Coming Full Circle (the Pembrooke series Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other books by Jessica

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Find Jessica at

  Coming Full Circle

  The Pembrooke Series

  by Jessica Prince

  Copyright © 2016 by Jessica Prince

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.authorjessicaprince.com

  Editor: Erin Garcia

  Cover Designer: Najla Qambr, www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Interior Design & Proofing: Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction, www.loveaffairwithfiction.com

  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 any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book 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 persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE PICKING UP THE PIECES SERIES:

  Picking up the Pieces

  Rising from the Ashes

  Pushing the Boundaries

  Worth the Wait

  THE COLORS NOVELS:

  Scattered Colors

  Shrinking Violet

  Love Hate Relationship

  Wildflower

  THE LOCKLAINE BOYS (a LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP spinoff):

  Fire and Ice

  Opposites Attract

  Almost Perfect – Collin and Devon’s story (coming late 2016)

  THE PEMBROOKE SERIES (a WILDFLOWER spinoff):

  Sweet Sunshine

  Coming Full Circle

  A Broken Soul – Quinn and Lilly’s book (coming early 2017)

  DEADLY LOVE SERIES:

  Destructive

  Addictive

  Obsessive – Aldo and Carmen’s story (coming early 2017)

  OTHER TITLES:

  Nightmares from Within

  CO-WRITTEN TITLES:

  Hustler – with Meghan Quinn

  To everyone who has experienced young love.

  Eliza

  I FELL IN love with Ethan Prewitt when I was nine years old.

  It wasn’t real love or anything. I was only nine — almost ten — after all, but back then it was the most intense, consuming emotion I’d ever experienced in my young life. From nine to twelve I was a blushing, giggling, stuttering mess whenever he was around, and seeing as my Dad and his wife Chloe were best friends with Ethan’s sister and brother-in-law, he was around a lot.

  Ethan was gorgeous and popular and way too old for me — which only added to the thrill of it. But as time passed and we really got to know each other, that young, childish love evolved. I started to grow up, mature, and that immature infatuation turned into a friendship the likes of which I cherished above all else.

  My relationship with Ethan was the most important thing in my life. It was him I went to when I needed advice, his opinion I held in the highest regard, his shoulder I leaned on whenever I needed someone to share my burdens with. As the years passed, that respect only grew.

  He turned into the best friend I could have ever had. We told each other everything, confiding things we wouldn’t dare tell anyone else. We shared our ambitions and dreams. We knew each other better than anyone else. I needed him. I grew to depend on him.

  And looking back, I realized that was my biggest mistake.

  Because needing someone didn’t necessarily mean they needed you back. It was a lesson I’d learned even before Ethan came into my life. You could give a person all the love you were capable of carrying, but that didn’t mean you’d get the same in return.

  My mother hadn’t taught me much in my life, but that particular lesson was the one that stuck the most, sad as it was.

  There were people in your life who were supposed to care, supposed to do their best to protect you from all the bad. My father was one of those people, his wife Chloe another. It hurt to know my own mother, my flesh and blood, wasn’t one of those people, and for that very reason, I kept my circle small. Only those who I’d go to the ends of the earth for and who I trusted to do the same for me were allowed in. I appreciated quality over quantity, and while keeping people out sometimes led to being lonely, I’d convinced myself that it was enough. I had everyone I’d ever need. I had Dad and Chloe, Noah and Harlow, my other friend Lilly.

  And I had Ethan. Or so I thought.

  I only had him for six years before I lost him.

  Now I’ve spent the next six regretting the fact that I ever let Ethan Prewitt in.

  Ethan

  IT WAS YET another sleepless night where I spent hours staring up at the slow spinning ceiling fan above my bed. I tried counting the rotations hoping the monotony would clear my head enough to let drowsiness take over, but no such luck. I hadn’t slept for shit since I took the hit on the field that fucked my knee to hell and took me out of the game for the rest of the season. I’d lived and breathed football for as long as I could remember, and now that it had been taken from me, I was left with nothing to do but think.

  Not a good thing, especially since sitting idle was something I’d been avoiding like the plague for the past six years.

  The warm, naked body next to me in the bed shifted and ripped me from my thoughts. How sad was it that I’d been so lost in my own head that I’d forgotten the woman sleeping next to me?

  “Mmm,” she hummed pleasurably. “Good morning, handsome.”

  My head rolled on the pillow to face the blonde currently pressing her fake tits against my arm. Amber. One of the few women in my phone who got repeat calls… not that those calls were all that often. But seeing as I was holed up in my apartment with a goddamned torn ACL and unable to hit up the clubs and bars with my teammates to pick up a random hookup for the night, my choices were limited.

  Unfortunately, that also meant I’d been left with no choice but to invite her to my place if I wanted to get laid — something I made a conscious effort never to do until now.

  “Morning,” I muttered, sounding sullen despite having marathon sex last night with a woman more than happy to do all the work.

  “You don’t sound too happy,” she purred, running her bright red nails across my chest. “How about I do something to put you in a better mood?”

  My hands went to her hips and grabbed hold, stopping her just before she managed to throw her leg over my hip and straddle my waist. “Sorry, babe. PT will be here any minute, so I’m gonna have to take a rain check.”

  When her bottom lip jutted out in a pout, it
took everything I had not to roll my eyes. But since I’d used her for sex and had no intentions whatsoever of calling her again after the night before, I figured the least I could do was be polite to the woman while I attempted to shuffle her out of my apartment.

  “Gotta take a leak, then you should probably get going. No need for you to stay and be bored out of your mind while he’s working my knee.” I shifted her body away from mine and sat up, easing my left leg off the mattress so I could attempt to stand.

  I hobbled awkwardly over to my crutches, the long brace on my leg making it more difficult as Amber spoke. “I really don’t mind. Maybe I could help you out while you’re recovering? Like cleaning and cooking until you can get around a little better?”

  Oh Jesus. The hope shining her in eyes — eyes that had mascara streaked underneath, not a very good look — had me twitching to run, and if it wasn’t for my blown-out knee, I had no doubt I’d already be locking myself in the bathroom. However, I wasn’t that lucky; I was stuck in place while she crawled from the bed, revealing every inch of her body to me as she closed the distance between us.

  Her nails traced along the waistband of my boxer briefs as she whispered, “Maybe I’ll clean naked. It could be fun.” Her lips tilted up in a seductive smile that held little effect since half her makeup had streaked into places it didn’t belong, making her look more like a drunk clown than a seductress. My dick didn’t so much as twitch.

  Fuck me. That was one of the reasons I never had them over to my place, and I never stayed the night at theirs. Things never looked the same in the light of day as they did the night before.

  “Maybe some other time, baby.” I tried to smile, hoping it didn’t look as forced as it felt. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to put my cleaning lady Rosita out of work, now would you?” I gave her a little wink and let go of one of my crutches long enough to smack her on the ass.

  As I pivoted toward the bathroom, the sound of my front door opening and closing sounded, followed by a loud voice. “Wake your lazy ass up, Prewitt. Time to get this shit started.”

  That time my grin wasn’t fake at all. I probably shouldn’t have looked so damned giddy, but I couldn’t help it. Typically I hated PT, but just then I could have kissed Duke for saving me from having to physically remove Amber from my apartment.

  “Looks like it’s time to go, sweetness. I’ll give you a call sometime.”

  With a forlorn expression, she turned and started picking up her clothes, and I took that as my opportunity to take a piss. When I emerged from the bathroom, she was already dressed, but instead of being gone, she was standing next to my bedside table, the picture frame I’d kept there in every single apartment I’d lived in the past six years in her hands.

  She looked up with a smile on her face. “Is this you when you were in college? You look so young!”

  “Put that down,” I grunted as I made my way in her direction. Before she could follow my command, I reached her and snatched the frame from her fingers, placing it back down exactly as it had been. No one touched it but me. Even Rosita knew just to dust around it.

  “Sorry,” she snapped in a snotty tone as I scooted the picture a centimeter over, tilting it so it could be seen perfectly from my side of the bed. “Is that your sister or cousin or something?”

  I looked back down at the photo in question, taking in Eliza’s bright, shining smile. My sister Harlow had taken it. She had a gift for photography and snapped the picture just as Eliza’s head was tipped back in laughter at something I’d just said to her. My arm was thrown over her shoulder and I was grinning down at her with a pleased-as-shit look on my face that I’d been able to make her laugh. We’d been in my old backyard, it was the same house Harlow and her husband Noah still lived in. It was their daughter Lucy’s fifth birthday party, and I’d driven back from college in Laramie to celebrate. It was the first time I’d seen Eliza in weeks. Having a full class load and football practice all the damn time, it had been hard for us to catch up. But when I got home that weekend, we’d picked up right where we left off.

  It might have been weird to some, a twenty-one year guy so excited to see a fifteen year old girl, but it wasn’t like that. She was my best friend. The best friend I’d ever had. I never felt the age gap when we were together. Maybe it was because she’d already experienced shit at a young age that no kid should have to go through, but she was mature… and so damn smart. And because of the shit her mom had put her through, she could understand feeling like an outsider. That was probably what bonded us the most.

  Then I’d fucked it all up. Because about a year after that picture was taken, my feelings started to change. Feelings that fucked with my head in a major way and scared the hell out of me. Feelings I’d convinced myself were all kinds of wrong. Feelings I never, ever planned to act on.

  So I left. I had no choice.

  And the worst thing about it was, in the six years I’d been gone, my feelings hadn’t lessened in the slightest.

  “She’s my best friend,” I answered.

  “Isn’t she a little…” Amber’s words trailed off, drawing my gaze away from the picture and back to her, “young to be your best friend?”

  “We practically grew up together,” I ground out, feeling an overwhelming sense of protectiveness where my relationship with Eliza Anderson was concerned, even if it wasn’t the complete truth. It was the same feeling I felt for years any time someone questioned our friendship, or said anything negative about her in general. Because of my stupidity, we hadn’t spoken in six years, but to this day, that desire to defend her, to defend what we had, hadn’t lessoned in the slightest.

  Even if I didn’t have her anymore.

  “I need to get a quick shower,” I grumbled as I used my crutches to help me pivot around, giving Amber my back. I’m sure you can see your way out.”

  “So…” she called out hesitantly, but I didn’t stop moving. “You’ll call me?”

  Not a fucking chance in Hell. “Sure. I’ll be pretty busy with rehab and stuff, but I’ll give you a call if I have time.” With that, I shut the bathroom door on her. I trusted Duke to keep her from steeling any of my shit, and after the hard hit that thinking about Eliza caused, I was done.

  As I stood under the hot shower spray, I went over the hundred ways I spent the past six years being the world’s biggest asshole. It started with hurting the one person I was the closest with and ended with me waiting so long to apologize and make things right, that it was already too late. Looking back, I could have done things differently. But you know what they say about hindsight.

  It’s a motherfucker.

  MY CELLPHONE RANG just as I popped a couple ibuprofen and downed then with the cold beer in my hand. Duke had left an hour ago, but because he was a sadist, my knee was throbbing like hell, which did nothing to help improve my earlier mood.

  I reached into the pocket of my sweats and pulled the phone out, not bothering to look at the display as I answered with a curt, “What?”

  “Holy shit!” a familiar voice cried from the other end. “He actually answered the phone! Noah! Quick! Look out the window and tell me if the world’s on fire. This has to be the sign of the apocalypse.”

  “You’re fucking hysterical, Low-Low,” I deadpanned. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “What? Can’t a sister call her baby brother and give him shit for being an asshole who never comes to see her or her family and barely has the time to talk on the phone anymore?”

  My head dropped down as I rested a hand on the dark granite of the kitchen island and leaned forward. With a sigh, I told her, “I’m really not in the mood for this right now, Harlow.”

  “I don’t give two shits what you’re in the mood for Ethan. Last I heard from you, you were about to have surgery to repair the tear to your ACL. That was eight days ago! I had to hear from your agent that you were doing well and at home recuperating. You haven’t answered a single call, you won’t return any of my messages, and Noah
said you’ve been ignoring him too. What the hell, man?”

  “Harlow—”

  Doing what she always did and ignoring the warning in my tone, she pushed forward. “Lucy’s been worried about you, and Evan’s been beside himself since he saw you take that hit. Do you have any idea how hard it is to try and console a six-year-old when he thinks his favorite uncle just got his guts stomped on the field?”

  “I’m his only uncle,” I replied, but she wasn’t finished.

  “I’ll tell you. It’s really freaking hard, Ethan. You’re his idol for Christ’s sake. Lucy and Evan adore you. But you can’t even bother with more than one or two goddamned phone calls to let us know you’re okay and still alive?!”

  By the end of her rant Harlow’s voice got so high pitched, I started to worry for the dogs in their neighborhood. But she made her point.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered through the line.

  “Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t hear you since you were mumbling. Try repeating it, and this time try and talk like a grownup.”

  Just like Harlow to give me shit, even when I was trying to apologize. She had never been one to just accept an apology. Oh no, she made you bust your ass to earn her forgiveness. No one knew that better than me and her husband Noah. She’d practically made the man jump through flaming hoops to win her back after breaking her heart when they were teenagers.

  “I said, ‘I’m sorry,’” I repeated, making sure to enunciate. “You’re right. I’ve been a prick.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds before stating, “Yes. You have.”

  “I’m really sorry, Low-Low,” I said softly, using the nickname I’d given her when I was little, hoping it would help to butter her up. “I’ll make it up to you guys. I promise.”

  “Good. Because I’ve already told the kids Uncle Ethan’s coming for an extended visit starting next week.”

  “You what?!”

  “And don’t worry. I’ve already cleared it with your agent and, lucky you, Fletch is a licensed physical therapist! What a coincidence, huh?”