Everything To Me (Book 2): Everything To Me, #2

By Teresa Hill

A Serialized YA/NA Crossover Romance. Everything To Me (Book 1) is also FREE now. (Warning: Includes Cliffhangers, Strong Language and Sexual Situations. 18+ Only.)

Dana: I've always been the smart girl, the careful one. 

Not anymore. I feel reckless, desperate. I love him, and it's senior year, my last chance with him before I leave for college, so I'm going to take it.

What could go wrong? Oh, my God, I had no idea.

Peter: I've spent years trying to hide how I feel about her. It gets harder every day.

 For so long, she was my best friend, the first person who truly believed in me, sometimes the only one.

Do I love her? Of course, I do. Can I let her get even deeper into the hellacious mess my life is? 

No way. You don't do that to someone you love.

**Everything To Me (Book 3) on sale Dec. 22**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Hill
• Release date: Dec 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519913265

Book preview

Prologue

Dana

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The words run through my head like a chant. They won’t stop.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

Am I talking out loud? I’m not sure.

Just in case, I clamp my hand over my mouth. I shouldn’t be making any noise. Because he’s still here, probably still mad.

I can’t let him find me.

Oh, my God, I’ve been so stupid. Coming to the party in the first place, drinking, getting so mad, so hurt, when Peter walked away from me one more time. I just … I can’t believe how fast it all went so wrong. I’m probably lucky that I got away from Tripp at all.

Lucky?

The word stops me for a second as it moves through my head. It makes all the breath go out of my body in a sigh that sounds like pain. It doesn’t seem right, but … Yes, I do feel lucky for that part. That I got away from him.

And so very stupid for the rest of it.

I get to the side of the road, where the cars are parked. Seven of them. I recognize them all. I know who drives them, and it makes me want to cry again. Because I know who’s still here, which ones are his friends, which ones have been drinking.

Which means I also know there’s no one left at the party who I trust to get me home safely.

Behind me, maybe two hundred yards away, I can still hear the sounds of the party. The music, the shouts, the laughter — all too close. If he came after me again, I don’t know if anyone here would stop him. He’s used to getting what he wants, and his friends act like he can’t do anything wrong.

Think. Think. Think, I tell myself.

It’s late, dark. I’m miles from home, and as I look down, I realize my feet hurt. Because they’re bare, and I’m standing on the dirt and small rocks on the shoulder of the road.

I lost my sandals. In the water, I guess.

Not that it really matters. They’re sandals. Not new. Not expensive.

No, they don’t matter, except that now I know I’m not walking home. It’s too far, anyway. I don’t know anybody who lives out here. There aren’t many houses, and it’s not like I’d knock on some stranger’s door this late, either.

So … I need to hide until I figure out how to get home.

That’s it. Hide. That sounds good to me. That sounds safe.

I look around at the road, the cars, the path to the river, the light from the bonfire. There’s really nowhere to go. Then I stare at the field, covered in tall … grass? I don’t know. Wild wheat? Weeds? Does it really matter?

I decide that it doesn’t.

Being safe, being quiet, calming down, thinking — those are the things that matter.

Gingerly, wincing here and there as I step on stones with my sore feet, I walk down the shoulder of the road about thirty feet past the last parked car. When I think I’m far enough away from the worn path everyone takes between the road and the river, I walk into the middle of the field and sit down on the ground.

The grass hides me, I think. It comes nearly to the top of my head once I’m sitting.

I try to tell myself I’m safe now in the dark, sitting amidst the grass, but I don’t really believe it.

I’m a smart girl. Everyone says so. I always have been. I’m way too smart for this. To have ended up in a field hiding from a guy I’ve gone to school with for years and never really been afraid of before tonight.

But then, I’ve never truly been afraid of any guy. Not physically. Or of being hurt physically. I’ve always felt strong and smart, and I’ve always thought the little part of the world where I live is safe.

Was that all an illusion? Was I just being stupid?

I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore, except that I’m still really scared. He’s right over there. Tripp, drunk, pissed off and ready to collect on everything I’ve been promising him for months with the way I flirted with him and made him think that I liked him, that I wanted him.

The worst part is, I did it deliberately, and it was a lie, a stupid, silly game I played to make Peter jealous.

No, to try to make Peter jealous.

That worked out so well. Here I am, scared of the guy I used and wanting the guy I can’t seem to have.

Everything I’ve done lately feels so wrong. I knew it all along, but I did it anyway. I brought myself to this place. This is what me wanting Peter, loving him, refusing to give up on him, has gotten me, and the stupidest, most maddening part of it is that right now, he’s still the person I want most of all.

He’ll come and get me if I call him. I know he will. He’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. He cares about me. I know that, too. Just not the way I want him to.

Which isn’t the problem I need to be thinking about right now.

Getting away from here — that’s what I have to do.

I find my cell phone in the front pocket of my jeans. Dammit, it was in there when I went into the river. Pulling it out, pressing the button to wake it up, I see that it got wet. The light comes on, but the screen is fogged.

Please work, please work, please work, I chant in my head as I swipe to unlock the screen. When I press where I know the phone icon should be, I see a few numbers, barely. Broken tones sound quietly, kind of the way they’re supposed to, as I press the numbers. I think it’s going to work.

Okay. Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if it didn’t work. Now I just have to figure out who to call. I have speed-dial numbers programmed into my phone. I can see well enough through the messed up screen to dial one of those.

The speed-dial numbers go Home, Mom, Dad, Becca, Peter, Gram, Granddad, Uncle Zach and Aunt Grace.

Becca, my best friend, was at the party earlier. I still can’t believe she left without saying anything to me, even if Tripp did pull that little stunt to make her believe I wasn’t riding home with her. I try her and get her voicemail. No way I can see well enough on my phone’s fogged screen to text.

I won’t call Mom or Dad, obviously. Granddad would come get me, but he’d tell Mom and Dad, too. Gram wouldn’t get out of the house at this hour without Granddad wanting to know what was going on and insisting on taking care of it for her. The men in my family tend to be protective of the women. I don’t want to ask Gram to lie to her own husband. This is my screw-up to fix.

Which leaves Aunt Grace and Uncle Zach.

Grace is the youngest, the one closest to my age and maybe least likely to rat me out to my parents. My mom is eleven years older than Grace and has sometimes been more like a mother than an older sister. So I figure Grace is more likely to understand me not wanting my mom and dad to know about this.

Uncle Zach is married to Peter’s older sister, and Peter lives with them. If I call Zach, Peter would find out about it, and it would just make things even weirder between us, that I ended up in this mess and didn’t call him.

So, Grace or Peter?

Is she even in town this weekend? She got a dog recently, and she’s been taking weekend classes in another town to get him certified as a service dog so she—

I freeze as laughter interrupts my thoughts.

Guys’ laughter, coming closer. I think I hear Tripp. It’s only then that I realize how much the possibility of seeing him again tonight scares me.

No, it seriously freaks me out.

It takes me right back to shaking and crying, and that has to stop. I swipe away tears, draw my legs carefully to my chest, wrap my arms around them and lay my head on top of my knees, making myself as small and quiet as I can. I try not to even breathe as, too late, I worry about whether the tall grass and the darkness are enough to hide me.

They pass so close by me. I hear Tripp wondering where I went, who I left with, and then he says, I can’t believe she threw a drink on me! Cunt!

I wince at the word, at the sound of his voice, at the memories of the whole night, and I’m cold. He threw a beer on me and shoved me so hard I landed partly on the riverbank, partly in the water. So my clothes are wet, which makes me even colder. I’m still shaking. I’m not sure if it’s the fear or the cold.

Not that it matters. I have to get out of here.

I call Becca one more time. Still no answer. She’s probably somewhere making out with Brady.

Tripp and his friends must have made it to the cars on the road, but they haven’t left. I can still hear them talking and laughing, and I haven’t heard a car start.

Please, I think, just get in your cars and go.

But they don’t.

So, Grace or Peter? It has to be one or the other.

It might seem odd for me to call Peter, but the thing is, there’s nothing I could do to make Peter mad enough or hurt his feelings enough to keep him from helping me if I need it. No question. He’d do anything for me. I’d do the same for him.

I’m still thinking about who to call when I realize Tripp and his friends are coming closer again.

Oh, my God!

For a few seconds, I nearly freak out completely, thinking they’re still looking for me and they found the path I took into the field and are following it. Sucking in a breath, I tighten my arms around myself, as if that will do anything to protect me. I press my mouth against my knee and hope that’s enough to keep me from making a sound.

They pass me by.

They’re on the path heading back to the river, I realize finally.

God, that scared me so much. I have to get out of here.

I call Peter.

My phone’s signal cuts in and out, but the call goes through. He answers on the third ring, sounding rushed, or maybe irritated.

I’m so glad just to hear his voice, but then I have to say something. It takes me so long to force out a word, I’m afraid he’ll hang up. I manage to get out a whisper — nothing but his name — and hope it doesn’t come out sounding as shaky as I think it does.

Dana? What’s wrong?

His voice is sharp, and he just goes right there — to being mad or worried — when all I said was his name. I have to pull myself together.

Nothing. I’m okay. But … could you come and get me?

Where are you?

The river, still. Becca left when I wasn’t paying attention, and now I can’t get her on the phone. I don’t see anybody else here who I know hasn’t been drinking and …

Dana, what happened? he asks urgently.

Nothing. I close my eyes, telling myself not to sound frantic. I’m fine, I swear, but … Will you come?

Yeah. I’m on my way.

Okay.

Yes.

God! Thank you.

I knew he would, but still … I guess I just needed to hear it. I want him so much right now.

Through the phone, I can hear that he’s already moving, can hear his feet on the stairs, and then a solid thud, and an Oohhhff.

I hear Uncle Zach asking, Where’s the fire?

Don’t tell him— I beg Peter.

I know. Hang on.

He and Zach go back and forth on Peter going out at this hour. I can hear it through the phone. Zach knows something’s up, but Peter finally talks his way out of there and tells me, I’m outside, getting into my truck.

Okay. Thanks, I whisper.

Dana, you’re scaring me. Tell me you’re okay.

I am, I say.

You sound like you’re shaking.

I’m cold. It isn’t a lie. I am cold.

Swear to me that you’re okay.

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