The Anchor Read online

  THE ANCHOR

  Copyright 2015 Brandy Toler

  www.bntoler.com

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design: Cover to Cover Designs

  Editing: Eagle Eye Reads

  Backdrop cover photo: Diorgi

  Front cover photo: Connor Evans

  Back cover photo: slp_london

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.

  dedication

  prologue

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  chapter twenty-nine

  chapter thirty

  chapter thirty-one

  chapter thirty-two

  chapter thirty-three

  chapter thirty-four

  chapter thirty-five

  chapter thirty-six

  chapter thirty-seven

  chapter thirty-eight

  chapter thirty-nine

  chapter forty

  chapter forty-one

  chapter forty-two

  chapter forty-three

  chapter forty-four

  chapter forty-five

  chapter forty-six

  chapter forty-seven

  chapter forty-eight

  chapter forty-nine

  chapter fifty

  chapter fifty-one

  chapter fifty-two

  chapter fifty-three

  chapter fifty-four

  a note from the author

  acknowledgements

  about the author

  connect online

  To my brother, Brett, and his beautiful wife, Leah.

  Thank you for your unconditional love and support.

  Thank you for always believing in me, even when I haven’t believed in myself.

  I love you.

  It was the only photo I had of her. She wore a beautiful satin gown, a giant bouquet of red roses in one hand as she stood next to my father in his tailored tux. I couldn’t remember ever seeing my father smile like he did in that photo. I had everything my young heart pined for, material-wise anyway, but this photo . . . it was everything to me. It was the only photo I had ever seen of my mother.

  “You look like her,” my best friend, Edie, murmured as she gazed at my most prized possession. Edie James had only moved to Holly Springs one year before, but we became fast friends. Her mother was gone too. But hers had died. Mine just…took off.

  My bedroom door swung open and my nanny, Ms. Jackie, walked in as I scurried to hide the framed photo of my parents on their wedding day under my blankets. I’d found it in the attic months before and knew I had to hide it. My father wouldn’t want me to have it. He hated even the mention of my mother . . . a photo would surely not be allowed.

  “What was that?” Ms. Jackie asked, her hard eyes pinpointed on the location of my hidden photo beneath the mess of sheets and blanket.

  “Ever heard of knocking?” I snapped. Even if I wasn’t almost thirteen, with a raging attitude, I hated Ms. Jackie and would’ve acted like a bitch to her anyway. She was an uptight witch that acted like she had a triple-bladed enema up her ass.

  “Your father is downstairs in the dining room. He’d like you to join him,” Jackie replied, ignoring my question, cutting her eyes to Edie. Ms. Jackie wasn’t subtle either. She just told my best friend to get the fuck out with nothing but a look. Damn, I hated her.

  “I have to go,” Edie chimed in, clearly taking the hint. “Daddy Bud wants me home before dark.” She rose from where she was perched on my bed, her dark hair in a ponytail revealing her tiny, youthful face. I was a pretty girl. I knew that. But Edie James was a different kind of pretty. She was natural and beautiful without effort. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, she was hands down one of the most beautiful girls in town. But she was soft in a way I wasn’t. I felt this need to protect her. From what, I didn’t know. But she was more like a sister to me than a friend and I didn’t have many relationships I could count on. So I cherished my friendship with her.

  “Tell Daddy Bud I said hi,” I told her as she headed for the door. Ms. Jackie remained planted in place, watching me as Edie rounded her. Before Edie exited, she turned and sneered at Ms. Jackie where she couldn’t see and stuck her tongue out at her. I couldn’t help giggling, and as Ms. Jackie turned to see what I was so humored by, Edie slipped out the bedroom door. I loved her for that.

  “Dinner. Now,” Ms. Jackie ordered before turning on her heel and leaving. With a huff, I forced myself off my bed and went down to the dining room.

  My father sat like a statue at the head of the table, the New York Times opened in front of him, hiding his face from me. I quietly took my place and began picking at my dinner. I knew better than to speak while my father was reading the paper. Either he became aggravated with me for interrupting him, or he never really engaged with me. He’d just grunt and mumble in reply whenever I spoke, so I didn’t bother.

  After a few minutes, he lowered the paper, folding it. “Nikki,” he said my name gruffly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Hi, father.” I smiled brightly. “Did you have a nice trip?”

  “I did. I’ll be leaving again tomorrow.”

  I frowned as my gaze moved back to my plate. Of course he did. He was always gone. We chatted about the same mindless things we always did at these awkward few and far between dinners we’d have. He’d ask about school, my grades, music, and sports. Same mundane conversation as always. I excelled in all areas.

  “Mr. Reese,” Ms. Jackie interrupted us. “May I speak with you a moment?”

  “Of course,” my father grumbled as he stood, clearly unhappy with having to leave his dinner. I heard their voices from where they met in the kitchen, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. There was no doubt in my mind they were discussing me, but I wasn’t sure why. I hadn’t been in trouble recently. Slipping out of my chair, I tiptoed to the kitchen door and listened.

  “You found this in her bed?” my father asked sternly.

  “Yes, sir. She was hiding it from me,” Jackie replied. “I thought it was something I should address with you.”

  My heart lodged in my throat. She was giving him my photo; the one of my mother and him on their wedding day.

  “Throw it out,” my father instructed her and before I knew what was happening, I was in a tug of war with Ms. Jackie, trying to seize the frame from her grip.

  “No. It’s mine. You can’t have it!” I cried as I fought with all my strength. My father’s arms wrapped around my waist as he attempted to pull me away.

  “Stop it, Nikki,” he ordere
d, but I shouted louder as tears streamed down my face.

  “It’s mine. It’s the only picture I have of her!”

  After a moment, Ms. Jackie managed to pull the frame from my grip and scurried out of the room. My father released me as I sunk to the ground, lost in a fit of sobs and hot tears. “Why? Please let me keep it. Please,” I begged.

  He stared down at me, before looking to the ceiling and shaking his head as if damning something or someone silently in his mind. When his blue eyes met mine again, his stare was hard, as it always was. “She left you, Nikki. She left us both. She doesn’t deserve your time.”

  “It’s the only picture I have of her,” I repeated, as if that should be simple enough to change his mind.

  “Go clean up and get your homework done.” Then he left me drowning in a pile of tears on the floor.

  I cried myself to sleep that night. He didn’t come to check on me, nor did Ms. Jackie. But I swore that night, there would be hell to pay. Ms. Jackie would suffer for what she did. And suffer she did. I made her life hell for the following two weeks until she gave her notice.

  As for my father, I never brought it up to him again. The photo was gone and I just added it to the endless list of disappointments he provided me. He always let me down. Always. It was the one thing I could count on.

  Men will always let you down.

  It’s another Friday night in our smallish town of Holly Springs. I live for the nights where my friends and I hang out at Earl’s and drink beer together. The smell of stale beer and onion rings wafting through the air, the music, and even the diverse crowd of people I like and others I would like to high-five in the face with a chair—I love it all. It may not be as glamorous as a night club in some bright city, but it’s unvarying and comfortably stable, and however rinky-dink this place might be, it’s a constant. It’s always something I can count on. I treasure things I could count on.

  Edie and her fiancé, John, are on the dance floor swaying back and forth to some George Strait song while our friend, Joey, and I are planted in a booth watching. Edie is whispering something to John and he’s got this sly grin on his face. I have no doubt she’s saying something sexual to him. My best friend has turned out to be a real perv. God, I love her.

  John’s hand is holding Edie’s against his chest as they move and my chest tightens as I watch them. And for a brief moment, I imagine the feel of a man’s cheek against mine, the stubble of his five o’clock shadow rough against my delicate skin, his hard body pressed to mine. And when I look into his eyes, I see one face. Parker Hayes. One night with John’s best friend and I can’t seem to get him off of my mind.

  “She looks happy,” Joey notes before sipping his beer, pulling me away from my daydream.

  My smile couldn’t be bigger as I focus on Edie and John again. “She is happy.” When I meet Joey’s gaze, my smile fades with his thoughtful expression. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugs and turns his gaze back to the dance floor. “I’d just like to see you happy, too, Nik.”

  I purse my lips and feign annoyance at his words even though they’re incredibly sweet.

  Fucking Joey.

  Always a sweetheart.

  “You think I need a man to be happy?” I chuckle.

  “No,” he answers quickly, turning back to me. “But I think you deserve the kind of happiness being in love can bring. I think love would look damn good on you.”

  “You don’t seem so happy yourself, Joey.”

  He leans back and sighs. “Well, I thought things were good with Charlotte, but it just didn’t work out. Guess I’m waiting on the right girl.” Joey and Charlotte, a girl we went to high school with, started dating a couple of months ago. But it fizzled out and Joey’s been sitting at the singles’ table with me ever since.

  I place my hand on his where it rests on the table. His hands are rough and calloused from working on the farm day in and day out with Edie. “Joey . . . nobody deserves you.” And I mean it. He and Edie have always been closer, but I do consider him one of my dearest friends. He’s that pure kind of guy . . . there’s no flare or smoke screens. Joey lays it out plain and simple. He’s the brother I wish I had. Someone like him would have come in handy in my cold childhood home. Even as an adult, he keeps me centered.

  He snorts at my compliment and tugs his baseball cap down to hide his face, getting red with embarrassment. “Well, that was a mighty fine compliment, Miss Reese,” he says, in mock falsetto.

  “I do aim to please, Mr. Harris,” I reply, matching his obnoxious accent. And we both chuckle.

  “Hey, sexy,” Dierk purrs as he slides in the booth beside me. He’s the local manwhore extraordinaire and one of our oldest friends. “What’s a fine thing like you doing here with this guy?” he jokes, jutting his chin at Joey. Dierk is a horrendous flirt, but he’s super-hot and smells amazing. Yes, these things matter to me, sometimes. He’s also a good friend, so his cheesy pickup lines don’t bother me.

  “Where have you been all night, dick?” Joey asks, laughing.

  Dierk twists around and when he finds our waitress, Meg, he holds up one finger, indicating he wants a beer before turning back to us. “Stuck at work.” Looking out at the dance floor, he must catch sight of John and Edie because he notes, “Looks like Edie is having a good time.”

  “Be nice tonight,” I warn. “You and John have to get past this . . .” I wave my hand haphazardly, “animosity.”

  “He’s the one with the problem,” Dierk snorts. “They weren’t even together when we kissed.”

  So I may or may not have posted a picture on Facebook of Edie and Dierk kissing. I knew John’s best friend, Parker, would see it and show it to him. John had left after spending a sizzling summer with Edie. She was devastated and the two were too fucking stubborn to talk it out. So I stepped in and gave John proper motivation, or as we like to call it in the South, a swift kick in the ass. Men don’t like seeing another man touching what they deem as theirs. My plan worked . . . John came back that night and proposed to Edie. The only problem is John absolutely hates Dierk now. I have to admit, jealousy is kind of sexy on him. But Dierk, however many shortcomings he may have, has been one of our closest friends since we were kids and it’s been hard on our group of friends.

  “Just be nice and give it some time. He’ll get over it.”

  “He’s the one acting like a dick,” Dierk counters.

  “And you fucking antagonize that shit,” Joey says, as he points a finger at Dierk.

  “How so?”

  This time, I snort. “Like when you hug her good-bye in front of him, you always hold her a little longer than socially acceptable.”

  “You kissed her hand the other day,” Joey adds. “Who the hell does that?”

  “She’s my friend. What . . . now that she’s engaged I can’t fucking hug her?” Dierk asks defensively.

  I laugh. “Okay, Dierk. Calm your hackles. You can play dumb, but John will fuck you up if you don’t watch it,” I warn before sipping my beer. Dierk is a big guy and could no doubt hold his own in a fight. But John, he’s in love and sometimes that’s a strength to be reckoned with.

  “I can handle John,” he says, just as Meg sets his beer on the table. He gives her a wink and she blushes before she scurries away.

  I roll my eyes.

  Classic Dierk.

  Joey leans in and meets Dierk’s gaze. “Edie’s happier than I have ever seen her. You’re my best friend, dude, but if you fuck this up for her, I’ll beat your ass.” Dierk’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. Even I’m a little shocked by the threat.

  Dierk holds up his hands in surrender. “If she wants the guy . . . I’m happy for her.” He says the words, but anyone with ears can hear they aren’t sincere.

  The song ends and Edie and John head back to our table. Before they reach us, Brian Willis, the town know-it-all, comes up and asks me to dance. I respectfully decline and he walks off.

  “Not in the mood tonight, Nikki?
” John asks as Edie slides in beside Joey. Joey smiles at Edie and hands John his beer he left on the table. John happily takes a long swig.

  “Nope,” I answer.

  “Come on. There’s gotta be some guy in this town you’ll give the time of day to,” Joey says.

  “Not interested.”

  When I look up, John is staring at me, his mouth curved slightly in a smirk. I know what he’s thinking. I fucked his best friend. One guy got to me. But that was the only time Parker Hayes will have me. That one incredible night will be the last time he ever touches me.

  “Shut up, John,” I quip, and chug my beer.

  He just chuckles while everyone else looks back and forth between us wondering what in the hell just happened.

  “So . . . how about this party coming up?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  “I need another beer,” Dierk suddenly mumbles and heads toward the bar with his still very-full beer in hand. John shakes his head as if reasoning with himself not to be a dick to Dierk. All and all . . . it’s been a great night.

  “Just like that!” Karissa shouts as I thrust into her. Normally, a woman getting loud while I fuck her would turn me on, but…ugh, not tonight. Karissa’s good in bed, but that’s about as far as my interest goes with her. And the interest is waning. I know I’m an asshole for thinking that way, but it’s the truth.

  After a few minutes of blocking her out, I finally manage to finish and pull out quickly, heading to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. When I come back, she’s already pulled the comforter over herself and is smiling sleepily at me. Guess she’s spending the night.

  “That was amazing,” she purrs as I stare down at her, wondering if asking her to leave would earn me a kick in the balls. Probably so—better not go there. “Come cuddle with me,” she whines.

  My skin is literally crawling at the thought. I’m not a cuddler—especially when I’m not that into a girl. But I begrudgingly slip in bed beside her and hide my distaste as she curls up against me, slipping her damp thigh over my leg, and rests her head on my chest. It isn’t long before I hear her breathing slow and know she’s asleep. I hate the night time. It’s the loneliest part of my day. Even with this woman lying on me, I’m lonely. With a new job at a prominent Manhattan law firm, I’m working long ass hours every day to make a decent headway. During the day I can hide in my work and in the hectic life I live, but at night I’m alone with my thoughts; a mind that doesn’t want to shut off continuously fucking with my rest. I never sleep, not well anyway. It’s been that way since I was a kid.