Wrecked Book 3 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Wrecked Book 3

  By Rachel Hanna

  Author’s Note

  This is book 3 in the Wrecked series. There will be 5 books in this series, so if you don’t want to miss the release of book 4 in a couple of weeks, CLICK HERE to be added to the notification list!

  Be sure to also confirm the email you receive, or you won’t be added to the list. Also, connect with me on Facebook by clicking HERE!

  Chapter 1

  “It’s been a long time, Adrianna.”

  Miranda stood in the open doorway bundled up in a dark pea coat and polkadot rain boots. Her hair hung about her shoulders, long and parted down the middle. She was pale—paler than she had been the last time I’d seen her—and there were dark, purplish circles beneath her dark green eyes. She was a mixture of death and a woman haunted.

  I knew at least one of those things she actually was.

  “Miranda,” I said, shock freezing me in place while fear made me want to run and be anywhere but here. “I… I didn’t think you’d come here.”

  “Didn’t think?” she asked, her voice icy and her expression a study in pale anger. “Or hoped that I wouldn’t?”

  “Miranda, I...” I didn’t know what I wanted to say. It was true, I had been hoping that she just wouldn’t come. That she would simply disappear from my mind once again. Instead, she was here on my doorstep staring me down with those icy, haunted eyes. “I thought you were in Maine,” I finally said lamely.

  She gave a bitter laugh. “Haven’t you heard?” she asked me, her tone snide. “You can’t run away from your problems. Or your nightmares.”

  I cringed, remembering my own nightmares. I’d been dreaming of Beck for a long time now, her last moments haunting my subconscious thoughts when she finally started drifting from my conscious mind. My memories of that awful night were enough fuel for a lifetime, but at least they were definite. They didn’t change, at least not the facts, and the nightmares never strayed far from the awful truth.

  But Miranda wasn’t there. Her imagination had to supply her with what happened that night. It had to piece together what really happened, and I knew how that worked. Our minds were capable of imagining things that were always going to be worse than the truth—if that was even possible.

  At least I knew.

  Shaking my head, I tried to explain as best I could. “Miranda, I know how hard things must have been for you—” I started, but she wasn’t going to let me off that easily.

  “You don’t know anything!” she accused, pointing a bony finger at me. “You have no idea what I’ve been through! I lost my sister. And you killed her.”

  My chest constricted and I found it hard to breathe. I’d been waiting for this moment for a long time, dreading it with every breath I took, but I’d almost managed to convince myself that it would never come, that I had gotten away with murder and wouldn’t have to pay any toll.

  I should have known better.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tried again, my voice hoarse with the threat of tears. I held them back. They wouldn’t do me or her any good. “I can never take it back,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady. “I wish every day that I could.”

  Her eyebrows rose at that statement. “Every day?” she asked, skepticism clear in her voice. She looked around the hall of the house I shared with my roommates. For the first time, I felt self-conscious about how nice it was. Expensive looking. I split the rent between the three of us and it was being paid for by financial aid on my part, so it wasn’t as though I was just rolling in money, but as she scanned over the hardwood walls and the large living room, I realized that it looked a lot like I was.

  And it made me feel ashamed.

  “You spend every day in this beautiful house, attending this prestigious college, with all your new friends,” she said, putting venom in each emphasized word, “thinking of my dead sister? Because it seems a lot like you’re enjoying yourself just fine. In fact, it looks like you’re living the life Rebecca should have been living.”

  That last part cut deep. She was right. This was the life Beck was supposed to be living. She had always been a good kid, a smart kid. She got the grades, despite my party-going, negative influence. She was the one who had always planned on attending a major University and working hard to get that Business degree so that she could do something real in the world.

  This was what she had always wanted, but she wasn’t here to live it anymore. And it was my fault.

  I shook my head. “I know,” I whispered. “She should be here. Right here where I’m standing right now. You should be here visiting her, not—” I couldn’t make myself say that she was here reminding me of the terrible person I was, so I skipped over it. “But I am here. I’m here because I’ve changed. I’m a better person now, and I’m doing it because it’s the only way I know how to honor Beck’s memory.”

  It was true. The day of her funeral I made a promise to myself. I would never be that reckless, careless kid too selfish to see what her terrible choices were doing to the people she loved the most. I was going to be a better person, the kind of person Beck would be proud of.

  For a while, I thought I’d been doing alright, too…

  “Changed, eh?” Miranda said, folding her arms across her chest as her gaze focused on something behind me.

  I felt dread flood my body and before I even began to turn I knew what she was looking at—who she was looking at. Standing there in nothing but the jeans he had worn over here last night was Logan, his blonde hair a tousled mess of sexiness that looked fresh from a night of wild love-making. He was smoothing it out with a large hand, the movement making muscles ripple beneath his sculpted chest.

  My eyes scanned over the tattoos that ran like jagged lines over his body, forming intricately beautiful works of art that he used to hide the truth of his past. He was beautiful to me, and my heart bleated against my chest, begging me to go to him, to touch him.

  But I resisted.

  I was still too aware of Miranda standing on my porch, staring at Logan and judging me by my past mistakes and taking him as evidence of the ones I was destined to repeat.

  The ones that got her sister killed.

  Logan was obviously still sleepy and had just made his way down the stairs in search of either me or breakfast. Whichever it was, he found me and after recognizing me, his storm blue eyes brightened and his lips split into a wide grin.

  It took him a moment to register that what he had just walked in on was not casual, but instead rife with tension. When he did, the smile dropped and his eyes darted from me to Miranda. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, I turned back to Miranda and said, “We’re not together. He’s just a friend of my roommate who stayed over.” I couldn’t make myself look back over my shoulder at him, because I knew that the look on his face would be awful—but I had to say it. Forcing myself to remain calm and nonchalant, I added, “I barely even know him.”

  Miranda’s smile was chilly as she said, “Well that’s good. For him and you. I’d hate to see something bad happen to someone else, too.”

  With that, she turned to go. She made it down the stairs and to the sidewalk before pausing. Turning back to look at me, she added in a casual, ‘I almost forgot’ voice, “I hope he knows what he’s getting into.”

  I watched as she disappeared down the sidewalk, across the street, and around the corner. I didn’t know where she was going, but I was glad she was gone.
In all the scenarios I had pictured where I confronted her—or rather she confronted me—I never could have imagined what it would really feel like. Part of me had always hoped that somehow it would be a healing experience. We would both yell and cry, there would be apologies as I poured my heart out to her, explaining how awful I felt about the whole thing, how haunted, and then we would hug and remember that we both lost the same person.

  Of course, every rational part of me knew that was never going to happen, but in my determination to reform myself into the upstanding girl that everyone had wanted and needed me to be, I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t be that bad if it ever happened.

  We would at least be able to move past it.

  But now, as I closed the door to my house and the dread settled more firmly in the pit of my stomach, I realized that that was never going to happen.

  Miranda was never going to forgive me. And that meant that I was never going to forgive me either.

  Letting out a sigh, I leaned my forehead against the door. Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, but I did my best to hold them back. Taking a deep breath, I straightened up and released it. About the time I had pulled myself together, I realized what had happened. What I had said about Logan while he was standing right there.

  Panic swept through me and I spun around quickly to face him, to explain what was going on—but he wasn’t there. He was already gone.

  “Logan?”

  I heard movement sounding upstairs, it sounded like it was coming from my room. Sure that was where he’d gone, I raced up the stairs, not caring how early in the morning it was or how much sound I made as I went. I made it to my room. The door was open and sure enough there was Logan. His shirt was still off, but he was seated on my bed so he could lace up his boots.

  I stood in the doorway, not sure what I wanted to say now that he and I were in the same room again. Of course, I wanted to explain what had happened with Miranda—but did I really? The more I got to know Logan, the more I realized how hard he tried for the things he wanted no matter the consequences. Maybe it was easier now if he just thought… if he thought that last night hadn’t meant anything to me.

  “Logan…” I began slowly, stepping a little into the room and moving so that I could lean against the desk. I faced him, but there was plenty of room between us.

  Logan didn’t say anything to me at first. He didn’t even acknowledge me. He just finished with one boot, jerking down the pant leg of his black jeans over the top of it. Then he moved on to the next as though I wasn’t even there.

  Biting my lip, I tried again. “About what happened downstairs—”

  This made him pause. He stopped lacing his left boot and finally looked up at me. The expression on his face was enough to make that pit filled with dread inside me mingle and mix with guilt. It made me want to tell him that I didn’t mean it, that I was sorry and all I really wanted was him.

  “You don’t have to explain,” he told me, his tone cool as his eyes swirled with dark storm clouds. “I get it. I’m not stupid. You had your moment with the bad boy. Had a little fun, and now that you’ve experienced it you’re done. It’s not the first time a good girl took a walk on the wild side for the novelty of it.”

  Each word was like a physical blow against me, making my arms snake around my waist to hold tightly. I began to shake my head. It wasn’t like that. I was the bad girl, didn’t he see that? But before I could say anything in my defense, he finished tying the other shoe and stood. I couldn’t help but notice once more that he was an odd mixture of muscle, dark art, and long since healed scars.

  “I didn’t think you were like that,” he told me, looking around my room for something. “I thought you were different, special.” He reached down when he spotted his dark shirt, snatching it up off the floor and jerking it down over his bare body.

  My eyes followed the hem of his shirt as it covered his cut abs.

  “But you’re not, are you?” he continued, his eyes sharp as they searched my face. “You’re just like everyone else and you always will be.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I can’t believe how stupid I am.”

  And before anything more could be said, he turned away from me and stormed out of my room. I stayed frozen at my desk, clutching at my stomach, listening to him stomp down the stairs farther and farther away from me. I stayed like that right up until I heard the door slam shut downstairs. That’s when the tears that I had been holding back all morning finally spilled over.

  Sobs wracked my body as I slid down to the floor.

  How could I have let him get this close to me?

  Chapter 2

  I thought that after she said goodbye, after I stood and took my punishment, it would be over. I’d survived the worst of the worst and all that was left now was the guilt that would eat away at me for the rest of my days—nothing new there.

  But I wasn’t so lucky.

  “What do you mean she transferred here?” I demanded of my mother, all but yelling at her through the phone. After Miranda had dropped by unannounced, I finally bit the bullet and called my mother. She seemed to know at least to some extent what was going on.

  There was a brief pause, then I heard a sigh and could picture her massaging her temple as a headache formed. “I tried to tell you,” she pointed out blandly. “I tried to tell you that Miranda was coming.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted, but ignored the twinge of guilt I felt for not answering her by focusing on my anger and panic instead. “But you never said anything about her going to school here! What the hell is she doing?”

  For a moment my mother didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say if she was trying to choose her words carefully, or if she just didn’t know what to say. “I wasn’t sure until her father showed up a few days ago.”

  I held my breath. I hadn’t spoken to Mr. Ansell since the funeral. He hadn’t even been able to look at me. I still wasn’t sure if that was preferable to how his wife treated me—she slapped me across the face and told me that I was the worst thing to ever happen to her daughter—but I know that the way he turned away from me still haunts me.

  Some things just don’t go away.

  “He came by to tell me that Miranda was doing better. That she was finally started to accept… what happened.” My mother hesitated, clearly not sure if she should divulge any further information and it made me think it was legally sensitive. My mother was a nurse. If Mr. Ansell had told her anything regarding Miranda’s health—like medications or therapy—she would feel obligated to keep silent regarding that. Whatever it was, I doubted it was my mom told me next. “He said that she’d applied to colleges and gotten into several of them, and managed to get a late acceptance into one of them. When I asked him what one, he told me it was the University of Massachusetts.”

  Late acceptance. I thought of what a catch Miranda had to be for a university to make that kind of exception for her. It didn’t really surprise me. She was Beck’s little sister and Beck would have been a candidate for full ride scholarships to Ivy League schools if she’d—

  If I hadn’t happened.

  “Why did she come here?” I whispered into the receiver, terrified of what my mother would say.

  I heard another sigh from her, then, “I don’t know. Maybe she wants to make peace, Adrianna.”

  Irritation flared within me at my mother’s optimistic and completely unrealistic expectations. Was she crazy? Of course Miranda wasn’t here to make peace! Maybe it was just our encounter the other day that was fueling my reaction, but I knew better than to expect forgiveness.

  No, what I was in for was punishment.

  “Right,” I said, sarcasm filling my voice. “And I’m sure she wants to play tea party and gossip about that cute boy in her class, too, right?”

  I could hear the disapproval in my mother’s voice as she reminded me, “Miranda’s been through a lot. It’s been hard on her. She lost her sister.” She didn’t add the ‘because of you’ though I knew that she though
t it. “You could be a little more sympathetic, you know.”

  I wanted to yell at her that she was being unfair. That I was her daughter and would it kill her to just be on my side for once? But I didn’t, because I knew she was right. I destroyed Miranda’s life the night I took away Beck’s and there was no changing any of that.

  “I am sympathetic, Mom,” I told her through gritted teeth. “I never… I didn’t want this to happen. I wish I could go back and change this, but I can’t. It happened. Why can’t we all just move on?”

  It was a stupid question. Really, how could we move on? Beck had been such a huge part of both Miranda’s life and mine. And she had infected my mother, too. She was the only thing that kept World War Three from exploding in my house. Beck was more important to my mom than I was, I thought sometimes. She was the one who kept me on track to success. She kept me from slipping too far off the deep end.

  But even she couldn’t stop me that night. No one could.

  “I can’t believe you even said that,” my mom said, her tone a mixture of steely and chastising. She was always a pro at making me feel awful about myself and this was no exception. “She’s hurting, Adrianna. How can you expect her to just erase the loss of her only sister?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that, so remained silent. I knew she was right, because there was still a hole in my own chest where Beck had once been and nothing would fill it. I could only imagine how much worse it was to lose a sibling.

  “Miranda has every right to be angry,” my mother continued. “And you’ll do her the kindness of allowing her the chance to heal. In whatever way she needs to.”

  And that was the end of the conversation. There was no point in arguing with her after that, because it was clear as day where she stood on the matter. I was the screw up and everyone else was paying the price.

  It didn’t matter if I was hurting still, too. No one cared because it was my fault.