Discovering Us (True Love Trilogy) Read online

  Discovering Us

  True Love Trilogy #1

  by Harper Bentley

  Copyright © 2013 Harper Bentley

  Digital Edition: October 2013

  Editors: M & S

  Cover image licensed by www.shutterstock.com

  Cover Photo design by Jada D’Lee Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. If certain places or characters are referenced it is for entertainment purposes only.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the Author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Dedication

  To Melissa for always making me feel like I can do anything

  Acknowledgements

  You know who you are. You’re the ones who constantly encourage me, pick me up when I’m down, and give me your unfailing love and support always. And for that, I love you. Thank you for being so damned awesome.

  Table of 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

  About the author:

  Prologue

  They say nothing improves the memory more than trying to forget.

  Well, this “They” can bite me.

  As far as I’m concerned, the hippocampus in my brain which stores long-term memory (yeah, I’ve looked that shit up) can go screw itself. And since I’m going there, the prefrontal cortex can take a hike too. If it wasn’t for my stupid cranium, I think my mental health would be just fine, thank you very much. And that’s not a weirdly ironic statement, huh? But as it stands, my awesome retention of past happenings has played just too strong a role in my life leading me to some serious heartache.

  I’m twenty-five years old, I’ve had a mostly decent life so far, but when the memories invade my mind… they always lead me back to Jag.

  And I become a mess.

  See, Jagger Knox Jensen was already set up for stardom with a cooler-than-hell name (his father had played lead guitar in a pretty famous rock band in the 70s and decided that any kids of his needed awesome names to go with the “cool” that came with, well, playing in a pretty famous rock band in the 70s).

  Then there was me, set on the path to the humdrums with my very plain, very average name. Um, thanks again, Mom, for naming me after that Ripley chick in those Alien movies. Appreciate it. No, really.

  My name is Ellen Love. Bleh. Saying my name aloud sounds like you’re trying to tell someone what letter’s in my last name. Insert look of disgust here.

  Anyway, growing up, Jag and I lived on the same block in a suburb just outside of Chicago. I was a certified tomboy (having three older brothers I really had no other choice), and since Jag and I were the only kids around the same age in our neighborhood, we played together almost every day for years.

  Summers found us riding our bikes up and down our tree-lined street, swimming in the heated pool in my backyard, or writing our names with silvery sparklers on the Fourth of July; winters we’d plop onto our backs to make snow angels in each other’s powdery-white-blanketed front yards, drink hot chocolate loaded with melty marshmallows in the clubhouse in his backyard, or run to each other’s houses hauling along what wonderful wealth of goodies Santa had brought us.

  The entwinement of our lives was fated from the moment the ice cream truck slowly meandered its way through the neighborhood, and as we both eagerly licked on our Spiderman pops, we realized we were the only kids our age in the area.

  And thus our story began.

  This is the first part of it. Bear with me. There’s been a lot of shit that’s gone down.

  Chapter 1

  I was five when I first kissed Jag.

  I’ll never forget it. Ever.

  Jag’s older by ten years sister Starr—see? Cool rock star kid name—had taken us to see Beauty and the Beast the weekend before and we’d both been awed that when Beast had kissed Belle at the end, a profusion of sparkles had shot up around them into a display of fireworks and then the ugly gargoyles on his castle turned to radiant angels. How freaking cool was that? So the next school day when we were at recess on the playground (Jag was on the big-kid side of the fence since he was a second grader and I was trapped in kindergarten-land), he came to the chain link fence that separated us and hollered out, “El, come here!” In my little girls’ red, pleated coat and black Mary Janes (Mom was still trying to turn me into a girl) I ran over to see what he wanted. His glacier blue eyes great big in his little boy face danced when he shouted, “Let’s see if it works!” Then he stuck his lips through the links all pursed and ready to be smacked. Without a second thought, I leaned in and landed a big one on him. We pulled back and looked around, a little disappointed that there was no sparkle, no fireworks, no changing of statues from evil to good (there were no statues around but we thought maybe some of the mean teachers could’ve been transformed… it was worth a shot), but then we both giggled and he ran away, swiping at that one hunk of his dark hair that always fell into his eyes, telling me over his shoulder that he’d see me after school.

  I didn’t know then that that particular scene, his running from me, would play out again in our lives as I stood laughing after him.

  Well, I’m definitely not laughing now.

  Chapter 2

  I was ten when I fell in love with Jag.

  We were on the bus riding home from school when Kyle Wade decided he wanted the Giordano’s gift card I’d won in math class that day. Kyle was a huge kid—he was supposed to be in Jag’s class but he’d flunked a couple times—and the class bully. He’d gotten in my face telling me I was a dumbass, which had earned a gasp from me since I wasn’t used to that kind of language from kids our age, then he’d grabbed my backpack, digging through it to pilfer the card. Of course, since I wasn’t a sissy by any means, I’d stood up to him, grabbing my bag back indignantly which was when he hauled off and punched me in the face, breaking my nose. Um, who knew pizza meant that much to the kid? Jeez.

  I dropped back down into my bus seat stunned, while my best friend Rebecca Stark who sat with me freaked out as she dug to find a tissue in her bag as the blood from my nose continued to drip onto my Ace of Base (yeah, I know) t-shirt. We watched as Kyle proceeded to dig diligently through my bag, haphazardly tossing everything out into the aisle. That was until he suddenly went flying, landing face first on the bus floor with a loud “Oomph!” I watched in amazement as Jag pinned him there, his knee digging into Kyle’s back, and he whispered in the kid’s ear that if he touched me again, he’d kill him. Wow.

  After Jag jerked Kyle up off the floor by his shirt collar—the kid was now snot bawling which almost made me feel sorry for him… almost—Jag made him pick everything up and put it back in my bag, hand it back to me nicely, and apologize. When he was satisfied, Jag reminded Kyle of his previous warning then Jag punched him good and hard in the stomach as he sat him in a bus seat, telling him he’d better stop crying or he and his friends would mess him up but good.

  Jag’s blue eyes glittered wildly
as he smiled at me while he pushed that shock of dark hair out of his face, asking, “That good enough, El?”

  All I could do was nod at him in admiration then he went to the back of the bus to sit with his buddies once again.

  Rebecca looked at me, her brown eyes huge. “That was awesome,” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” I said all nasally, holding the tissue to my nose.

  Great. Mom was going to kill me for getting blood on my shirt. But God knew she loved her Spray ‘N Wash. With my three older brothers practically rolling in dirt all day long, the woman literally had a black belt in cleaning, so her eyes would probably glaze over in lust at the opportunity of scrubbing my shirt into submission, getting it back to looking like new.

  But when I got home, lo and behold, my sanguine-stained shirt wasn’t even an issue as my mother whisked me off to the emergency room to have my nose reset. And a great, big YEOWWCH on that one. When I got home, I looked in the mirror and let out a groan when I saw two black eyes glaring back at me like two multicolored beacons of pain behind the bandage that covered my nose. Pretty. But my brothers had thought I was “The Shit,” which garnered them a dirty look from Mom, and their approval through giving me soft arm punches made me happy, so it was all good.

  Since Dad was an attorney, he’d contacted Kyle’s parents to let them know what’d happened, and after they told Dad they’d cover all medical costs, he let them off the hook, an apology being all he was after, well, that and a promise that they’d look into their son’s bullying problem.

  Dad had also wanted to contact the school about Mr. Abernathy, the bus driver, but I talked him out of it. He’d asked me why he hadn’t stopped the bus when Kyle had started his crap. Well, Mr. A was hard of hearing and when one of the littler kids had told him what’d happened (after he’d dropped off Kyle), Mr. A had felt horrible and had apologized about a kabillion times to me for not stopping and taking care of things. He said his hearing aid batteries had gone out that afternoon and he hadn’t had time to replace them, so he hadn’t heard what was going on. And since his hearing was impaired, he’d had to really pay attention to traffic; therefore, he hadn’t seen what had occurred in the bus mirror. But he was a sweet old man who’d lost his wife two years before and I told Dad that he was a good driver, he was nice to all us kids, and that if he’d heard what was going on, he would’ve stopped. So taking that all into consideration, Dad didn’t call, thank goodness.

  The best part of the whole situation? Jag had thought I looked cool and badass with two black eyes and I didn’t think I could love him any more.

  Chapter 3

  I was still ten when I knew I was going to marry Jag.

  That summer, my brother Robbie had just turned sixteen. The next weekend he and my other brothers Mike and Jake—Mom was at least consistent in her love for plain names—who were seventeen and nineteen, respectively, had been at the lake, and I mean, THE lake, Lake Michigan, with a bunch of friends. They’d rented Jet Skis and had gone out that morning. But by that afternoon, we didn’t know if Robbie was going to live. He’d had an accident when he and another of the boys had collided on their watercrafts.

  Mom, Dad and I had rushed frantically to the hospital when Jake had called. By the time we got there, Robbie was already in surgery for a ruptured spleen. My Dad was livid, screaming at Jake that Robbie wasn’t old enough to be riding alone and that Jake should’ve been more responsible. Jake was already crying his eyes out, so the accusation hadn’t helped much. What made it worse was when Dad then grabbed and hugged Jake tightly as they cried in each other’s arms. I was horrified watching my family this way. I’d never seen my dad cry. Heck, I’d never seen my brothers cry, so my world was turned upside down as I stood there trying to comprehend all that was going on around me.

  I don’t know when he showed up, but at some point when I’d been sitting in one of those hard, plastic, connected-to-five-other-chairs chairs in the waiting room, I realized Jag was sitting beside me, and he was holding my hand. I looked down to where we were connected just staring for the longest time, not able to tell which fingers were whose after a bit. When I finally looked up, Jag just smiled softly and gave me a little nod.

  And that was when I knew. I knew I was going to marry Jagger Knox Jensen.

  We stayed that way for a long time with neither of us speaking. We stayed that way until the doctor came out and told Mom and Dad that Robbie was going to be okay, it’d just take some time for him to heal. The relief was palpable in the room and different kinds of tears flowed then as everybody hugged.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to Jag through my tears as I looked into his startling blue eyes.

  He squeezed my hand in answer then continued sitting beside me for what seemed like hours, both of us still silent. The next thing I remembered was being put into my bed by my dad.

  “Is Robbie home?” I asked sleepily.

  “No, honey. He’ll be in the hospital for a while, but he’ll be home soon. You go back to sleep. Mom will be here with you.” He kissed my forehead and left the room to go back to stay with and keep watch over his youngest son.

  I was still awake when Mom came in to check on me. “Is Robbie okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, baby. We’re very lucky.” She tucked my soft comforter under my chin.

  “How did Jag get there?”

  “His parents came as soon as they heard. When they were leaving, Jag refused to leave you. I told them we’d take him home. He never left your side,” she said with a smile, sweeping the hair back off my forehead as she bent to kiss me there.

  “He’s a good guy,” I muttered sleepily.

  “Yes, he certainly is.” She kissed my forehead again then left my room as I drifted off.

  Jag was there the next morning when I came downstairs for breakfast, checking to make sure I was okay. He stayed and played video games with me to keep my mind off things, I figured out later, then went with us to the hospital to see Robbie.

  That was the scariest time in my life up to that point, but Jag was there throughout it all. And I knew. Knew we’d be together forever.

  Chapter 4

  I was eleven when Jag broke my heart for the first time.

  “Oh, man! That’s the coolest skateboard I’ve ever seen!” Jag said in admiration, turning the page back in the magazine he was looking at and shoving it in my face, showing it to me.

  “That is pretty cool,” I replied.

  We were sitting on the front steps of my house drinking root beer floats, our favorite, and taking a break from skating. Jag had shown me earlier how to do a nollie kickflip and I’d been working on it for an hour in the driveway but not quite getting it right. I’d gotten frustrated, but I had to give it to him. He had an infinite amount of patience when it came to teaching me board tricks. Well, if you tuned out his yelling at me to stop being such a girl and do it right.

  After that day, I’d saved for the next eight months to buy the skateboard for his thirteenth birthday, putting away my own birthday, Christmas, and allowance money to make his dream come true.

  On the day of his party, I was so excited to give him his present I could hardly stand it. The skateboard had come in the week before and I’d wrapped it immediately after the postman had handed it over. I just knew Jag would love it. I’d hinted to him, aka tortured him, for months that he was going to love his gift and he’d been pretty excited about it, even putting me in a headlock telling me if I didn’t stop teasing him about it he’d choke me out. And if that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.

  At the party, the first boy-girl one he’d ever had, he’d invited almost his entire seventh grade class. Because we were in different schools, I didn’t know any of the kids, but that was okay as long as I had Jag. When he opened my gift, his face split into a wide smile and he yelled out, “Sweet, El!” I was thrilled that I’d made him happy. He came over and punched me in the arm, putting me once again in a headlock, telling me I was the best friend ever. When he let
me out of his grasp, I couldn’t help but grin back at his excitement.

  Who knew that’d be the last time we’d talk for years?

  When he opened his next gift, a crappy Hansen CD that had that ridiculous song on it whose title had way too many consonants, he then smiled widely at Marie Jackson, those gorgeous eyes of his beaming in her direction, telling her thank you, like she’d bought him Nirvana tickets or something. Then he went to her and shyly kissed her on the cheek. Um, what? I stood there in shock, watching them looking at each other all googly-eyed. Again, what?

  The rest of the party has become a blur in my mind—I’m pretty sure my little pre-pubescent self shut it all out, pulling a Sybil or some shit—and I hardly remember helping Mrs. Jensen clean up or skating back home afterward. But I do remember running inside and calling Rebecca, and through my tears telling her what had happened. She got her dad to drive her over immediately. She stayed the night and then proceeded to tell me that there were other fish in the sea, even though we didn’t quite know what that meant, but she’d overheard her older sister telling it to a friend when a guy had broken up with her, so we figured it fit the situation and went with it. Rebecca said that Jag Jensen was a jerk and that he’d be sorry one day for what he’d done to me. We giggled for the longest time about all the mean things we could do to Marie Jackson, including sneaking into her room and short-sheeting her bed or pulling a Fifty-Two Card Pickup times two on her (hey, we were eleven), until Dad stuck his head into my room and threatened to take Rebecca home if we didn’t get quiet. We drifted off to sleepy snickers and whispered visions of Marie’s having to pick up every card in both decks.

  I managed to cry myself to sleep each night thereafter for the next month. My heart hurt because I knew that something had changed in Jag’s and my relationship. Maybe it was the fact that he was kissing other girls. Duh. Oh, and it also could’ve been that every time I’d ridden my skateboard over to his house during that time, he was either gone or Marie was over doing homework with him. The few times I had caught him at home, he’d made up some lame excuse that he had something important to do.