Entwined (The Recovery Series, #2)

By JC Harroway

'A beautiful second chance love story.' Goodreads Review

Your true family is the one you choose...

When nurse Jess Bellamy returns to her hometown for a cousin's wedding, she hopes to completely avoid her ex and first love, Morgan Price. But Morgan is the best man, and the groom's best friend, so try as she might, Jess can't avoid him. Teenage Morgan, she got over. Grown up Morgan is infinitely hotter, infinitely more successful, and infinitely harder to ignore.

When they re–kindle the explosive physical connection between them, Jess hopes they've burned it out of their systems. She left everything behind five years ago after her father's funeral, including Morgan, and she's leaving again in two days. She had good reasons for going, and good reasons for staying away.

But as Morgan and Jess explore their searing passion during that lost weekend, Jess is tempted by what might have been and haunted by the ghosts of what was. She has two days to decide whether to keep her secrets or keep the only man she's ever loved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jan 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781489236142

JC Harroway

Lifelong romance addict J.C. Harroway lives in New Zealand. Writing feeds her very real obsession with happy endings and the endorphin rush they create.You can follow her at www.jcharroway.com www.facebook.com/jcharroway, www.instagram.com/jcharroway and https://twitter.com/jcharroway

Book preview

Prologue

JESS scraped her foot across the wet grass, wiping a smear of mud from the sole of her shoe. Her toes protested, so frigid any slight movement sent cramps of pain shooting up her leg. But she welcomed the discomfort. The obstinate clump of grass took another beating, moisture from the persistent drizzle soaking into the leather of her ugly school shoes to dampen her sock.

‘Why don’t you stay at our house tonight? Mum and Dad won’t mind,’ said Mel, settling on the brick wall that separated the playing fields from the gym block.

Jess sighed, her breath forming a cloud in the frigid air before her. Mel’s latest aborted crush meant they couldn’t hang out inside the sports hall like all the sane kids. Only a handful of diehard students braved the icy April weather—the odd straggler making their way back from a sneaky cigarette break behind the equipment sheds and the football fanatics who kicked their ball around the fields irrespective of the weather.

‘Thanks, but I’ll go home. She’ll have calmed down by tonight.’ Jess nudged her cousin with her elbow. ‘Why did you get the lovely mum, and I got the raving bitch?’ Guilt and anger swirled together inside Jess’s chest, the confusing mess of conflicting emotions as repellent as oil and water. All sixteen-year-olds hated their mothers, right?

Mel’s arm settled around Jess’s shoulders. ‘It’s only a stupid sixth form party. We can go next year, our final year.’

Jess nodded, her eyes burning. Her cousin’s loyalty warmed her inside, thawing her right down to her numb toes. Jess’s gaze drifted from the football lads across the concrete yard that separated the sports hall from the science block, her mother and their row forgotten.

A solitary figure traversed the yard, his hands stuffed low into the pockets of his grey trousers, his school jacket billowing in the wind and his shoulders hunched. Against the cold?

Who was he? Unusually tall, with dark hair long enough to get him into trouble with Mr Davies, the Welsh teacher and self-appointed uniform enforcer, the boy carried himself differently to any other boy at school. Any boy Jess had ever met.

He was closer now, his long strides eating up the concrete that separated them. Head bowed from the persistent sheets of drizzle, he walked with intent, confident of his destination. No ambling, loitering or time wasting for this boy. Perhaps he hated the rain …

Mel disturbed Jess’s musings. ‘Shall we go in? I have double maths, and Mr Evans freaks if we’re late.’ Mel slid off the wall, righting the back of her skirt and crossing her open cardigan across her chest to ward off the cold.

Jess nodded, her attention still fixed on the boy, who was close enough now that she could discern his features under his flop of dark, dishevelled hair. A strange hush settled around her, as if the wind dropped away and the biting needles of rain turned into dandelion down.

Her eyes followed him, absorbing every detail as if she’d never see him again—the brightly coloured backpack thrown over one shoulder, the tattered and faded friendship bracelet poking from one sleeve of his jacket and the scuffed toes of the biker boots he wore. Jess’s lips twitched—Mr Davies would have a fit.

Jess stood, pulled to her feet by unseen forces as if she were a puppet controlled by hidden strings. Her heart hammered in her chest, beating almost painfully against her ribs. He was going to walk by. Without noticing them. Without explaining where he’d come from, what classes he was taking and why he was dressed so … unconventionally.

Air slammed into Jess’s lungs as his head came up at the very last moment, and his eyes connected with hers. Dark. So dark they were almost black and fringed with impossibly long sooty lashes. It couldn’t have lasted more than a second, because now he strode ahead of them. Away from them, unaffected, as if catching Jess’s eye meant nothing to him.

But Jess’s legs wobbled. Would Mel notice?

Her cousin looped arms with Jess, encouraging her feet forward towards the sports hall. ‘He was in my art class this morning. He’s new.’

Jess scrambled, her thoughts tumbling through her brain, desperate to emerge coherently. ‘Who?’

Mel quirked a sardonic brow in her direction, a duh-don’t-be-daft expression dancing across her face. ‘Morgan. His name’s Morgan Price.’

Chapter One

Seven years later

DEAFENING levels of background noise greeted Jess as she pushed through the door of the crowded pub, but the banshee cry screeched out over the hubbub grated on Jess’s last nerve.

‘She’s here!’ Mel. She’d know that cackle anywhere.

‘Aww Jess, I can’t believe you came.’ Mel weaved her way through the crush of bodies, her arms outstretched in welcome.

Jess stretched her lips into what she hoped resembled some sort of smile and marvelled that she had indeed come. She’d exhausted every last drop of her courage to make it this far, and now she was pressed face first into her cousin Mel’s chest in a hug that was simultaneously comforting and claustrophobic. Jess struggled to breathe, Mel’s arms banded around her vice-like.

‘I didn’t think you were gonna show.’ Mel grinned, releasing her bear hug before wrapping one arm around Jess’s shoulders and dragging her through the throng of revellers towards her group of hens. It was a fair assumption.

Jess swallowed the bolus of emotions clogging her throat; her voice, when it emerged, shaky and weak. ‘Of course. I told you I’d be here for your big day.’ Until she’d climbed into her car this morning and taken the M4 from London to Swansea, Jess hadn’t decided if she was actually attending her cousin’s wedding. She loved Mel. But she hadn’t been back to her Welsh hometown in five years, and the cold sweats of trepidation she’d experienced on the four-hour drive cast her decision into serious doubt. But she was determined to put the past aside and be there for her cousin and childhood best friend.

Too late now. Here she was.

Jess sucked in a tremulous breath, her eyes taking in Mel’s appearance for the first time. ‘You look gorgeous. Are you having fun?’ Mel wore a little black dress decorated haphazardly with shocking-pink condoms. A mini veil adorned her blonde head, and a phallus-shaped straw protruded from the pink concoction in her glass.

‘Yeah, I’m buzzing.’ She splayed her arms out to the side and shook her shoulders, causing the condoms to dance in undulating waves. ‘C’mon, let’s get you a drink—you need to catch up.’ Mel muscled her way to the bar trailing her hens, who wore matching pink feather boas.

Within minutes, Jess was similarly attired and, thankfully, two shots down. She’d never survive this weekend without alcohol, and the vodka spiked her blood, dousing some of the tension that coiled inside her. The motorway service station sandwich she’d scoffed three hours ago did little to absorb the potency of the alcohol, and soon Jess’s head was fuzzy and her limbs languid.

‘Now you’re here, Jess, we can really get this party started.’ Mel’s speech was high-pitched with excitement, and Jess wondered how much she’d had to drink. The Mel she’d known was, like Jess, a party girl, but she didn’t seem to be particularly hammered. Jess had seen her worse. Much worse.

Slamming the door shut on teenage memories, Jess knocked back the slug of vodka handed to her by one of the bridesmaids—a girl she recognised from the year below them at school. ‘You seem to be doing fine without me.’ Jess smiled and flicked one of the condoms attached to her cousin’s dress.

Mel grinned, tugging the feather boa around Jess’s neck. ‘S’not the same without you though, is it?’ Mel leaned close, drawing Jess into a scented hug. ‘Let’s dance?’ Mel dragged Jess into the centre of her gaggle of hens, which doubled as an improvised dance floor. The pub was far too crowded for the real thing, but soon Jess let go of the last of her reservations for the evening, becoming caught up in the joyous abandon of dancing the way only a group of girlfriends can.

After a couple of songs and a couple more drinks, she’d fully embraced her role as party queen, whipping the other hens into a frenzy of outrageous dance moves, raucous laughter and wanton flirtation with the crowds their group attracted. Her blood sang through her body. What had she been worried about? This was fun.

Mel danced to the edge of the onlookers, trailing her feather boa around the necks of some of the younger and more attractive bar patrons and slapping away hands intent on stealing her condoms. ‘I’m so glad you decided to come,’ she yelled over the din. ‘Remember your seventeenth? We had a fabulous night that night, din’we?’

Jess nodded, her head once more spinning with memories. Her heavy eyes shuttered closed, the breath trapped in her lungs. She’d been so happy—on the brink of adult life—carefree and optimistic. She slammed her eyes open, bringing the bar back into focus. No. Not going there.

Tired of dancing, the hens gathered around them, hustling Mel and Jess towards the bar for glasses of water and a fresh round of drinks. That’s when the drinking games began. They quickly progressed from tame word games to balloon-popping games, using inflated condoms from Mel’s outfit. By the time the dare was issued, Jess was well past objecting. The most mundane things became hilarious, and she genuinely loved all of Mel’s friends, even though she couldn’t quite remember all their names.

‘Right, my lovelies. My turn to choose.’ Mel’s voice rose above the chatter and laughter of the group. Jess compressed her lips together, holding in a giggle and stood to attention under Mel’s mock severity. ‘This is one for the single hens only. C’mon, raise your hands.’

Jess proudly stretched her arm high above her head, dancing a little shimmy for her audience of hens who hooted and cheered around her. Only one other hen raised her hand, and Jess moved to stand beside her, sisters-in-arms awaiting their instructions.

‘You two,’ Mel’s eyes, ringed with slightly smudged mascara, took on a mischievous glow, ‘have to pash the next guy who walks through the door.’

The party screeched their approval, drowning out the groans and giggles from Jess and her companion.

‘No exceptions.’ Mel waggled a manicured finger at them. ‘And I want to see tongues.

‘Mel, c’mon. What if they’re like eighty or something?’ Jess’s new friend, Sally, pulled a lipstick from a pocket and freshened her lip colour in preparation for the challenge.

‘Then you still have to do it—I’m the bride, and what I say goes.’ She positioned herself between the two singletons, turning them to face the door. ‘If they won’t kiss you, you have to wear the hat of shame for the rest of the evening.’ Mel held out her hand to her maid of honour, accepting a party hat shaped like a Welsh dragon, with the words ‘Nobody loves me in Wales’ emblazoned across the bottom.

Jess leaned heavily into Mel, hysteria rising up inside her. She covered her mouth with her hand, holding the laughter inside. A hush settled around them as the hen’s party, and those onlookers close enough to have overheard the dare, focused on the door to the pub.

‘I can’t do it,’ said Sally, holding her head her hands and turning away from the door.

Mel spun Sally around. ‘Yes you can, or you’re no bridesmaid of mine. Jess is up for it, aren’t you, Jess?’

She was prevented from answering by the ear-splitting cheer from the audience, whose attention had been fixed on the door. A small group of twenty-something-year-old men spilled in through the door, their faces turning from shock to grins as they enjoyed their unorthodox and unexpected reception with arms raised to the crowd. Their leader was tall, dark, attractive and clearly three sheets to the wind. But he wasn’t eighty and appeared to be in possession of all his own teeth—lucky Sally.

Sally squealed, and Mel pushed her friend towards the unsuspecting, but seemingly up for anything, stranger. Despite her reservations, Sally carried out her dare with gusto, even going as far as to squeeze her victim’s butt while she snogged him. Returning to the hens amid much cheering and high-fiving, Sally collapsed into Mel’s embrace, her lipstick smeared all over her face and tears of mirth ruining her mascara.

Jess clung tighter to Mel’s waist, her thundering heart beating its way into her throat.

‘Rightio, your turn.’ Mel spun Jess to face the door once more, and the pub’s patrons around them grew silent.

Jess shifted her weight from foot to foot, head spinning and taking her thoughts along for the ride. Knowing her luck, she’d get the toothless eighty-year-old. She’d see it through anyway, not one to back down from a challenge. She had a reputation to protect, but as the seconds dragged, her stomach churned.

Mel stepped them closer to the entrance, her grip banded around Jess’s shoulders. ‘You never know,’ her tone dropped to a conspiratorial murmur, ‘perhaps he’ll be gorgeous and you’ll have to move back to Wales, marry him and have all his babies,’ she said, dropping a kiss on Jess’s cheek and waving the hat of shame before her face as a reminder of what was at stake.

Mel’s words turned Jess’s stomach, and she glanced in the direction of the toilets, debating a quick trip to splash water on her face.

With that, the door flew open, admitting a gust of cold air and a man Jess hadn’t seen for five years. A man she’d hoped to avoid during her short visit to her hometown. A man who’d once been everything to her.

Morgan Price.

***

Jess sucked in a gasp, the air inside her lungs solidifying so her chest was entombed in concrete. She hadn’t seen him since her father’s funeral, when she’d been too wrapped up in grief, fear and humiliation to say what needed to be said. And the way Morgan looked at her now, he remembered their messy ending just as vividly.

Jess’s belly fluttered, the slam of attraction triggering a tsunami. Five years had changed him from a boy into a man. He’d towered over her then—all gangly limbs and a winning smile—but now he’d added breadth to his height, filling out his shirt with the tantalising bulk of well-defined muscle. The planes of his face, once so well known to her she could have drawn him blindfolded, were now more angular, and he wore a sexy smattering of stubble that gave him a bad boy air the lithe, fresh-faced teenager he’d been couldn’t have carried off.

Aware of the general hush around her, Jess had no time to