Title: Summer Love (A Forever Series Novella)
Author: J. Lum
Release Date: Jul 10 2017
Cover Designer: J.M.Walker / Just write. Creations
Spending the entire summer with my father wasnâ€™t in my plans. I hated him. I was angry and resentful, and it made me feel out of control.
Until I met her.
Casey is carefree. She lives life to the fullest, without regrets, and to a guy like me, she was hope. We only had the summer, and I knew better than to get wrapped up with her, but I couldnâ€™t help it.
And now? Now, I donâ€™t know how to let her go.
Iâ€™d never been in love. At fifteen, my life was filled with books and family expectations. Love was not something I had time for.
And then, he saved me.
Toby is a boy from California, so you would think heâ€™d be easy going, but he isnâ€™t. He’s the definition of self-control; everything has to be â€œjust so.â€ But when weâ€™re together, living each day with reckless abandon, I realize that life is so much more than fairytales within the pages.
Iâ€™m pretty sure heâ€™s my soulmate. But what good can possibly come from falling so hard when youâ€™re this young? How can this ever work?
A promise. Thatâ€™s all we have to hold on to. One. Simple. Promise.
***This novel contains adult/mature young adult situations. It is only suitable for ages 18+ due to language and sexual situations.
Kobo, BN, and iBooks: https://www.books2read.com/u/mBeaDA
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â€œTe odio!â€ I hate you. The burning rage builds up inside as I am forced to converse with this family that isnâ€™t my own.
â€œTobias, I told you to speak English in the house! You will respect my rules while you are here. Do you understand me? Your mother and siblings donâ€™t understand you!â€ My father is gesticulating wildly with his fist raised. I take a few steps back, my own fists clenched as I try everything to control my anger. But I canâ€™t get my temper under control and my face is burning hot. How dare he imply Debiâ€™s anything but my stepmother? Sheâ€™s not my mother, and Molly and Jamie are not my siblings. I donâ€™t have a brother and sister â€¦
I glance over my fatherâ€™s shoulder at them, pretending they arenâ€™t listening in on yet another argument my father and I are having. Molly is tucked in and sitting on Debiâ€™s lap, sucking her thumb with a sleepy look on her face while Jamieâ€™s blue-green eyes are marked in concern. His bowl of chocolate cereal lay untouched and soggy.
We had just started screaming at each other when they walked into the kitchen, bright and early, their hair in disarray. I felt sorry about waking them up, especially Jamie, who is at the same age as I was when my father walked out. Heâ€™s not stupid; he knows something is wrong and that look on his face, the concernâ€”I put that there. He usually looks at me like I hung the moon. The older brother he always wanted. We both carry the deep-rooted Spanish looks. While my eyes are deep brown, both Jamie and Mollyâ€™s are blue like their motherâ€™s and hair jet-black, like our fatherâ€™s.
Since coming here, almost every conversation ends up like this, and today is no different. My father set me off this morning when he tried to have a â€œnormalâ€ conversation with me about what I had been up to. As if he really cares about my life. Where has he been the last eleven years? Not in our home, and certainly not with me. No, he was with them, being their doting father. With my teeth and fists clenched, I stare up at my father.
â€œNo me importa. No son mi familia â€¦â€ Taking long breaths, I pause. â€œYou left us! I donâ€™t want to be here, just as much as you donâ€™t wantâ€¦â€ My eyes burn from the impending tears, and I blink hard. No, no, no. I wonâ€™t cry. He doesnâ€™t deserve any of my feelings beyond anger. I have to get out of his house. Iâ€™m suffocating here. I try to run past him, but his strong hands grab hold of my mine, as if to anchor me in place.
â€œTobias, donâ€™t â€¦ Please, look at me.â€ I turn away from him and shake my head as he squeezes my hand. â€œTobias, perdÃ³name. Lo siento. Iâ€™m sorry.â€
I yank my hands free from his grasp as soon as his last â€˜sorryâ€™ leaves his lips. I canâ€™t stand to be in this house another second. I canâ€™t hear him apologize for leaving meâ€”leaving usâ€”to find a new and better family. I take long strides towards the door and, without looking back at him, I swing it open and it bangs into the wall. I shake my head. â€œNo significas nada para mi.â€ I pause, before repeating my words in English so they all can understand me. â€œYou mean nothing to me. I wonâ€™t ever forgive you.â€ Then I slam the door shut, running quickly off the porch and down the path towards the beach. The hairs on my arms stand up as my feet beat hard against the ground. The air is crisp and breezy, but I donâ€™t care. I need it to be cold as I burn off the anger I can still feel churning inside me. Being this close to him makes me lose all control, and I never do that. His needling questions this morning, asking how my life is. Well, fuck him, he doesnâ€™t get that luxury. Who gives him the goddamn right to try and establish any relationship with me? I saw his agitation with my one-word answers. It was like poking the bear, and part of me enjoyed watching him struggle to gain some sort of ground with me.
What tipped this particular conversation was when he brought up my mother. For a split second it had sounded like he truly cared, but then I remembered, he canâ€™t care about her or me. Maybe he feels guilty for being absent all these years, but he canâ€™t crawl his way back into my life and expect me to bend to his demands just because we share the same DNA. I pick up my pace, allowing the slight sting in my feet to distract me from everything that just happened. To give me time to work my way through my anger. From a distance, I can hear my name across the wind. I know it must be my father shouting after me, but I ignore him. I refuse to let him do this to me. Not again.
At the end of the day, deceit masked in remorse is all I see when I hear his apologies. He walked away from us and never looked back. I donâ€™t owe him anything. And he doesnâ€™t deserve my forgiveness. I run faster, wishing for the memories to fade. All I remember was my momâ€™s endless tears as she begged my father not to walk out. I was thrust into immediate adulthood when he left, and I tried to pick up the pieces. It took my mom years to get over him walking away, which is why I was surprised she forced me to come here to visit. I didnâ€™t even get a choice; she sprung this â€œbonding time,â€ as she liked to call it, on me last minute. I had been looking forward to spending the summer with my cousins, and my aunt and uncle, but now I had to see him. I love my mom, though. Despite her bouts with depression, she has always been the one constant in my life. I saw the hurt in her eyes when I yelled at her in the airport. I could barely look at her before she sent me on the plane. Â
â€œWhy are you making me do this? Lo odio! I hate him, Mama. Please, I donâ€™t want to go there. You have no right to make me go! I just â€¦ I canâ€™t leave you by yourself.â€ I knew saying that would hurt her feelings, a small reminder of me as her constant shadow. Always ensuring she was safe, that she was going to be okay.
Toby, please. I know you are angry at me. But, heâ€™s your father. He loves you. BebÃ©, cometÃ un error. My anger shouldnâ€™t have kept you separated from a father who loves you. I was the parent, and I let that responsibility fall by the wayside. I let you carry that burden I see you carrying with you, always. You deserved a lifeâ€”a childhood, and I took that away from you. It was my mistake, mijo, not your fatherâ€™s. You were too young to understand at the time. Yo era egoÃsta. Stop holding onto that anger I put there. Mijo, I love you. You need this summer together â€¦ you both do. Itâ€™s for the best. Just, please remember, I love you. Always.
I watched the tears stream down her face as I told her how much I hated her. I was such a dick. I didnâ€™t mean to say the words; I just couldnâ€™t understand why my mom was doing this. Why she was making excuses for him. Of all the people in the world, why him? I never walk away angry from her, ever. It was a promise I made her years ago. And I broke it.
Things havenâ€™t gotten any better. Iâ€™ve been here a week, and Iâ€™ve been ignoring her calls. Sheâ€™s left a few messages and I can hear how hurt she sounds in every single one. Mom sounded really tired on the last message, though. I do need to talk to her, but Iâ€™m still so pissed. I donâ€™t want to shout at her again, and I know I will once I get on the phone. I had hoped a few days of cooling off wouldâ€™ve helped, but the constant fighting with my father has set me off to the point Iâ€™m always hot. I know my only reprieve is the beach, which is why Iâ€™ve come this way. The wind blows harder as I move faster. Sand kicks up all around me. Itâ€™s still early, and I know the sun will soon be peeking above the horizon. I want to make sure I can watch the sun as it rises above the waves.
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About the Author
Author J. Lum was born and raised in Northern Virginia, but spent most summers visiting new places or in Hawaii, where her fatherâ€™s family is from. Sheâ€™s got a bad case of #Wanderlust, so youâ€™ll more than likely find her traveling more than staying put. She is a furbaby mom to a fat, chubby pug named Lani, who is buckets of snoring fun. When you donâ€™t see her hanging and snuggling with her pug, she will more than likely have her head in a book. She absolutely adores second chance and dark romances equally, but will read a wide variety of books. She loves tats, cooking/baking, chocolate and coffee are weaknesses for her.
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