always here.

  This time, I’m smart enough not to reply. What does she think, that we’ll become friends and go out on double dates? Fuck, no. If I ever saw her with her new beau, I’d do something I’d regret.

  I crank up my stereo while I make the drive to the site, and it’s like my radio knows my mood. Weezer comes on singing “Perfect Situation.” Fuck you, stereo. But it’s not really my radio’s fault because it’s my music. However, it did choose this song at random, so screw you, universe. The song ends as I pull into the gravel lot. There is not much of a driveway or a building—it’s just a lot of mess.

  When I took this project on, it was suggested by my accountant to help my bottom line as a tax write-off. I did, however, pick what I wanted the building to be used for. I came from a hard-working family, and if there were more programs like this when I was younger, then maybe I wouldn’t have gotten into as much trouble. Not that I was a wild child, but I was the definition of prankster boy and had my fair share of week-long punishments for doing stupid shit.

  Jade is already there crouched on the ground with her camera out. Her long black hair is blowing in the breeze, and she’s taking pictures of … what? I have no clue. Mostly piles of rubble and a whole lot of junk is what I see.

  I get out of the truck and make my way to where she’s kneeling on the ground. She’s focusing on a piece of rubble.

  “What are you doing?”

  When I ask her, she jumps.

  “Shoot! You scared me.”

  “Didn’t you hear me pull up?”

  “No. I was kind of in the zone.”

  “The zone?” I question her.

  “Don’t you get to a point when you are working on something when everything else fades away? The zone,” she repeats.

  “I guess I never really thought about it, but I know exactly what you mean. What caught your attention?”

  She picks up the rock to show me, but it’s nothing more than a p
iece of graffiti-covered cement; a heart with the names Amy + Matt written inside with an arrow through it.

  “What’s so great about it?” It’s trash like everything else here.

  “Wouldn’t it be cool to find out who wrote it? Or who drew that? Other pieces like this are out here. All art. I don’t know. It’s like one big scrapbook of people’s memories.”

  I look around at the dilapidated building. I had never really looked at it from that point of view before.

  “I guess I look at it more as to how I can build the wreckage into something. Not as what it was before.”

  “I don’t see it. Why don’t you show me what you have planned to give me a visual?”

  For the next hour, we go over the architectural designs while I walk her around the property. She takes a ton of pictures of nothing. Or at least, I think it’s nothing, but when she shows me the photos, they are incredible.

  “You’re good at this,” I tell her because I’m impressed.

  “Thanks. It’s my passion.”

  “Hey, do you want to go get something to eat? I’m starving. And then we can go over the schedule?”

  She looks at her watch. “I have time.”

  “Do you have somewhere to be?”

  “I have a”—she clears her throat— “meeting at nine.”

  “I’ll have you back with time to spare. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  “Okay.”

  She heads toward her car, but I suggest she rides with me. We have to pass by here on the way back, plus there’s not a whole hell of a lot of parking.

  I open the door for her, and it’s a mess. I brought my work truck, which has all my tools. I grab the box, putting it in the back seat. As best as I can, I clean the seat off for her. It would have been better if I suggested we take her car.

  “It’s okay, Jeremy. A little dirt won’t kill me.”

  Even though Jade’s tall, she uses my shoulder to boost herself up. Her hand on me sends a signal throughout my body. Shit. When she looks at me with a smile, her bright green eyes blink once then twice. Double shit.