The Story of Us: New Love, #4

By Jolene Perry

Act strong. Feel strong. Be strong.
Are the words that London chants to herself to get through the day. She lives in a house where rules are enforced with fists, and drugs change hands in a near steady flow. 

Cole uses his carefully placed camouflage of studious athlete to cover up a past he wishes he could erase, constantly counting down to keep himself in check. At school he pretends. At home, he hides.

The two have a friendship based on an unspoken knowledge of past and present secrets. But when London's dad sends her to the hospital, and Cole's stepmom has the backstory, Cole steals the chance to help a friend.

Running away together feels like the perfect plan to keep London safe, but with Cole's stepmother working on an investigation against London's father, the two are being attacked from all sides.

Soon, it might not be a matter of fighting to stay together, but fighting to stay alive.

This YA novel walks the line between thriller and contemporary love story as it explores the dark world of meth dealing, abusive relationships, and first love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jolene Perry
• Release date: Jun 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781796826920

Book preview

Now

She has to slow her heart and focus. She has a very short amount of time to move forward. Find the next doorway. The nearest exit. Maybe minutes. She pats the cash in her pocket. Close to a thousand bucks.

Enough. The money’ll go fast, but it’s enough.

6 days before

Chapter One

London Galloway held her boots under one arm and her backpack under the other as she tiptoed up the dark hallway. Upsetting the balance in her house was never worth the consequences. She had routines for going out, coming in, eating, showering, or doing anything that could disturb the quiet.

Faint light peeked through bent blinds, and the sound of a key in the front door echoed in the early morning. She stared as the door slowly opened until the chain caught, the rattling sound jarring the silence.

London, a voice whispered from the other side of the door. Just me. Get the chain, would ya?

Jasper?

Jasper was a wall of safety in this part of her life—sometimes a padded room. Monumental.

Yeah.

She took a few quick steps to the door, pushed it closed, and slid the chain. In seconds, the door was open and Jasper had her wrapped inside his wiry arms.

Mornin’, baby. Thought I’d give you a ride to school. His whisper was even softer than hers, well aware of what she’d face if they weren’t quiet.

Thought you didn’t wake up at ungodly hours, she teased back in a hushed breath.

Jasper let her go and leaned against the chipped blue counter, same half-cocked smile he always wore. Her eyes trailed the lines of his lean limbs in his dark skinny jeans.

He glanced at her chest. Ah, the unicorn who impaled a dove shirt. A classic.

London glanced down but caught sight of a note tacked to the fridge in her dad’s messy scrawl.

---

No more freebies for friends. I’m serious.

---

Freebies? It had been ages since she gave anything away. Even longer since she’d sold. Hopefully it was a ‘reminder’ note and not an ‘I’m pissed’ note. Always hard to tell with her dad.

Jasper peeled the stickie from the fridge, tapping it with a long finger. You gotta walk carefully around here for a while. Something’s up.

Great.

Leaning forward, London rested her forehead on Jasper’s chest. Axe deodorant and marijuana. Familiar.

Angel need a ride too? Jasper asked.

London shook her head. Angel hadn’t come back last night.

Know where she went?

Nope. There were enough things to worry about without adding another stray to the list. Angel’s mom and brother weren’t the first group of people to crash at the Galloway’s house for an undetermined amount of time, and they wouldn’t be the last.

Jasper grabbed London’s waist and hoisted her onto the only part of the kitchen counter not piled with supplies or dishes.

I got your boots. He held up her mid-calf Doc Marten. Once she tucked her foot in, Jasper tightened laces.

She let herself smile and enjoy the brief moment of pampering before school. Jasper squeezed her calves when her bootlaces were wrapped and tied. He slid the same thin fingers up the inside seam of her jeans.

Right about mid-thigh, she put her hands over his.

More? His lips touched hers.

Can’t be late, she whispered back and for the millionth time wondered why she tried so hard to stay in school.

His hands wrapped around her hips, and he gently set her down, pressing his body against hers as he did. Ready?

Her parents’ bedroom door clicked and both London and Jasper froze, staring.

London weakened with relief when her mom stepped out. Even Jasper wouldn’t be any help if her dad had been woken up.

Now? Jasper took the few steps to the door and held it open, gesturing with an arm for her to move outside. London’s eyes caught with her mom’s and her gut dropped. That frown was no joke.

Why are you so damn loud in the mornings? her mother rasped.

She had a low smoker’s voice, and looked more like London’s grandma than her mom with frayed white hair and boney, slumped shoulders. She’d aged twenty years in the last five.

Shh, London shushed. Her mom woke her dad more than anyone else, only the disturbance was never her mom’s fault. It was always hers.

Sorry, Jasper mouthed to her with a winning smile and wave. We’re out.

Her mom handed over a scrap of paper and a hundred dollar bill. Errands please.

London nodded as she shoved the papers in her back pocket. Errands meant her parents were low on supplies. She might have to miss donuts with her friends after school. She tried not to feel the twinge of disappointment that the school part of her day would end earlier than she wanted it to.

Her mother’s brows pulled lower as she stared at London and then her gaze simply drifted away. Her fingers absently brushed over the stacks of coffee filters and matchboxes on the counter.

London stepped around Jasper and into the crisp fall air. Every year her mother was a little more lost than the year before—so much that London sometimes wondered how much of her mom was actually left after so many chemicals had passed through her system.

They walked around her dad’s tricked out red Honda and into Jasper’s worn-out-with-a-few-red-panels Honda.

She let her eyes float over the other houses in the small neighborhood as they climbed into Jasper’s car and pulled out—all just a little cleaner out front than hers. The tired houses turned slowly to less tired houses, and soon larger houses with yards and lawns and pretty fences blurred by. Those houses probably didn’t smell like ammonia. They might not have people coming and going at all hours of the night looking for product. Those houses might have people who loved their children and jobs and lives.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but the last thing she wanted was to risk Jasper seeing her not answer a call for a high, or tease her for the company she kept at school.

She slipped her fingers through Jasper’s.

He traced over her knuckles. You’re in your own world today.

Yeah.

His thumb twitched, tap-tap-tapping on the steering wheel in a frantic non-rhythm. Any second he’d ask her if she was still selling. Or why she hadn’t sold in a while. Jasper benefitted as much from her occasional income as London.

She turned away when they passed the street where she’d done her first exchange for her Dad. The drop-off had been after he’d decided she should maybe pull some more weight around the house. The two guys she was sent to wanted more than drugs. They very nearly got it, and she learned to be a lot faster, a lot smarter, and a lot more wary of the people she spent time with.

London’s stomach turned over so fast, she squeezed Jasper’s hand tighter. That incident had been well over two years ago. Those memories shouldn’t still hit her so hard. Her racing heart was a sign of weakness she had to shove away.

Act strong. Feel strong. Be strong.

After the drop-off and near rape, she wore all her clothes a size too big, and kept her head down in the house to avoid any more close calls. And ran like a coward every time she passed 59th.

Thanks for this morning. Her voice was finally up to volume after straining to be quiet. I’m guessing you never crashed last night?

Jasper grinned. You know me so well.

She wondered again what she’d do without him. The people who came over to see her dad were about as stellar as her dad was, and the last thing she wanted was someone high and looking for a good time to try and find her. That’s how her and Jasper first got together. Sitting on one guy’s lap, kept the others away. Well…for the most part.

Part of London realized that she should be a big wreck. Some over-emotional mess. Suicidal. Drug-addicted. But she was around those people enough to know she had to keep from falling over that ledge—no matter what it took.

London figured she could look at her life in one of two ways:

1. She must have really pissed someone off for this set of parents and needed to deal, or

2. She could create some kind of pathetic pity-party revolving around her crap life, and be miserable all the time.

She followed theory one. Maybe she never pissed anybody off, but if that was the case, some good karma would eventually come into her life, and she’d win the lottery.

As the school came into view, she remembered that Mrs. Benson would have a pop quiz. Like every Monday.

Jasper paused in front of the school. I’m so glad I’m done with this shit, he teased as he nipped her ear.

She knew, like she’d always known, that her and Jasper would have never been school friends. School was where she could pretend to be somewhat normal, and he didn’t fit into that part of her day. He wouldn’t have wanted to.

See you tonight? she asked as she shoved open the car door.

If you actually answer your damn phone. Jasper winked and she wondered for a half second where he was going to crash, or who he was going to crash with, but it didn’t much matter—not if he was around again when she needed him. And he nearly always was.

truth

There are times when I stand in the rank filth of my house and know that I belong there

---

written on the back of a tardy slip

Chapter Two

Cole Adams stared at the door to his bedroom. He would step out. He’d go to school. He’d pretend Friday night never happened. His dad would try to talk to him, but maybe stumble over his words, unsure of what to say.

But if Cole were in a hurry, he could grab his pills, a piece of fruit, and be out the door in less than a minute. No discussions necessary.

He ran his hands over his carefully chosen pants and glanced at his shoes—all picked to blend with the smart, athletic students at his school. Hitching his pack higher on his shoulder, he ran a hand over his pocket to check for wallet and phone. Check and check. There had been no more messages from Bethany since the night before. Maybe she’d keep her distance. He hoped.

Cole reached forward, twisted the door handle, and started his timed minute to the front door. His small terrier, Milo, bounced up and down to Cole’s waist as he moved up the hallway. Brown and white fur blurred together as the dog leapt, his ears flopping dramatically.

After school. Cole quickly scratched the small dog’s head.

The second he turned the corner to the kitchen, Cole’s dad peered over his paper. Looked at Cole. How much did his dad see? The darkness pressing against the surface? The terror from something as simple as a girl’s touch? Maybe a million things Cole couldn’t articulate. His heart thunked out a faster rhythm as his dad’s gaze remained.

I’m running late, Cole said heading straight for the cabinet like he’d planned.

You okay? his dad asked. Didn’t see much of you this weekend.

None of him.

Cole opened the door and pulled out the small bottle. Yeah.

Maybe Dad’s eyes aren’t on me.

Your hair looks good shorter. Even blonder than before.

They are on me—too curious for comfort.

Cole rolled his head, stretching his neck. Forced himself to remember that his thoughts didn’t print across his skin.

Oh. Cole twisted the cap, focusing on the bottle. Thanks.

His dad shifted and folded his paper, which meant he was gearing up for bigger questions. Maybe it was best to deflect.

Where’s Deb? Cole dropped the small pill in his hand.

His dad sighed, newspaper forgotten. Deb’s job as a cop caused his dad no end of stress. The Feds stepped into a drug case yesterday, so she’s been at work all night.

Cole’s gaze finally found his dad’s.

But Deb doesn’t do those cases. She does the, uh…the uh… But his throat swelled and the words wouldn’t come. Cole’s dad wasn’t the only one who had a hard time saying certain things out loud.

She still does those. There’s a kid in the house. Division of Family and Children’s Services has been contacted a few times, so Deb’s involved from the law enforcement end of things.

Cole sometimes wondered what kind of fantasy his bank manager of a father was living with a cop for a wife. Handcuffs crossed Cole’s mind, and he shook the thought away before it could catch. He popped his pill just as his phone buzzed.

Jessica. His half sister, and someone who was almost a mirror image of their mom.

Just checkin’ in. Text or call when you can.

He wrote back what he always did: Lie to me and tell me it’ll all work out

Which prompted the prompt reply of I’m rolling my eyes. I expect an update when you have time.

He’d given himself a minute to escape the house, and that time was almost up.

Cole snatched an orange from the basket on the counter and turned to leave the kitchen. Okay, well… I’m out.

Um…Cole? His dad stood and leaned against the kitchen doorway, forcing Cole to pause at the top of the stairs.

They were close. Close enough for his dad to pat his back or his shoulder or start for a hug but... he didn’t. Which, was fine, really. Knowing what he did, Cole probably wouldn’t want to hug someone like himself either.

Yeah? Cole kept his eyes on the door. Much less like rejection if he seemed disinterested. The space between him and his dad was a rubber band. When his dad came close, Cole ran, when his dad pulled, Cole snapped that direction. His heart could not handle the continual motion.

Don’t forget you have a group session—

I’m aware. Of course he knew. The group therapy appointments were like big, red markers pointing to the abuse that happened years ago.

He’d probably be better if he didn’t continually have to talk about it. Maybe.

Milo jumped up when Cole reached the bottom of the steps but stopped when Cole touched the front door. The dog frowned at him every morning, and every morning a big part of him wished to stay home—less to deal with.

Sorry, guy. Cole ruffed his head quickly. I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t sleep on my pillow.

So much easier talking to the dog.

Milo did the snorty-sneezing thing he always did, and Cole stepped into the next part of his day.

Nice to see you, son! his dad called from the top of the steps as the door closed between them.

Right. Because his dad hadn’t seen him all weekend.

Every time Cole had a rough couple of days—like since CJ’s party on Friday where Bethany came on to him and he nearly had a panic attack—the parental worry stepped up a notch. His dad and Deb wanted to be helpful, but the anxiety from them was just another reminder.

A reminder that he was changed forever.

A reminder that he hadn’t made it to second base with a girl, and that as much as he wanted to, he sometimes doubted he ever would.

Because he didn’t want their hands on him. And if they knew Cole better, they wouldn’t want to be so close anyway.

He paused at his car, but passed it by in favor of walking. He needed to clear his headspace, get ready for his school self. He had to think of what he’d tell Bethany after bolting out from underneath her on Friday night and disappearing.

What kind of asshole walks away from a hot girl who wants him?

His head lightened in a dizzy sort of mess. He wanted out of high school but out of high school meant college and uncertain roommates and shared bathrooms that he couldn’t imagine being forced to use.

Cole couldn’t control his past, or his stupidity in allowing things to happen to him. He couldn’t control his stepmom’s unwavering firmness to the rules, his dad’s guilt, or how horribly awkward it still felt to see his mom on the rare occasion they got together.

Eight months until graduation, until his summer hiking the Appalachians with his dad, followed by UCLA to be close to his half-sister. All good things to look forward to.

Even after the disastrous party and the near panic attack over Bethany’s hands snaking up his shirt, and all his thoughts about his future, Cole thought about his friend, London.

The girl of iron.

The girl who he knew, he knew, had a shittier life than him and just moved on—head high and boots making tracks as if she knew exactly where she was headed.

Cole flipped the leather bands on his wrist as he walked faster, anxious to get to school now that he was thinking about her. Hopefully they’d do donuts that afternoon. He could use the break. With London the pressure was slow and steady—constant. Loose pretenses of his school self, and... And maybe the easiest relationship he had.

Cole!

He stopped to see CJ pulled into the public bus stop in front of him. Time to put on his game face. The nice guy, the 3.7 GPA guy who won state titles for the track and cross-country teams. He only had to last about eight hours as that guy before he could go back to his room.

I got my acceptance to UCLA!

Cole laughed and pumped a fist. Awesome!

CJ stuck his fist in the air, in an odd show of victory. YESSS!

Cole jerked open the passenger door and dropped into the seat. CJ coming to college with him could be a nice buffer, or... Or maybe Cole would have to find a way to be the school version of himself twenty-four hours a day.

He sat, letting the cool air-conditioning fall over him as CJ chattered about his packet and acceptance, and the second he mentioned the party on Friday, Cole remembered again that he was going to have to face Bethany in a few minutes.

Well, hell.

Chapter Three

London. Mr. Brite gave her his one-eyebrow-raised look. It was sorta funny to see a guy with a half-donut ring of hair on his head, raising a brow. Part of her felt like the closer those eyebrow hairs got to the top of his nearly bald head, the more jealous it’d be.

Being in the counselor’s office after her pop quiz, though, was not funny. Way too many things could go wrong.

He adjusted his silver wire-rimmed glasses and clasped his hands in front of him. Mr. Brite and London had this arrangement—he brought her in here once in a while, sniffing around in what her life was like because he’d seen signs and had clues that all wasn’t well in London Galloway’s world. And she always gave him the same non-answers. Then London would go back to class, and Mr. Brite would go back to pushing papers, and all would go back to normal until their next interchange.

London figured she had less than one year left of high school, and then she could walk away and never look back—could leave this part of her life in the past. Until then, there was no way she was going to be slave labor for McDonald’s so she could be emancipated. And turning her parents in to child services? Half the time they yanked the kids, and half the time, the kids stayed. London wasn’t about to chance her dad thinking she had anything to do with authorities coming to their house. She was well aware of her choices, and she’d made her decision. Nothing Mr. Brite said would change that.

So, what’s up Mr. Brite? London rubbed her palms over the soft, tattered jeans and crossed her legs, slouching low enough so he’d know she wasn’t intimidated.

He’d lock his car doors if anyone who frequented London’s house were to walk by him in the grocery store parking lot.

He did not scare her.

You tell me. He mimicked her slouch, but in his crisp, plaid shirt, it just lost something.

London couldn’t help but smile. He was just such…a nerd. Through and through. Nerd. Though, she was pretty sure that was the exact reason most of the students liked him. He didn’t even attempt to hide it. And he was always smiling unless he was messing around and trying to look mean, like now.

If I knew why I had to be here, maybe I wouldn’t need to be here at all? London re-gathered her hair into a ponytail.

C’s all the way across the board. He looked at her like he knew something she didn’t want him to.

He didn’t.

C’s were safe. They meant she was average and doing fine.

His eyes narrowed in a gesture that made London suddenly wonder if he practiced in a mirror. "Don’t you find it bizarre that you’ve had straight C’s almost every single quarter since you started sophomore year? After having nearly straight A’s through middle school