Sins of the Father: California Dreaming, Book 2

By Stacey Johnston

Sherlyn 

If there is anything Sherlyn has learned, it’s that the past is a cruel reminder of a life that can no longer be lived.  

After the death of her father, eighteen-year-old Sherlyn uncovers hidden truths about his life and the horrific deeds he committed that could have a lasting impact on her life. As she stru

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Oct 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643457918

Stacey Johnston

Stacey Johnston resides in one of the southern suburbs of Perth, Western Australia, with her husband, four children, and a lovable Alaskan malamute called Storm. At one time or another, each of us has wished that our lives reflected those of the characters we read in books or watched on our television screens. As a child, Stacey was no different and found she could create stories in her head. Stories where her characters could come alive and she could escape when life around her became difficult. Leaving home at seventeen, she moved from family member to family member, trying to find her place. During those early years, alcohol became her closest friend, and her characters and stories in her head really started to blossom. It wasn’t until she met the man who would become the father to her oldest two children that she started to settle down. For the next twelve years, Stacey dedicated her life to her partner and their two beautiful children. Her stories were continuing to grow, but so was her desire to put them on paper and share them. Tragically, after losing her partner to a heart attack. her grip on reality started to slide, and it was during this time that her characters evolved. During her time of need, Stacey found a soul mate who would later become her husband and give her two more equally beautiful children. With his love, support, and encouragement, Stacey finally found the courage to put her characters and stories onto paper. Stacey’s hope is that other readers love her characters as much as she does. Her wish is that they get caught up in their stories, experiencing their joy and pain just as she has over the years.

Book preview

Author Bio

Stacey Johnston resides in one of the southern suburbs of Perth, Western Australia, with her husband, four children, and a lovable Alaskan malamute called Storm.

At one time or another, each of us has wished that our lives reflected those of the characters we read in books or watched on our television screens. As a child, Stacey was no different and found she could create stories in her head, stories where her characters could come alive and she could escape when life around her became difficult.

Leaving home at seventeen, she moved from family member to family member, trying to find her place. During those early years, alcohol became her closest friend, and her characters and stories in her head really started to blossom. It was not until she met the man who would become the father to her oldest two children that she started to settle down.

For the next twelve years, Stacey dedicated her life to her partner and their two beautiful children. Her stories were continuing to grow, but so was her desire to put them on paper and share them. Tragically, after losing her partner to a heart attack, her grip on reality started to slide, and it was during this time that her characters evolved.

During her time of need, Stacey found a soul mate who would later become her husband and give her two more equally beautiful children. With his love, support, and encouragement, Stacey finally found the courage to put her characters and stories onto paper.

Stacey’s hope is that other readers love her characters as much as she does. Her wish is that they are caught up in their stories, experiencing their joy and pain just as she has over the years.

Chapter One

What do you do when everything you have taken for granted turns out to be a lie?

Sherlyn

The day my parents divorced, I did what any other child in my position would do—I blamed myself, and that was when the guilt first set in.

Then the what-ifs started.

What if I wasn’t so naughty?

If only I listened more and did as they told me for once.

And so on.

Maybe I should mention, I was only six years old when all this happened and was oblivious to everything that didn’t revolve around me.

If it’s honesty you are seeking, and I think I need to be honest with myself first, I don’t recall my father being around much at all during that time anyway. My fondest memories only ever included my mother.

When I think of the person my mother was back then, it’s hard not to remember just how beautiful she really was. It was her mesmerizing face that my father became addicted to. He always believed hers was one which could stop traffic. He loved how she had the ability to have men eating out of the palms of her hands, without any real effort on her part.

A few years ago, during one of his moments of confession, he shared the story of how the two of them met. The story itself was a little on the crude side, but that didn’t stop him from telling it. I had always wondered how they met but was never game enough to ask.

His version of that charming little story, as recited to me, was that he met her during a business trip to Vegas. He was tired, hungry, and horny and looking to book into a motel for the night. He told me that all he wanted was to grab a bite to eat and call for a little company to help him relax.

His recollection had him landing at the airport before heading toward the car rentals. In front of that counter, he stumbled across a pretty little thing who was bent over, with her ass staring him straight in the face. Apparently, she’d been picking up the contents of her handbag off the floor.

Once she had gotten to her feet and was facing him, he became speechless.

He reckons he remembers her batting her eyelashes at him, but nothing else from that moment on. The next thing he knew, he was waking up the next morning, with her tightly wrapped around him, in his bed.

He was unsure what the hold was that she had on him but assured me it lasted for quite a few years.

In my mother’s eyes, I was her little princess.

I was a petite doll that she could dress up and parade around.

My mother fussed over me all the time, and when you are that young, you absorb everything. All you want is be loved and for your mommy to be proud of you. Combine both of those things and the door is left open for them to do whatever they want.

That right there is the reason I spent a lot of my childhood competing in beauty pageants and talent shows.

I’ve always been one of those shy children, one who preferred to blend into the background. I was happier watching and observing those around me.

My mother, though, well she wouldn’t have any of that.

Although I loved her, my mother was always pushing me to do the things I never wanted to.

What she so desperately wanted, was for me to become someone whom I wasn’t.

It would take me a few years, but I finally found my voice, putting a stop to it. That was when I told her I wouldn’t be her puppet anymore.

Around the age of eight, she entered me into a local beauty pageant where the organizers had decided to introduce a small talent section. I’d never had to do anything like that before, so I panicked. I did the only thing I could think of and I started singing.

Unfortunately, my song of choice was the first song that came to my head and one from Brittney Spears.

What came out of my mouth was Oops, I Did It Again.

Okay, so I won’t deny it wasn’t one of my finer moments, but it paid off. I won that pageant, and that’s when my mom discovered I could sing. I never did find out just which side of the family my talent came from, yet I also never cared either.

After that, she entered me into any competition she could find, much to my father’s disapproval.

My pageant days were the only times I can recall hearing my parents argue.

As I got older, it became clear he was telling her to stop living her life through me, that her days as a part of that world were over for good. I could often hear my father yelling at my mother, telling her she should be allowing me to live like every other normal little girl.

At the time, I had no idea what he meant, mostly because the life I was living was all I had ever known.

It was during those early years when I learned how to conceal the real me.

I had the ability to give you an illusion of the person I wanted to portray, which was something I did while I was performing. The mask I constructed allowed me to be anyone I wanted for a short period.

The only problem with being able to do that, is I was expected to be that bubbly person all the time, and it was something I didn’t want to do.

By the time I was ten, I’d stopped performing all together. As the years passed by, I managed to slip under the radar completely. Eventually, I was able to withdraw into the background, where I could just back and watch.

That’s easy to do when you become invisible.

The day my father walked away from us, my mom became a different person—somewhat harder, I would have to say.

She’d become obsessed with making me a success, until I pulled the plug on those dreams of hers for good when I turned ten.

When she lost that as well, she also lost a part of herself.

It was as if she had lost all sense of herself and her place in the world.

Therefore, at the tender age of ten, I suddenly learned how harsh life could actually be. I was now being forced to grow up quicker than I should’ve ever had to.

In the four years leading up to that moment, I only recall spending limited time with my dad.

In all fairness, it was no different from when he lived with us.

Whatever was going on between him and my mother was not good, and most nights you heard her crying herself to sleep. When I was younger, I didn’t understand what was going on. As I got older, though, it became apparent I was now going to be gifted with the added responsibility of caring for my mother.

At ten years of age, I became a girl who wasn’t only struggling to take care of herself, but one who now had the added worry of caring for her mother as well.

For those first ten years of my life, I wanted for nothing.

I had no chores, nothing.

My mother did everything for me until one day, when without warning, she stopped, and that was when my world came crashing down around me like a dam breaking.

I was no longer her little princess.

I was now her servant.

I wished for nothing more during those years after dad left than to compare my life to that of Cinderella’s—a child’s story, but one I related to, nonetheless.

It was one with many similarities to my own.

Granted there was no evil stepmother or sisters, but my own mother had turned cold and heartless during that time.

Our roles were now reversed, and I now had to cater to her every need instead.

I used to wonder if she was using this as a punishment for me killing the dreams she once held for me. I prayed daily to God for the day when a prince would sweep in and rescue me from the nightmare my life had become.

Silly pipe dreams, I’m afraid, because life simply doesn’t work that way, and no one can prepare you for what fate can throw in your path.

Regardless of how stupid it seems, I have always kept my dream alive—the dream where I find my very own prince charming, whom I believe will save me from my life of chaos.

When my parents divorced a custody arrangement for me was set by the courts. Once a week, on a Wednesday, I have to spend the evening with my dad.

Date night is what my father jokingly called it, and it was an obligation I was bound to keep until my eighteenth birthday. Up until recent events, I’d been thankful my eighteenth birthday was almost upon us, so I could put a stop to those as well.

I never paid much attention when I was younger, most probably because I idolized him, but there was something odd about my father.

During my younger years, I was happy to spend as much time with him as they would let me, and I guess it was easier for him to amuse me back then. The older I got, the harder it became for him to hard what I believe was his true self. He always gave me the impression that there was some sort of internal struggle going on within him. It was as if he was fighting with himself, battling a part of him that was threatening to break free.

I realize this probably doesn’t make any sense, but at times, I could have sworn my father had a split personality.

One moment he was my sweet, loving father, the next something much worse. Bizarre, I know, but here’s where the story twists and my guilt really set in.

Recently, I was once again thrust back into the spotlight, and not by choice either.

I shouldn’t say thrust, as I am part of the glee club at school where we perform on a regular basis. The thing is, I always stand toward the back, and I never solo. I’ve always preferred that the limelight to be on someone else.

Although I have grown to love singing, I only perform in the backdrop. Over the years I’ve found solace in it. It gives me the opportunity to be a part of it without actually being out front.

Lead solo, well, that’s more Tatum’s thing than anyone else’s.

That boy is a show-off and the biggest one I have ever seen. Not only is he a member of our glee club, he is also one of my best friends.

Did I mention how goddamned cute he is?

Picture this…a drop-dead gorgeous five-foot ten boy with shaggy shoulder-length light brown hair. He’s about five foot ten in height and is always wearing a fedora hat.

Well, that’s what my grandfather called those types of hats. They are kind of like a soft felt hat with a brim all the way around.

He has the most delicious brown eyes and a thing for swiping his fringe across one side of his face. Those eyes of his, though, they’re the kind that when he looks in your direction, you can’t help but melt into them.

His dress sense, well, that has always been a touch…odd, and he reminds me of the Fonz from Happy Days.

On any good day, you will find Tatum wearing his old faded denim jeans, white shirt, and black leather jacket.

And let’s not forget his Doc Martens, which he lives in.

Did I also mention he has the cutest baby face?

I have it on good authority, from the hordes who are always hovering around him, that he is drool worthy.

I, on the other hand, even at the best of times, am what you would call a loner. I like that no one pays any attention to me.

Well, I did, until I met Sophie Valentine a couple of months ago.

Sophie and her brother, Sean, arrived midway through the semester at our illustrious place of higher learning. Instantly, they aligned themselves with four of the hottest boys our poor excuse for a school has ever seen.

Reaching out, I befriended Sophie when the leader of the bitch squad started taunting her. It seems Rochelle wasn’t so happy to hear about Sophie becoming Ben’s girlfriend. That girl has been chasing that boy for years.

I think Ben and Kyle are the only two she never got her hooks into.

Much to my surprise, Sophie and I have become close friends. My friendship circle has always been minimal at the best of times. My only other close friends are Sumner and Tatum from our Glee club.

Back to me becoming the center of attention.

Within weeks of Sophie and Sean arriving, we discovered that these four guys—Ben, Kyle, Stephen, and Luke—were part of the witness protection program. The Federal Agency of Criminal Activity (FACA) had relocated them to Brooklyn to hide them from a professional hitman.

Weird, huh!

Yep, my thoughts exactly, but wait, it gets weirder.

It seems Sophie’s dad and his colleague Hawke are Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) agents. Their assignment was to watch over Ben and his friends because their bosses were after a high-profile hitman, and they believed these boys were the key to locating him.

To be able to protect them, though, Sophie’s dad moved his whole family here to Brooklyn.

He wanted to use this location to his advantage. He believed it would help him better track the killer stalking the boys. He also got wind that his family may be at risk, which was another reason to keep them close.

Here is where the story twists.

Sophie’s dad never anticipated his daughter would fall in love with one of those boys he was protecting. He even tried to keep them apart, which as you can imagine, did not work out too well for him.

With everything else going on, nobody saw what was coming.

Long story short, it resulted in the kidnapping of Sophie and her brother, Sean.

It would seem the man they were chasing turned the tables on them and attacked first. Like all good stories, this one had a happy ending. Both Sean and Sophie were rescued, and the bad guy was eventually defeated. He didn’t go down without a fight, almost taking Sophie’s mom with him.

Thankfully, that also had a happy ending.

Well, it ended on a good note for everyone else but me.

Over the past month, my life has become a roller-coaster ride from hell. It all started after I returned home from Sophie’s one night and found a letter on our kitchen bench. Thanks to the creep my mother had been dating I didn’t feel comfortable in my own home, so I’d been spending mine over at Sophie’s.

We have become almost inseparable.

Okay, back to the letter.

What was in it, you ask?

As it turns out, it was an insurance policy wrapped in a note from my father.

I won’t deny I was hesitant about being nosy, but my curiosity eventually got the better of me.

Reading the letter which was addressed to my mother, I couldn’t believe what my father had written. I was stunned. It became evident that maybe my gut feeling about him was right after all.

In his letter to my mother, he apologized for all the grief he had caused her over the years.

That intrigued me, so I continued reading.

He apologized to my mother, telling her that he never meant to drag her into his world. He admitted that when he met her, he was only looking for a hookup.

Nice! I know, right.

When he discovered he was going to become a father, it scared him, which, he stated, is an emotion he was unfamiliar with. He also admitted that he only stayed with her during those early years to make sure his child was not a monster like himself.

He continued to say that in the end, he realized I was nothing like him, and he needed to stop living a lie. He wanted us to have a normal life, and normal was not something he could provide us. It was a pity he didn’t pay attention to what our life became after he left. If he had, he would have seen just how far from normal our life actually was.

He confessed to having an evilness inside of him that he couldn’t fight—a thirst for death he thrived on.

My father goes on to admit to killing people, that the act of murder itself sexually aroused him.

It was like an addiction.

One he both could not and did not want to fight.

That particular admission made me sick to my stomach.

Finally, he told my mom if she had received his letter, it meant he was dead. He had enclosed a life insurance policy with me as the beneficiary to secure my future.

Dear old dad had also arranged that upon his untimely death, all his money and assets automatically transfer to my mother. He didn’t want her to struggle for anything either.

I was beyond shocked.

There were no words to describe what was going on in my head at that time.

Stay with me, though, because it does not end there.

Putting the letter back where I found it, I headed for the bathroom. My hope had been to grab a quick shower before my mother came home. I’d assumed, considering how dark the apartment was, that she was out. Knowing what she was like, all I wanted was to shower so I could prepare dinner for when she finally dragged her ass in from wherever she was.

When I approached the bathroom, the door was ajar, and I could hear dripping.

Sign number one that something was amiss.

As I opened the door, I saw her.

My mother was laying in the bathtub with her arms hanging over the edges of it. Both her wrists were slashed and from the looks of it, considering the amount of blood on the floor and bath, she’d been dead for a while.

In that moment, my body went numb, becoming a frozen statue. My feet were stuck like glue to the tiles and I could do nothing but stare at my mother’s lifeless body.

I felt nothing at all and wondered what was wrong with me.

Surely, I was meant to be screaming, or crying, even yelling for help!

Nevertheless, I still felt nothing but numbness.

I could still do nothing more than stare at her, stare at the helpless shell of a woman she’d become.

Deep down, I think I’d been waiting for this day to come for the past eight years.

After calling the police, I called Sophie, and within minutes, she and her parents surrounded me.

I wish I could say the story ended there, but that would be an incorrect assumption.

You see, over the days that followed, Sophie’s dad learned my father was, in fact, the one he’d been tracking. He was the same man one who had forced Ben, the other guys, and their families into witness protection. It’s funny, but he’d been under their noses the whole time, yet their paths never crossed.

Once the news of whom my father was got out, I thought for sure I’d be rejected, but what I received was the complete opposite.

There was more support than I could’ve ever imagined.

I suppose it was only natural, considering in a space of a few days, I’d suddenly become an orphan.

I wasn’t prepared for any of it—not for my parents’ deaths, nor for the Valentine family welcoming me into their home.

None of it felt real.

With both my parents gone in a heartbeat and no other family to be found, Sarah, Sophie’s mom, would not take no for an answer. In all seriousness, though, after my mother’s funeral, I had nowhere else to go anyway.

The most surprising thing for me was the way Ben, Stephen, Kyle, and Luke treated me. Those four boys had more reason than anyone to turn away from me.

After all, it was my father who had caused them all this drama in the first place.

I would have been devastated if that had happened because before the shit hit the fan, I was starting to form a connection with Stephen.

It’s not as if I always have guys falling all over me, but I liked being around this one. He wasn’t a boy you’d see as being my type, but there was something about him that instantly attracted me to him. During the time we’ve spent together, he has somehow brought out a side of me I didn’t know existed. It’s definitely a side I’m keen to explore.

Out of the four of them, Stephen would have to be the quietest. Don’t let that fool you, though, because his reputation at our school is no better than any of the other’s.

The only one who’s reformed his wild ways is Ben, and we have our girl Sophie to thank for that.

His and Luke’s reputations far exceed any of the others. The pair of them have taken the definition of feral to a whole new level. Nowadays, though, that one would lose his genitals if he even thought of stepping out of line.

It’s quite amusing, though, because I never thought I’d see the day when Ben finally met his match.

Still, there was something about Stephen I was drawn to.

When he smiles at me, his whole face lights up, displaying the cutest dimples. Whenever he quirks the corner of his mouth slightly upward, my stomach has a habit of curling up in knots.

It’s a trait of his I find adorable, just like his beautiful brown eyes which remind me of dark chocolate.

One of my favorite things about him is the just-fucked look he always has going on with his hair. It’s wavy, and although it isn’t very long, he always looks like he has just rolled out of bed.

Okay, so maybe I don’t know what just fucked looks like, but it’s my definition, and I am going with it.

I only have one word for his body, and that’s wow.

I mean, holy hell, this boy is hot.

If you didn’t know any better you could be mistaken for thinking he was athletic. Every inch of him, that I have seen, is rock hard. All those muscles, abs, biceps, triceps, pecs—all the ones most of us wouldn’t know anything about, were hard as stone.

Every time I look at him, he has me wanting to run my hands across every hard surface on his body. If I had a preference, it would definitely be his ass.

I can’t explain why, I just like what I see. In my eyes, that boy is