Crushed (Evermore Book 1) Read online

  Crushed

  Book #1 - Evermore Series

  By

  Andrea smith

  Introduction

  I have fallen in love with YA/NA Romance and Suspense. I got the idea for “Crushed” from something that happened many years ago, to someone I knew very well. I hope you enjoy the story.

  This is Book 1 in the “Evermore Series.” It is a serial, meaning that each novella needs to be read in order for the complete story.

  1) Crushed - July 2016

  2) Claimed - September 2016

  3) Paparazzi - November 2016

  4) Star F*cking - December 2016

  Crushed

  by Andrea Smith

  Meatball Taster Publishing, LLC.

  Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved Andrea Smith dba Meatball Taster Publishing, LLC.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the authors.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted, under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the authors.

  Violation of copyright, by domestic or foreign entities, is punishable by law, which may include imprisonment, a fine, or both.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Introduction

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  How About a Sneak Peak of Book 2?

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Edited by: Ashley Blaschak Stout

  Formatted by: Erik Gevers

  Cover Design: Freya Barker

  Prologue

  I awoke instantly as soon as I heard the sound of shattering glass from the kitchen. I glanced over at the clock on my nightstand. It was only six in the morning. My alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour.

  I knew what the noise was; no cause for alarm. Mama was still up. She’d been on a three-day bender, during which time anything could happen.

  I pulled the covers back, and tiptoed across the bare wooden floor to the door of my bedroom. It was right off the kitchen. Actually, I think its intended use had been a large pantry. Our apartment was one of two on the lower floor of an old Victorian house that had been chopped up to make apartments in the older side of town.

  I opened my bedroom door, and there was Mama. Staggering around, looking for a broom to sweep up the shattered amber-colored glass that was strewn all over the worn linoleum floor. She saw me, and immediately flailed her arms my way.

  “Go on back to bed, Neely,” she said, her words slurred. “You don’t need to be coming out here in your bare feet, stepping all over this mess and getting cut now, hear?”

  “What happened?” I asked, my eyes squinting trying to adjust to the glare of the overhead lighting.

  “Well, what do you think happened, girl? That damn liquor store filled this bottle with bourbon, not scotch like it was supposed to be. As if I can’t tell the difference ‘tween the two. I’ll take care of Mr. McGreedy first thing when he opens his store today, I’ll tell you that! Now go on, I got this covered. Go on back to bed.”

  There was no use arguing with Mama when she got this way. To do so would most likely end up with me having a split lip or bruised cheek. Mama was a soft and gentle person, except when she was hitting the bottle.

  It wasn’t always this way.

  I climbed back into my bed, and pulled the covers up to my chin. I could hear her clanging around in the kitchen, muttering profanities that I’d never dare use in front of her and then, eventually, the sobs of her desperation floated into my room.

  Her binges were getting longer and occurring more often. I knew the pressure of everything was taking a toll on her.

  I wasn’t sure how much longer things could go on like this. She’d just lost her fourth job in as many months for attendance.

  We barely survived on the child support my father was sending monthly. My grandparents had bailed us out at first, but that only lasted about six months before they’d had it and told Mama to clean up her act. And to find her own damn place.

  So we’d become estranged. Well, at least Mama had, but as she said, “We’re a package deal, Neely. If they’ve shut me out, than they’ve shut us both out, as far as I’m concerned.”

  We’d moved to a small town about twenty miles from the small town where my grandparents lived because Mama said she wasn’t about to live her life in a fish bowl and feel their judgment from around the corner.

  And now one of them was gone.

  I laid in the dark, chewing on my bottom lip. Sleep wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. My tiredness would evaporate soon enough, only to be replaced by concern and worry.

  At seventeen, I was already learning a valuable lesson, mostly about pride. They say it ‘goeth before the fall,’ and that I truly believed.

  My mother hadn’t hit rock bottom just yet.

  But she was so damn close, I knew there’d be no turning back now. It was up to me to do what she couldn’t bring herself to do for her own good.

  But I wasn’t sure whether I had the guts to do it.

  Chapter 1

  Four Years Prior

  August 5, 1992

  Malibu, CA

  “Toss it over here, Neely,” Seth yelled, holding his arms up waiting for me to throw the Nerf football to him on the other end of the pool. “Bet you can’t lob it that far,” he challenged, treading water in the deep end.

  “Oh yeah?” I challenged. “I can throw better than you can, Seth Drake,” I hollered back, raising my right arm and hurling it over his head. It bounced off of the diving board, and landed in the grass behind the pool.

  “The thing is,” Seth yelled, “precision requires more skill than velocity.”

  He always said things like that when I outdid him on something. Seth was just that way.

  “Neilah Grace Evans,” my mother yelled from the patio door, “time for you to get on outta there and get ready for dinner. Your daddy’s taking us out tonight for dinner at the Pier.”

  “Okay, Mama,” I hollered back, swimming over towards the ladder.

  “Okay Mama,” Seth mimicked. “When you gonna lose that hillbilly accent, Neilah Grace?” he asked, trying to talk Southern. He failed miserably.

  “Never, ever,” I said, grabbing a towel from the chair. “My roots can show every bit as much as those bleached blondes on television. At least I’m for real.”

  He chuckled, displaying a dimple. Seth was fourteen, a year older than me, but we’d been hanging out together ever since my family had moved here from Nashville. My father had taken a job with a new law firm, switching from the music industry to the television industry.

  It had been exciting at first. Like a new adventure in a new land. But after two years, Southern California still didn’t feel like home to me. I missed Nashville. My friends and my grandparents. But mostly, I missed the friendliness of the South.

  Seth was practically my only friend. We lived in close proximity, went to the same school, rode the bus together
, and hung out a lot. His mother was an actress on a daytime soap, and his father did something technical at the studios. Nearly everyone in Malibu had some connection to the entertainment industry but, to be honest, I wasn’t all that impressed.

  Sure, it was obvious there was a lot of wealth and fame in these parts, but I wasn’t sure that we were as happy as we’d been in Tennessee.

  At least that’s how it seemed for Mama and me.

  “See you tomorrow?” Seth asked, quirking a brow. “Wanna go to the beach or something?”

  “Sure,” I said, stepping into my flip-flops. “Just come by when you’re ready.”

  I watched as Seth loped off toward the beach, where he would walk a fifty or sixty yard stretch before taking the path up to his house. It was huge and sprawling, larger than ours, but then he had two younger sisters at home. His family had a full-time housekeeper, too. My mother handled everything around our place except for the yard and pool. We had a guy that came weekly to handle that stuff.

  “Make sure you’re dried off before you come inside,” I heard her call out from the dining room. “I swear, you’re brown as a bean from the sun. Are you using that sunscreen I bought you?”

  “Yes, Mama,” I replied, rubbing my legs and feet dry. I stepped through the sliding screen door into the house. “Is this a dressed-up thing for dinner?” I asked, hoping that it wasn’t. Everything in Malibu was always so overdone, so glam and glitzy.

  “Just put on one of those pretty sundresses I bought you and your new sandals, sugar. But get in the shower and wash all that chlorine off your hair before it turns green again.”

  I was blonde, and what with the sun and swimming nearly every day, my hair had taken on a greenish hue much to Mama’s dismay. She’d bought some special clarifying shampoo for me and was forever harping on me to use it after every swim.

  “I swear,” she continued, watering a couple of the houseplants she had located around the dining room, “that boy is sweet on you, Neely. He keeps his distance from you now, doesn’t he?”

  That was Mama’s way of asking if he’d gotten fresh with me yet.

  “He’s a friend, Mama,” I said, rolling my eyes. “We just hang out together, that’s all. He’s the only person near my age around here. You do want me to have friends, don’t you?”

  “Well, of course I do, but I also know at fourteen boys start getting, you know, ideas in their heads.”

  I felt a blush spread across my face. “Seth doesn’t think of me like that, Mama. I’m going to get my shower,” I finished, exiting the dining room to head towards my bathroom. It made me uncomfortable when my mother said things like that. At thirteen, I had no interest in boys…at least in that way.

  The thing was, my junior high female classmates seemed as if they’d known each other all their lives. After two years, I still felt like the new kid. I had a feeling that I always would. Seth had been the first one to open up to me shortly after we had arrived in sun-drenched Southern California.

  He’d seen me on the beach right before school was due to start and struck up a conversation. It was mostly questions on his part.

  “You the new kid that moved in up there?” he asked, nodding upwards to where our house was located.

  “Yep,” I replied, still drawing a landscape in the wet sand with a stick I’d found.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Neely Evans.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Got any brothers or sisters?”

  “Nope.”

  “Any dogs or cats?”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you do for fun then?”

  That had seemed like a strange question to me. It was like I couldn’t possibly have fun unless I had siblings or pets.

  “Lots of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like drawing and painting. I’m gonna be an artist.”

  Seth had laughed. “An artist? My dad says most of them starve to death!”

  “Do not!” I snapped, clearly agitated with this strange boy who asked too many questions.

  “Well I’m going to be a movie star. My mother says I’m a natural.”

  “A natural what?” I asked, glancing up at him from where I was crouched down trying to finish my sand art.

  “A natural-born actor,” he said as if I should’ve known that without asking. “She’s an actress. Makes lots of money, too.”

  “Sounds like you’re a braggart,” I had replied, turning back to my masterpiece. “Mama says it’s rude to brag.”

  He’d given me a frown. “No brag, just fact,” he replied with a shrug. “You talk funny. Where’re you from?”

  I bristled at his last comment. People out here were forever commenting that I talked funny. “Maybe you just listen funny,” I replied. “And to answer your question, I’m from Earth, same as you.”

  “Hardy-har-har,” he replied. “Answer my question, Neely Evans.”

  I stood up, brushing the sand off of my knees. “You’re awfully nosy,” I commented. “What’s your name?”

  “Seth Drake. I live at the next house down the beach.”

  “Well, Seth Drake. I’ve answered all the questions I’m going to for now. I’m going swimming in my own pool. So I reckon you’ll just have to figure the rest of it out for yourself.”

  I’d turned and skipped down the beach to where the wooden steps led up to our property. Just as I reached the top, I heard him yell up to me.

  “I’m betting Tennessee! I’m really good at guessing accents! See you later, Tennessee!”

  And that had been the start of my first real friendship in Southern California. One that would turn out to be precious, but not withstanding the distance when our lives in Malibu came to a crashing halt a few years later.

  Chapter 2

  Present Day

  September 1996

  My alarm went off, and just as I had anticipated, I’d not fallen back to sleep. I’d simply reflected back on our life before my mother had started her decline into misery and depression.

  How was I supposed to fix her?

  She’d alienated herself from everyone who’d ever loved her except for me.

  She was only thirty-seven, but ever since my father and her had split nearly three years ago, things had slowly started down the path of destruction for her.

  My father, an entertainment lawyer in Los Angeles, had fallen in love with one of his clients. One of his very rich, very famous clients, as a matter of fact. Tiffany Blume, who’d been the latest femme fatale on a new series called Lotus Pointe.

  It wasn’t as if my mother hadn’t seen it coming. My father was forever working late, and then working weekends. On one of those weekends when he was supposed to be negotiating a multi-movie contract deal in New York City, one of the gossip rags had shot photos of him shirtless, in swim trunks walking along a stretch of beach in Cancun, hand in hand with Ms. Blume.

  That was all it took for Mama to pull up stakes. She’d never liked California, let alone L.A. She’d been born and raised in the South, an only child herself, who had been doted on by loving parents.

  So, once she came face-to-face with the reality of what my father had been doing, her Southern pride kicked in heavy duty.

  She’d packed us up, made flight reservations and we escaped back to Tennessee to live with my grandparents until Mama could figure things out, or so that had been the plan.

  Mama never had figured things out.

  My father hadn’t really fought the divorce. I think that in and of itself was the thing that affected her the most. Despite my grandparents’ stern warnings that Mama deserved half of everything, and that she’d be better served by replacing her devastation with white-hot anger, her stubborn pride wouldn’t have it.

  “I want nothing from that cheating bastard!” she screamed. “I just want to be done with him. I should’ve known better than to hitch my
wagon to a sneaky, good-for-nothing, Yankee!”

  And then I had to listen to my grandparents say over and over again about how they had tried to warn her; that they never had cared for Randall Evans; and the fact that he had moved us all out to California, the land of sin and depravity, had been the kiss of death for their marriage.

  Of course Mama was looking elsewhere to lay the blame. “You shouldn’t have made me go to that college,” she’d sobbed. “Y’all knew I wanted to go to school around here, not clear up there in New York.”

  And then that led to even more arguing about how it wasn’t their fault Mama had been taken with a fast-talking Yankee and got herself knocked up at the end of her sophomore year.

  I’d had to leave the room. I’d heard it all before, and to be truthful, I didn’t appreciate the way they talked about Daddy. No matter what, he was still my father and I loved him. I hadn’t particularly liked him at the moment, but I couldn’t simply stop loving him after all.

  Mama had never understood that. In fact, she made such a big deal out of my going to spend a month with him the summer I was fifteen that she begged me not to leave her again.

  So, when the following summer had rolled around, I had no choice but to lie to him. I told him I didn’t want to visit, because I had so many activities planned for the summer and asked if he would mind. He said he understood, but I knew that it had hurt him, and for that, I felt bad. But, I just couldn’t stand to upset my mother like that again. Their divorce had cost me dearly. Maybe more than it cost them.

  So much more.

  I dressed in a pair of ratty jeans, and pulled a clean tee shirt from my dresser drawer, shrugging it on over my head. I took a glance at my face in the mirror. At least I’d gotten enough sleep so there weren’t any dark circles under my eyes. I didn’t use make-up unless I had to cover dark circles or bruises.

  I ran a brush through my shoulder-length blonde hair, and then pulled it up into a messy ponytail. I located my sneakers under the bed and slipped them on.

  Hopefully Mama was still sleeping it off, and I could leave the house without having to deal with the usual bullshit that came with her hangovers: cleaning up puke, helping her out of her soiled clothes and into clean ones, and tucking her in to her bed while listening to her rants.