The Trait

By Kristin Damon

Following years of self-inflicted isolation, beautiful Brynn Moore has met the one man that could give her the love and life she has denied herself. But Creed Alexander isn?t like anyone she?s met before. After falling in love with her, Creed tells Brynn about his genetic abnormality. Creed commits to Brynn that he will find a way to have both her and his anomaly in his life at the same time. But winning over the love and faith of a tortured, savvy and beautiful young lady like Brynn is going to be more difficult than he thought. Even an extraordinary, smart man like Creed, who is considered the Chameleon of others like him, has enemies. Threatening to destroy the future he desperately longs for, the real risk lies behind the loss of his true and mastered trait, love. Will Creed find his way through a tangled web of deception, love gained and threatened, and still be able to come out strong in the end? In THE TRAIT, Creed will have to learn that the trait that has plagued him is also the one thing that could save him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristin Damon
• Release date: Aug 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476279633

Kristin Damon

~ Loves soda and reality television. Hates clowns and pessimism. Can’t eat anything blue. Would live at Disneyland if she could. Loves short road trips, the smell of fabric softener and to laugh uncontrollably. Can’t wear dark nail polish. Loves to hear her daughter sing. Thinks her son is the most talented illustrator/animator on the planet. Thinks her husband of nearly two decades is cute. Says she has “Sith” eyes. Self-diagnosed dentalphobic. Normal in a weird way. Sports fanatic. Obsessed with her keyboard. ~

Book preview

Prologue

In nothing but his boxers, in a field of dead grass and patches of grainy snow, Creed Alexander stood in undeniable agony. The sweat covering his pale torso gleamed in the midmorning sun. He held his arms up, inviting the sunlight to penetrate him as his eyes closed against the blinding rays. He slowly tipped his face directly at the sky. For Creed alone, his decision to stand unclothed in the sun could be lethal.

A fugitive from the sun, Creed was often imprisoned and physically tortured when captured, then held in regret-filled custody for months after exposure to sunlight. But for her, for the girl of his dreams who he had met, courted, and fallen in love with only by night, Creed would risk the imprisonment. He’d willingly serve the sentence handed down from his trait—intense and relentless physical pain and emotional hell—for her.

Creed held his position until the pain became intolerable. Stumbling to his knees, he screamed out in anguish as he clutched his abdomen. White foam and the contents of his stomach spewed from his mouth as his side slammed against the ground and he recoiled from the heat into a fetal position. Oh, God help me! he choked. Out of control and hurting like never before, Creed cried as sunlight continued to beat on his body.

Chapter 1

Her hand trembled as she pulled the wad of money from his grasp. What is this for? she asked, her tone laden with confusion.

Chandler didn’t immediately respond. He had to look away from her. The day’s first streams of sunlight hit the car mirror to his left and forced him to squint. Chandler and Brynn, his girlfriend of five years were sitting in the front seat of his truck, parked in the lot behind a women’s clinic in Bangor, Maine. Her wide-eyed stare shifted back from Chandler to the rear entrance of the building.

He cleared his throat. If you decide to go through with it, you’ll have to pay them in cash. If it’s going to be more than this, I’ve got more, he quietly added.

Go through with what? She sharply turned her focus from the door to Chandler. You aren’t coming in with me? I thought we were meeting with a counselor to talk about our options, she panicked, fear evident in her bloodshot eyes.

No, I better not. It’s a—a woman’s thing. I’ll just wait here. He looked at her for a moment before returning his attention to the windshield in front of him.

Brynn, whose mouth fell open in shock, took a deep breath to calm herself. She looked at the money in her hand, and, without saying another word, exited the cab of the truck. Each step closer to the clinic felt heavier than the one before. Her bottom lip violently trembled, as did the pace of her heart, the closer she ventured into the unknown.

She opened the heavy glass door before turning to look at Chandler. Standing just inside the building, Brynn waited for him, secretly longing for him to rush to her and stop her. She yearned for him to want her, to help her and take care of her, but her desires were quickly demolished as the glass door closed. Chandler, sitting in the driver’s seat of his truck, hadn’t moved. Hurt and afraid, Brynn turned around and walked to the reception desk alone.

Most boys who knew Brynn wanted to date her, but they all feared her older brother Sean. He was one of the largest boys in the school and was exceptionally protective of his younger siblings. The combination of his immaturity and short temper had gotten him expelled from school at least a dozen times for fighting. Brynn had stepped in and stopped two of the fights, one of them so violent that she had avoided Sean for a year afterward. Even after graduation, his presence silently lingered around his younger siblings at school.

Sean played football and basketball, and a few of his close and trusted friends would eventually work up the courage to ask Sean if they could date one of his sisters. Because Sean knew of and approved of the Tyler family, he agreed to Chandler escorting Brynn to their junior prom. From that date on, Chandler and Brynn were a couple.

But after that awful day at the clinic, things changed between Chandler and Brynn. When she took the money from him and walked into the women’s clinic by herself, she knew she’d never feel the same way about him again.

Less than an hour after entering the clinic—alone—Brynn was walked to Chandler’s truck by a nurse in dingy white scrubs. Brynn slouched down on the seat, her head up by Chandler’s thighs and her legs bent by the door.

She’s in the process of naturally passing the fetus. Take her home and let nature take its course, the nurse stated before carefully closing the door.

Chandler waited until the nurse had reentered the building before he leaned over Brynn. How—what’s going— he stuttered.

I told them that I saw a little blood in my panties this morning. They did an exam. She tapped the folded money he had given her against his leg, and he slowly pulled it from her grasp. Looks like you got what you wanted after all, she whispered.

Brynn thought about the trip to Bangor often. She kicked herself for not telling Chandler the way she really felt—that she wanted him to marry her and share a family with her. She should have told him that he needed to step up to the plate and face the issue like a man. The resentment she felt toward him for putting pressure on her to have sex in the first place had doubled when he offered up such a horrific act as a solution. Even after time passed, she felt weak and confused, certain that her resentment wasn’t half as strong as the resentment Chandler would have felt toward her for trapping him with a family he didn’t want.

Soon, a year had come and gone, along with Brynn’s desire to be with Chandler. Chandler, I am serious, Brynn said without looking at him. She used her toe to nudge the porch swing on the balcony of her newly rented apartment back into motion.

Chandler was upset. Are you seeing someone else?

Of course not.

Why then? Why after all this time are you so quick to throw this all away? he asked before loudly, forcefully inhaling.

You know why, Brynn coldly returned. Chandler groaned, and Brynn turned to him. Chandler, I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not in love with you anymore. It’s not fair to either of us to keep this going any longer, she said as she patted the top of his hand. His fingers wrapped around hers, and he rubbed her wrist with his free hand.

He didn’t look at Brynn as he asked, Is there anything we could do to make this work?

Brynn sighed and took a moment to make it appear that she was thinking before she slowly pulled her hand away. No, I am sorry. You’re a great guy, Chandler, and you deserve to be happy. I know that there’s another girl—many other girls—that you’ll get to know, and you’ll fall in love with one of them and share a very happy life with her. It’s just not going to be with me.

Chandler abruptly stood and turned to the patio door. He pulled on the door handle and glanced over his shoulder. We could’ve made it work, Brynn. You just weren’t able to forgive me for what happened last year.

Brynn nodded in agreement. "You’re right, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget it or forgive you . . . or myself."

Forgive yourself? You didn’t do anything wrong, Brynn. You weren’t going to go through with an abortion. I knew all a long you’d never willingly do that.

But I didn’t want the baby. My head told my body to get rid of it, regardless of what my heart wanted. Brynn could feel a lump forming in her throat, and she quickly turned away from Chandler. She bit her bottom lip, causing her chin to quiver.

Brynn jumped at the loud clank of the glass door connecting with the frame. Since the weekend in Bangor, Brynn had seen Chandler only once or twice a month, each encounter more awkward and unpleasant than the previous one. She had tried to break it off three times before, but Chandler wouldn’t discuss it. She had finally had enough and demanded that he sit and talk with her.

The breakup had gone much better than she had expected. Brynn watched Chandler as he walked across the parking lot to his truck. Her eyes followed Chandler’s truck onto the street at the same time that she flicked the last splinters of Chandler from her heart.

Chapter 2

Five years quickly passed after her relationship with Chandler ended and, following that day on the balcony, she had only seen him a handful of times while running errands or at community activities. Gathered from gossip around town, Brynn heard Chandler wasn’t married and that he graduated from Kentucky before being drafted into the NFL.

Brynn was happy for Chandler and sincerely wanted him to be happy and successful. She thought of him often, of what happened between them, of what their lives could have been like had they chosen to embrace the pregnancy. She wondered if a different frame of mind would have made a difference, if being excited and happy would have encouraged her body to keep the life inside her instead of rejecting it.

She grieved the miscarriage, scolding herself for not taking better care of the fetus. Even with the remorse she felt, she didn’t regret breaking it off with Chandler and hoped he had forgotten all about their ordeal, as she had tried to do.

Along with regret and remorse, Brynn had spent the five years without Chandler dealing with new emotions, some of which she hadn’t had to deal with before in her life. She was embarrassed and often felt sad. Her bouncy, friendly spirit had been replaced by hopelessness. She had twisted, unrealistic notions that she would pay the price for what had happened in Bangor, for what her body had done to the baby inside her. She felt differently toward people, toward her family, and toward men. She repeatedly, privately vowed never to give in to a man again. The new Brynn was stronger but in a cold, hardened way.

She loudly sighed and closed the bottom drawer of her desk before glancing around the sterile, gray room. She had spent a great deal of time in the large office area—too much time—and all of it bothered her. The stuffiness, her desk, her boss, her life—everything irritated Brynn to the point of physical pain. She roughly massaged her temples, attempting to lighten the pressure she felt between her ears.

Here’s a list of things you need to get done this evening, Mrs. Larson, the general manager, said on her way out the door.

Will do, Brynn habitually replied. She reached for the gold-colored paper and rolled her eyes as she scanned the written notes. Before she could mentally break down the order in which she planned to tackle the tasks, her mind quickly shifted gears from cooperation to discontent. Brynn loathed her job, and secretly, she loathed her boss. Aside from the one shared with her elderly grandmother, Brynn didn’t have a single significant or meaningful relationship in her life.

Mrs. Larson cleared her throat, and Brynn looked up. Mrs. Larson, standing near the desk with both her closed fists on her hips, was older than any one of her seven-person staff. She had been married to a cantankerous mechanic for decades and was mother to two teenaged children. Both her children, a senior and a sophomore in high school, were rarely mentioned. Aside from her beloved poodle, which she talked of constantly, neither Brynn nor anyone else knew much about Mrs. Larson. In fact, no one knew her first name. Everyone called her Mrs. Larson, including, at times, her husband.

Now that she had Brynn’s attention again, she said, The computer in the main barracks is down again, which affects the remotes on the gates and our security system. I’ve called someone to come out and fix it.

Thank you, Mrs. Larson, Brynn said. She pretended to examine the list as Mrs. Larson retrieved her purse and exited the small office. Sitting three stories in the air, the military base in Houlton, Maine, was hardly in need of supervision a minute after five o’clock in the evening. Nothing ever happened after hours, which was why Brynn was able to tolerate her job. She performed her assigned tasks, cleaned up a bit, went for a walk on the barren airport grounds, read, and listened to music. Her job at the base, which she applied for and accepted right out of high school, had been a good thing. It paid well and gave her the ability to care for her elderly grandmother during the day while her parents worked.

Chapter 3

Brynn finished the evening of work at the base, and after locking the front doors of the main building, she walked to her car. Frightened by the dark, a fear she had dealt with since childhood, Brynn frantically scanned the parking lot before she rammed her already-prepared key into the lock. Sliding into the driver’s seat as fast as she could, she slammed and locked the door quickly.

Brynn had convinced herself that she’d be attacked if she didn’t stay alert. Brynn was anxious. Her anxiety had become a cycle in her life that she didn’t recognize. The anxiety she felt was brought on by the limitless hours she spent alone, yet Brynn was alone because she experienced anxiety outside of the small daily routine she had created for herself. Inside the base, her car, or her apartment, Brynn was safe. She didn’t have to extend herself, to talk or to make eye contact with others if she was alone. Her isolation, daily schedule, and overall lifestyle had been the topics of many unpleasant discussions between her parents.

Brynn’s too pretty to be where she’s at in life. We should have insisted that she go to the community college, June, Brynn’s mother, stated.

We should’ve made her marry Chandler, her father, Baker, added.

No. Brynn and Chandler . . . well, there was something going on with that boy that was making Brynn unhappy. She should have gone away to school.

But what about Mother? Baker asked in reference to his ailing and elderly mother-in-law. His wife and her mother didn’t have the healthiest relationship, and Brynn’s willingness to sit with Grandma Ruth every day had become an important luxury to June, both physically and emotionally.

Yes, it’s been a good thing, Brynn caring for her, June said with a loud sigh. I don’t know what to do with Brynn. She’s just stuck in a rut.

Speaking of ruts, I need to find the owner’s manual for my new lawn mower.

June chuckled at her husband’s statement. Throughout their marriage, June had listened to Baker reference two completely unrelated topics in the same conversation hundreds of times. She had come to know that when Baker said, Speaking of, he was the only person who knew what he was talking about.

All right dear, she said as she kissed his suntanned cheek. June carried herself quietly and was always in control of her emotions. Being married to Baker, whose quick temper was often tested and exposed, June’s ability to deal with things rationally had helped diffuse frequent and potentially volatile situations within her home.

Brynn dear, hand me that jar of hand cream, would you?

Sure, Brynn said as she stood and crossed the room. Inside the living room of one of the oldest Victorian homes in northern Maine, Ruth Rossum spent ninety percent of her time in a massive overstuffed recliner, either sleeping or watching television. The house was large and stuffy, and Brynn did her best to make the interior stench less ancient than it really was.

The grass-green carpet, which was part of a cosmetic upgrade done to the house in the late seventies, caught Brynn’s eye. Memories from summer afternoons spent lying on the green rug at Grandma Ruth’s house, playing with her dolls or reading a book, consumed her. Grandma Ruth’s house, the constants, such as the green carpeting and the musty aroma, were a safe haven for Brynn and a must in her daily life.

Here you go, Grandma, Brynn said as she placed the jar of cream gently in her grandmother’s thin, bony hand. The old woman looked up at her with cloudy blue eyes. Her abnormally poofy white hair, which Brynn placed in rollers twice a week and then ratted and sprayed big, encased Ruth’s small face, making it barely visible. Her skin was spotted and wrinkled, and she looked like a very thin, older version of June. Along with her loss of sight, both of her hips had been repaired and eventually replaced, and she had undergone a mastectomy on both of her breasts. Physically, Ruth Rossum was showing every day of her ninety-four years. Mentally, she was as sharp as a tack.

Brynn, you go on home now. I’ve had my lunch and you need to get out a bit before another winter hits us, Ruth said, her voice as deep as the wrinkles on her wilting face.

I’d like to hang out here for a while and then go straight to work. I don’t think winter’s going to be here for a couple of weeks, Brynn said as she sat back down on the sofa and glanced across the room at the flickering television screen. She turned from the TV to her frail grandmother, who was licking her lips.

Brynn stood up and went down the hall into the bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet and reached for her grandmother’s lip balm. She shut the mirrored door and glanced at her own reflection.

Slowly, Brynn’s hand approached her face. She tucked a piece of thick, shiny, light brown hair behind her ear. Brynn shared the same ocean blue eyes of her family. Round and bright, with thick, curly eyelashes, her eyes were her best feature. Her creamy skin, always sun-kissed, was flawless from head to toe. Her face had a youthful look to it, much like that of her older brother Sean, whom she was the closest with out of her four siblings. Highly defined cheekbones and perfectly placed features made Brynn a stunningly pretty girl. Her lips were full and red, her teeth white and straight. Standing at five-feet six inches tall and a healthy 120 pounds, Brynn had a slender and appealing physique. She was simply beautiful.

And she knew she was pretty. The way boys gawked at her and the dirty looks that other girls would give her didn’t go unnoticed. Her friends and siblings protected Brynn as much as they could during her childhood, but most of them had since left town, gotten married, or started lives of their own. Brynn had been undefended and on her own for years, which she reminded herself daily was the way she wanted it.

Brynn walked back to the living room of the old, stuffy house. Her grandmother, who was now reclined in the chair with her eyes closed, took shallow, slow breaths. Brynn stopped in the doorway and watched her grandmother for a long time. Her grandmother’s days were numbered, and Brynn wanted to spend more time with her than usual, to make her last days comfortable and contented. She quietly crossed the green carpet and straightened the objects on the metal tray next to her grandmother’s recliner.

Ruth stirred and looked up at Brynn. She slowly licked her lips. Brynn dear, would you go and get my— She stopped when she noticed the tube in Brynn’s hand. Ruth smiled as Brynn removed the cap and gently applied lip balm to her grandmother’s wrinkled mouth.

Is that better, Grandma?

Yes, dear. You are a life saver, Ruth said as she rested her head back onto the oversized chair and closed her eyes once again.

Brynn watched her grandmother sleep for an hour before walking into the kitchen and writing her a note, a similar note from one night to the next.

Grandma,

Dinner’s in the fridge, top shelf on the left. Remove the tinfoil and warm the food for two minutes. I’ll be here tomorrow, but if you need help before then, call Mom. Please don’t take the emergency buzzer off your neck tonight.

I love you, Brynn.

Ruth hated to wear the bulky red button around her neck but was reminded through notes and verbal requests that it made Brynn and the rest of the family more comfortable with her living on her own. Ruth vacating her home and entering a nursing home had been rarely discussed because of Ruth’s willingness to comply with her family’s requests and because of Brynn. Ruth loved her granddaughter more than she had loved anyone else in her lifetime.

Brynn visually scanned the room to make sure her grandmother had most everything she might need and that her surroundings appeared safe and secure. She stepped near the chair her grandmother was sleeping in and moved the metal walker closer to Ruth’s hand. Brynn sighed. She felt good enough about the day and about her grandmother to venture ten miles up the road to her afternoon job at the military base.

She locked the back door to her grandmother’s house and quickly crossed the carport to her car. As she pulled out of her grandmother’s property, Brynn relaxed. She adjusted the vent to blow cool air directly into her face before turning up the volume on her radio. Listening to the song softly filtering from the car speakers, Brynn slowly made her way down the country road she knew well.

Brynn came from a typical, average American family. Sitting at the head of his table each night at dinner, Brynn’s father, Baker Moore, was proud of his household. He was a third-generation potato farmer and had spent most every day of his life outdoors. He had worked alongside fellow farmers, friends, and family members since he was ten years old and was preparing to comfortably retire in five short years.

Brynn’s mother June managed a small laundromat in town and depleted hours each day folding laundry, as she had been doing since she was twenty. Baker and June were high school sweethearts and had led surprisingly happy lives in the barren country fields of eastern Maine. Baker was tall and thin, with a kind face and fine, white hair. June was short and stocky, but pretty, nonetheless. She tried hard to work on her weight and was always on a diet. June’s hair was light, as were her eyes, which perfectly matched her upbeat and gentle spirit.

Shortly after Baker and June married, they promptly added five little mouths to feed at the dinner table. Sean, the oldest Moore child, was tall, thick, and strong. He worked every day alongside his dad in the potato fields. He and his wife, Fanny, had four small children under the age of six.

Two daughters followed Sean—Jillian and Willow. June gave her body a two-year break before giving birth to Brynn. Brynn was by far the most beautiful of the Moore children and resembled Sean and Jillian. Following Brynn was the baby, Hunter. For the most part, the five Moore children had lived in relative harmony with their parents in Houlton.

Driving down the country road to the military base where she worked, a song sparking strong memories from Brynn’s past filtered from the speakers. After Brynn graduated from high school, she had big dreams like Chandler and most of her friends. Smart, energetic, and outgoing, Brynn wanted to take photography classes and open her own photography studio upon graduation. She wanted to leave northern Maine and see the world. The sky was the limit for Brynn—she was sure of it.

Reluctantly, Brynn had agreed to spend the