Unveiling Fate (Unveiling Series, Book 4) Read online

  Unveiling Fate

  Copyright © 2017 Jeannine Allison

  Edited By: Stephanie Parent

  Cover Design © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Interior Design: Champagne Book Design

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for a book review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  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

  Epilogue

  Unveiling Fate Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Other Books

  For anyone who has ever felt invisible, alone, or unwanted…

  I see you.

  “Life had broken her; just as it had broken him.

  But when they got together, their pieces became whole.

  And they continued on their journey, together, mended as one.”

  —Steve Maraboli

  Age 14

  NOTHING.

  That was what I felt as I stood in the corner, alone, watching everyone dance. No one looked my way. The last person who spoke to me—an hour ago—was only interested in where the bathrooms were. I swayed to the music, trying to keep a friendly smile on my face and look approachable. But with every passing minute, as one person after another walked right by without seeing me, it became harder and harder to act unaffected.

  Looking down, I smoothed my hands over my dress, remembering the conversation I’d had with my mother before I left earlier tonight.

  “I’m leaving,” I called out to her as she sat at the kitchen table. My father was nowhere in sight.

  “Have fun.”

  “Do you like my dress?”

  Her gaze lifted, slightly annoyed. “Blue would have been better,” she said dismissively. I stared down at my mint green dress, the one I’d been in love with since I first tried it on, and my smile faded.

  “Oh. Okay. Is there a certain time you want me home?”

  She always had a strict curfew for my older brother, Damien, who had just turned sixteen. I would only assume she’d have one for her fourteen-year-old daughter as well.

  Eyes down, she waved a hand my way. “No. Whenever is fine, Eleanor.”

  I’d tried to be excited, like most kids with no curfew would be, but I just felt hollow. My mother didn’t say another word—or spare me another glance—before I slipped out the door and climbed into the limo my parents had on hand. They couldn’t be bothered to drive me places. I knew Damien would have given me a lift, but he was at an art expo this weekend and I hadn’t wanted to pull him away from it.

  Her words were on repeat in my mind. It was stupid. It didn’t even make sense. But I found myself wondering, would a blue dress have been better? Would I be out on the dance floor, laughing and throwing my arms in the air, if I’d bought a blue dress? Would I be getting swept off my feet if I was wearing a blue dress?

  “Hey,” came a friendly voice.

  My gaze lifted to find Carl Tate standing in front of me. I smiled wider and stood a little straighter. My eyes flickered to his girlfriend, who stood behind him, and I gave her a small wave. She returned it with an easy grin.

  “Hi.”

  “Could you take our picture?” he asked, holding out a camera.

  “Oh, of course.”

  I laughed, watching him reach back and twirl his girlfriend into his side, before quickly snapping the photo.

  “Thanks, dude.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you a million times, Carl. Girls don’t like to be called dude.”

  He cringed, appearing genuinely remorseful. “It’s just a habit.”

  “It’s not a problem.” I glanced over at the table I’d seen them at. It looked like there was an empty chair or two. “Would you mind if I joined—?”

  “We’ll catch ya later…” Carl said at the same time, wavering at the end. He didn’t know my name. He brushed it off, like it had been his plan to end it that way, and they began walking away.

  I didn’t know if he’d heard me, but based on the way his girlfriend looked over her shoulder and smiled, this time with pity, I guessed at least she had. There was nothing cruel in the interaction, but an ache settled in my chest all the same.

  Her dress was blue.

  I looked around for a distraction when I saw one of my former teachers walking my way. “Hi, Mrs. Kay,” I said brightly before she passed. It would probably be uncool to stand here and talk to a teacher, but she had been one of my favorites, and I’d hardly seen her since last year when I took her geometry class.

  She paused and gave me one of her warm grins. “How are you? Are you having fun?”

  “Yeah,” I said. It wasn’t a complete lie. I always enjoyed talking to her. “How is—”

  “Oops, I have to go.” Her gaze moved across the room. “But it was good to see you, Ally.” She was already walking away, so she couldn’t see my smile fall.

  “It’s Ellie,” I whispered. But no one was there to hear it. I probably could have shouted and gotten the same response.

  For the first time that night, I let my sadness through. My eyes welled with tears, and I shifted farther back into the shadows where no one could see me.

  No one sees you anywhere.

  The ache in my chest intensified, but for some reason I stayed. I stood there for another hour.

  No one asked me to dance. No one even said hello. I got a few nods from the girls in some of my classes, but other than that, I could have been a mural on the wall for how much anybody noticed me.

  “Pssst…”

  I whirled around, looking for the source of the sound. A few feet away I saw a group of four students. I’d seen them around but we never shared classes.

  “C’mere.” One of the guys waved me toward them. I hesitated before slowly walking over. They all seemed unnaturally happy.

  “Hi,” the original guy said. “What’s your name?”

  “Ellie.” My mother was the only one who called me Eleanor; my father didn’t call me anything.

  “I’m John.” He held out his hand and I shook it.

  “What are you guys doing back here?” I asked, looking between them. One of the girls giggled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

  “Not much.” He pulled out a flask. I assumed alcohol was in there, but I’d never had a drop before. Never even thought about it. “Want some?”

  “Oh, umm…” I glanced back at the other students and the chaperones. No one was looking, but still… “I’m okay.”

  “C’mon. It’ll take the edge off.”
He waved it in front of me with a grin.

  “Well, sure… I guess.” One sip couldn’t hurt. I took the container and tipped it back. The liquid burned my throat and I immediately bent over, coughing like I was losing a lung.

  That’s disgusting.

  Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t drank as much, but I still couldn’t imagine enjoying it.

  John patted my back and pulled me into his side, still smiling wide. “Your first time?”

  Nodding, I coughed some more.

  “Don’t worry,” the other guy said. “You’ll get used to it.”

  John nudged the flask toward my mouth again. Reluctantly, I took a much smaller sip. I wanted to throw it all back up.

  “I’m Darcy, by the way. We’ll show you how it’s done,” a girl said.

  “That’s what friends are for,” John finished. And jeez, did he ever stop smiling?

  I stared at my new “friends” and took another sip. It wasn’t as bad the third time. Darcy was cheering and John was smiling down at me.

  I wasn’t alone.

  It didn’t feel like belonging.

  But it felt like something.

  And maybe that just had to be enough.

  Maybe that was all I was meant to get.

  I WAS SITTING IN the back corner of the restaurant, staring down at the papers in front of me, when the waitress dropped off my glass of water. The words blurred as my thoughts wandered for the third time. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this meeting, and it was causing me to lose focus. Those nerves were the only reason I didn’t order a cup of coffee like I normally would.

  My eyes strayed to the window. The trademark Arizona sun was nowhere to be seen in the overcast January sky. Couples huddled closer as the wind picked up. Looking away from the intimate scenes, I glanced down at the top page for a fourth time.

  “Officer Mable?”

  I looked up and found an unfamiliar man standing next to the table. He was tall and fit, with sandy blond hair that probably touched his shoulders when it wasn’t in a bun like it was now. Both of his arms were covered in tattoos, one filled with color while the other only had pictures in black ink. His all-black attire and laced boots confirmed my suspicion. This was the bouncer my younger brother, Steve, wanted me to meet with. Damien.

  If I was someone else I might be intimidated. But I wasn’t. It took a lot to unsettle me. I stood up and held out my hand. “Please, call me Grayson.”

  He gave me a nod and placed his hand in mine. “Damien.”

  “Good to meet you.”

  “Same,” he said as we sat down. Damien grabbed a menu while I pulled out a pen and my pocket notebook, setting them both on the table. The notebook was crooked, so I slowly adjusted it until it was straight and in line with my pen.

  “You’re not eating?” he asked.

  Glancing up, I said, “I already ordered. Steve didn’t have any details and you were quite cryptic over the phone, so I need to ask. There’s nothing illegal going on here, correct?” My stare was hard on his.

  “No, she’s sober.”

  My eyebrows rose and Damien quickly forgot about his menu. “She?” I asked.

  “My sister, Eleanor.” The torment swimming in his eyes was one I was familiar with. He looked helpless and unsure, something I’d bet he didn’t feel often. Something he probably hated.

  I knew I hated it.

  Refocusing, I nodded and flipped open my notebook. “How old is she?”

  “Twenty.”

  “And you said she’s sober?” He nodded and I followed up with, “For how long?”

  Grabbing the back of his neck, he shifted in his seat. “I don’t know an exact date, but about two weeks.”

  “I see.” I paused, my eyes shifting between my notes and him.

  Steve had known next to nothing about the kind of trouble Damien was in. And since I’d become distant with my family, Steve was so excited to have me on the phone that he spent most of the time asking me about my life and what I was up to. I saw them several times a year, as much as it took to not completely cut myself off or have them be angry. But we weren’t as close as we’d once been.

  Shaking my head, I looked back at Damien. Today wasn’t about my problems.

  “What is it you think I can do for you? Or her? I’m just a street officer.”

  “I know. But I also know you want to work in narcotics, and alcohol and drugs typically—”

  “Go hand-in-hand,” I finished.

  “Yeah. And I just think having you in my corner might help.” Damien stopped and covered his mouth. After a few seconds his hand fell away and he added, “She’s pregnant.”

  “Is this the reason she wants to get sober?”

  “Yes. I mean she’s always wanted it, she’s tried before. But this time she’s serious, she… she wants to be a good mother.” Damien’s voice cracked on the last word.

  “It certainly is a good incentive, but her commitment to staying sober is probably higher right now because of the news. It’ll wear off. Addicts—”

  “She’s my sister,” he snapped, cutting me off. “She’s not just an addict. You can’t lump her in with the people you’ve dealt with.”

  I winced. It wasn’t fair of me. But Damien also needed to understand the severity of the situation. I rested my hands on top of my notebook and said, “I meant no offense. But you came to me for a reason. Because on some level, all alcoholics are struggling. I’m not saying this as an insult, just a fact. Addiction is difficult to deal with, and pretending that Eleanor is separate from other addicts will not help her. Yes, I know she’s probably not violent or engaging in illegal activities. But there are levels of addiction and we don’t know where she is at this point. So I need you to try and be as objective as possible. And I will try to be as subjective as possible. Deal?”

  He hesitated, his fingers impatiently tapping on the table. After a few seconds he nodded.

  “Good.” I picked up my pen and fixed my notebook. “Now, who’s her support system? The father? Her parents?”

  Damien regretfully shook his head. “The father was just an indiscretion, and our parents aren’t in the picture either. It’s just me.”

  I paused with my pen suspended above the paper. “Only you?”

  “I’m trying to get her into a program as well.”

  “Good. She’ll need other people. But I still don’t understand how you think I can help.”

  He sighed and ran a hand over his head. “I don’t really know either. I just couldn’t sit around and continue to do nothing. Having your number seemed like a practical idea. Like I said, I feel like you’re someone I should have in my corner. Steve was always talking about how dedicated you are to your job and to helping people.”

  I nodded, trying to keep my demons—all the people I didn’t help—at bay. I’d slowly learned that the best way to help people was to stay detached. The second feelings got involved, a person lost sight.

  “I am,” I finally answered.

  “Well, she needs help. More help than I can give,” he admitted, and I could tell it took a lot for him to say those words. “She needs all the help she can get.”

  Without giving it any more thought, I nodded. What else could I do? Even though there wasn’t a plan or an immediate job for me, I’d be there for him—and Eleanor—if needed. I didn’t need more convincing. His desperation reminded me too much of my own. I hadn’t been enough, but maybe with my help, Damien could be.

  As lunch continued, I gave him some numbers I had on hand and a few names of potential sponsors.

  I wasn’t sure what would come of all this; I only knew I had to help.

  It’d been almost two months since I’d met Damien. We’d had a few conversations between then and now, but nothing concrete seemed to come of them.

  I felt like it was time I met Ellie. Maybe that would help me see what my role in her rehabilitation was going to be. Damien had never mentioned it and I wasn’t sure if that was del
iberate, but I wanted to meet the woman I was giving him advice on. It was on my drive home from work that I made the decision to go to his apartment.

  Glancing at the dashboard, I saw it was a little past eight o’clock. I already knew he was working for most of the day tomorrow, and thankfully I had the day off, so I planned to go to their apartment in the afternoon.

  I pulled into my driveway and put the car in park. When I opened the door and saw I was a bit crooked, I softly shut it and shifted into reverse, straightening the car out. Once I was satisfied, I stepped out of my vehicle, my eyes tracking any movement on my street, looking for signs of trouble out of habit.

  All other thoughts fled when my gaze landed on the lone box sitting on my welcome mat. I immediately stopped at the end of my walkway. I knew what it was; it was the same thing I found in front of my door every year on this day: March 6. For some reason it always surprised me.

  Moving forward, I kept my eyes on it, as if I could make it disappear, as if I could will away the love behind it. It would never happen. My family—all eight of them—were hell-bent on staying in my life, even though I didn’t make it easy.

  Bending down, I picked it up and fished my key out of my pocket. A few moments later I had the door shut and locked and my coat hanging in the front closet.

  After I put my wallet and keys in their respective cubbies by the front door, I walked into the kitchen and set the box down in the middle of the clean counter, where a single placemat sat. I had four barstools and a kitchen table that sat six, yet I always ate in the same place. And I always ate alone.

  It wasn’t for lack of effort by other people—the box waiting for me proved as much.

  I surveyed the area, pleased with how immaculate everything appeared. No dishes were left in the sink, nor were any drying on the counter. The chairs were all neatly pushed in and the floor was so clean a person could eat off it.

  When I walked down the hall and into my bedroom, it looked the same way. Nothing was out of place. My dirty clothes were all in the hamper, my dresser was clear of junk, and the bed was neatly made. I quickly shuffled out of my uniform and put everything in its rightful place before changing into a soft T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Then I walked into the bathroom—also decluttered and clean—and took out my contacts before slipping on my black-framed glasses.