Inseparable Read online

  Table of Contents

  Part I: Senior Year of High School

  Part II: Freshman Year of College

  Part III: (Almost) Five Years Later

  PART I

  PART II

  PART III

  Table of Contents

  Important Note from the Author

  Prologue

  Part I: Senior Year of High School

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Part II: Freshman Year of College

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Part III: (Almost) Five Years Later

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Important Note From The Author

  Finding Kyler

  Finding Kyler – Sample

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  About The Author

  Books By Siobhan Davis

  Copyright

  IMPORTANT NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Are you aware that if you borrow a book from Kindle Unlimited and read in Page Flip mode the author doesn’t get paid? Amazon has recently confirmed this to authors, and there is no indication as to whether they intend to fix this or not. I hate mentioning this, but as my page reads continue to decline (despite the fact I have way more books enrolled in Kindle Unlimited), I may need to revisit my participation in the program going forward. I would never ask any reader to stop reading in Page Flip mode, as reading is highly personal, but I do want to ensure every reader is fully aware of all the facts so they can make their own informed decision. Thanks for your attention.

  This book delves into some heavy subject matter which may cause triggers for some readers. I cannot be specific, because it would ruin the story, however, if you are concerned about a particular trigger you can query it via email to [email protected].

  PROLOGUE

  Present Day - Angelina

  Life is just a flow of interconnecting moments in time. A combination of well-thought-out actions and spontaneous reactions. A sequence of events and people moving in and out of your personal stratosphere.

  At least, that’s how I’ve always viewed it.

  Like a squiggly line veering up and down with no apparent pattern. Plotting the highs; pinpointing the lows. Showcasing the happy times. Highlighting the mistakes and the resulting consequences. Calling into focus all the myriad of things I should’ve done differently if I had known.

  When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the notion of time—making a beeline for the fortune teller every year when the carnival descended on the wide, open grassy field just outside town. I saved my pocket money all year round so I could have my fortune told. The idea that you could see into the future, to know what was around the corner, held an enormous fascination for me.

  I wanted to make something of my life.

  To dedicate myself to a profession that helped others.

  To know happiness awaited me.

  To receive confirmation that the two most important people in my life would always be in it. Because even the thought I could lose Ayden or Devin always sent horrific tremors of fear rushing through me.

  For as long as I can remember, it had always been the three of us. Best friends to the end. The awesome-threesome. Forever infinity. It was a friendship more akin to family. A meeting of minds and hearts and promises. A connection so deep that we swore nothing or no one would ever come between us. We committed ourselves in a secret bond when we were twelve, and the commitment was imprinted on my heart in the same way it was inked on my skin.

  I could never have predicted what was to come.

  That I’d be the one to destroy everything.

  No fortune teller ever told me that.

  For years, I’ve thought of nothing but the what-ifs and obsessed over so many questions.

  What if a fortune teller had told me what would come to pass?

  Would things have been different?

  What would I change?

  Would I have had the strength to stay away from my two best friends? To forge a completely different path in life? To deny something that was intrinsically a part of myself? Could I slice my heart apart knowing it was the right thing to do?

  For years these questions have plagued me.

  But I’m too afraid to confront the truth, even though it’s front and center. Even though I carry it with me like a thundercloud, hovering and threatening but never opening up, never letting the storm loose.

  Some truths are far too painful to acknowledge out loud.

  As if to speak the words would confirm what I already know about myself.

  That I’m weak, selfish, and not at all the person I thought I was.

  Perhaps that’s why we don’t have that cognitive ability—to see the future, to know what lies ahead. I’ve thought of it often. If it’s evolution. If at some time in the future humans will be able to sense the path of their destiny. To alter their fate. To assume full control over every aspect of their life with conscious decision.

  For now, all I’ve got is that squiggly line and a huge helping of regret.

  What good comes from continually looking back? From locking myself in the haunted mansion of my past? Meandering with the ghosts of guilt and shame? For a girl who spent her happy youth so focused on the future, it’s a very sorry state of affairs. But I’m stuck in this washing machine that is my so-called life. The faster it churns, the more I lose myself. So, I try to stop time. To stand still. To numb myself to my reality. To blank out feeling and emotion. To close myself off. To never allow another human to imprint on my heart or to see into the black, murky depths of my soul.

  The honest truth is, if I’d had a crystal ball—if I’d known what was going to happen—I still wouldn’t have changed a thing.

  Because I would’ve missed those high points. Those happy memories that are the only thing keeping me alive right now.

  If that’s what you can call my current existence.

  And that makes me the most selfish, conceited liar on the planet.

  PART I

  Senior Year


  of High School

  CHAPTER ONE

  Angelina

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  I emit a high-pitched shriek, almost jumping out of my skin. Blood rushes to my head as I spin around in my bedroom. Devin has his face pressed into the glass of the French doors, peering in. His nose is all smushed up, and he’s wearing his trademark shit-eating grin. Dropping my book bag on the floor beside my bed, I walk over, flinging the doors open with gusto. “Dev, what the hell? Are you trying to give me a coronary?”

  He saunters into my room, flopping down on the bed like he owns it, his customary grin still planted firmly on his lips. “Hey, baby doll. Come sit.” He pats the bed, stretching out his long, sculptured torso before propping up on his side.

  I perch on the edge of the mattress, slapping his leg. “Don’t call me that. I’m not one of your conquests.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a faithful pet.” He smirks, attempting to smother his laughter as he watches the scowl appear on my face.

  “Don’t push your luck, asshole.”

  “Ange.” He pats the bed alongside him again. “Come here.” He looks at me through hooded lashes, and his green eyes smolder in that intense way of his. Strands of his black hair fall over his forehead as his gaze bores a hole deep inside me.

  Devin defines drop-dead gorgeous. With his sinful good looks, ripped body, and dark brooding intensity, it’s no wonder every girl in town hangs off his every word.

  Lost under the magnetism of his penetrating focus, I forget how to breathe. “Come. Here,” he mouths this time, failing to hide his knowing smirk.

  Yeah. Dev’s well aware of the effect he has on the female population, myself included.

  I sigh but give up fighting the inevitable. Toeing off my shoes, I crawl up the bed, dropping down beside him. He reaches out, twirling strands of my long, dark hair around his finger. His eyes hold mine as his fingers weave in and out of my hair, and I zone out, like I’ve been drugged. Clamping my lips shut, I stifle the blissful moan building at the back of my throat. His hands feel so good in my hair. My blood pressure soars, butterflies go crazy in the pit of my stomach, and a familiar ache throbs between my legs.

  I shouldn’t have these feelings for Devin, but I’ve been harboring them for years, and I’m sure I’m going to spontaneously combust one of these days. Pent-up frustration and potent longing are my constant companions. An incessant reminder of all that is denied to me.

  He’s oblivious, of course.

  I’m in an exclusive ten percent club—that minuscule pool of girls in senior class who have yet to sample the Devin experience.

  Although I know all about it.

  The girls at school can’t keep their legs or their mouths shut.

  I’ve heard all the stories these last couple of years, and I wish I could wash my ears out and scrub my brain free of the heartbreaking knowledge. Devin is gaining quite the rep around town. And not just for his man-whore ways.

  “What are you doing home on a Saturday night anyway?” I ask, while he continues threading his fingers through my hair. I’m pleased that I manage to sound semi-coherent, and it’s good to know he hasn’t nuked all my brain cells.

  Devin is hardly ever at home anymore. Especially not on a weekend night. There are copious parties to attend and numerous willing girls to fuck. Getting laid and drunk appears to take precedence over our friendship these days, and I’ve had to sit back and watch it happen with a heavy heart. Most times, I only see him at school, and then it’s sporadic and fleeting. Occasionally, he’ll drop into the diner where I work, but those visits are becoming few and far between. It’s the been the same these past few months, ever since we started our final year, and it hurts. Way more than I’ve let on to anyone.

  I miss my best friend, and I hate that a rift has formed in our seemingly unbreakable bond. Worse is I don’t understand how this has happened or why.

  My other best friend and neighbor, Ayden, has been more vocal and less concerned about rocking the boat. His impatience with Devin is growing by the day, and the cracks are splintering in our friendship. I never thought I’d see the day when we were anything but joined at the hip.

  Things are changing, and I don’t like it.

  “I wanted to see you more than I wanted to go out,” he admits, startling me with his honesty.

  The romantic, nostalgic, girly-girl part of my brain is ready to throw a party, but the more logical, guarded side of my brain kicks in, cautioning me to chill the fuck out. I narrow my eyes as I scrutinize his face. “Are you high or drunk right now?”

  He frowns, and his hand stalls in my hair. “Of course not.”

  I snort. “You say that like it’s outside the realm of possibility you’d be either of those things.”

  He removes his hand from my hair, and I feel bereft. “We both know who I am, Ange, but I’m surprised you think I’d turn up here like that. Not with you. Never with you.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel special?” I blurt.

  “You are special, and you know it.” He leans in, kissing the top of my head, and his chest brushes against mine, sending a flurry of fiery tingles whipping through me. Heat from his body washes over me, and I close my eyes, praying for self-control. The urge to touch him is almost overpowering. It’s one of the reasons why I haven’t pushed him as much as Ayden. If we were to start spending more time together, I don’t know that I could contain my feelings. As it is, I don’t know how much longer I can continue to hide them.

  I’ve spent years crushing on Devin, and I’m close to my breaking point.

  A sharp, stabbing pain pierces me straight through the heart.

  I shouldn’t feel this way about one of my best friends, but I can’t help it. I’ve been in love with him for so long, even if he doesn’t have a clue.

  He doesn’t look at me like that.

  Neither of my besties do, and that’s the way it should be.

  I’m the one stuck with faulty internal wiring. We have grown up as close as three kids can be. He should be like a brother to me. In a lot of ways, he is.

  But, God, he’s so much more.

  “How’d you get on my balcony anyway?” I ask, the thought suddenly occurring to me.

  He drops his head onto my pillow, chuckling. “How do you think?”

  My mouth falls open, and I slap him across the chest. “Devin Robert Morgan, you did not climb the tree?!” He sends me a devilish wink, and I slap his chest again. “You idiot! You’re not a kid anymore, and you’re lucky you made it in one piece.” Devin is well over six-foot tall and while he doesn’t have Ayden’s football player’s body, he has a toned, muscular physique that has all the girls drooling.

  Yours truly included.

  “Chill. Old Man Willow can handle my awesomeness.”

  My bedroom is at the back of our house, and I have my own private balcony. An old oak tree holds court directly outside my room, its spindly branches like giant fingers stretching toward our house. When we were younger, the boys used to climb the tree in the dead of night and jump over onto my balcony. Mom never knew, and thus began a weekly tradition that spanned years.

  Every Friday night, Devin and Ayden climbed that tree to my room. And every Friday night, we sat up until the early hours, whispering, laughing, and watching the stars. We went through a Lord of the Rings phase one year, and Devin likened the tree in my yard to the willow tree in Tolkien’s legendary tale, and, henceforth it became known by the same name.

  Our Friday night tradition ceased when the boys stretched up and out and became too big to climb it. It also coincided with the time of Devin’s transformation—when he morphed into one of the town’s most notorious bad boys.

  “You know my mom works the night shift in the hospital almost every Saturday night. You could’ve just used the front door.”

  “An
d where’s the fun in that?” he quips, smirking, and I roll my eyes. “Wanna hang out on the balcony? For old time’s sake?”

  I examine his face, noting a vulnerability I haven’t seen in a long time. My chest tightens in awareness. Something brought him here tonight. Something forced him to seek out my company.

  Not that I’m in any way complaining. The last thing I’d ever do is deny him anything. Even if his actions unconsciously continue to hurt me. “Sure. That’d be fun. I’ll get some snacks. Can you grab a couple blankets from my closet?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  I arch a brow, and he chuckles. “Glad you know the lay of the land.” I grin, before throwing caution to the wind. “We should call Ayden.” I know he’s visiting his grandma in the nursing home—he always goes with his mom the last Saturday of every month—but he’ll be back soon.

  “No.” Devin’s reply is swift and laced with determination.

  “Don’t tell me you two aren’t speaking again?” It’s a familiar pattern these last few months, since something went down between them during summer break, and I hate it. Hate all the tension and discord. All the fighting.

  “That’s not it. I just…” He trails off, looking down at his feet. “I just want to be alone with you.” He lifts his head, and I’m surprised to see such raw, naked emotion glistening in his eyes. I feel his pain as acutely as if it’s my own. It’s like I’ve been punched in the gut. “I need you, Ange,” he whispers.

  I step toward him without thinking, planting my hand on his rock-hard chest. His heart beats steadily under my palm through the thin material of his shirt. “I’m always here for you. Always. You never have to doubt that.”

  He cups my face, peering deep into my eyes. “You’re way too good to me. You should hate me.”

  My brow furrows. “Why on earth would I hate you?” Devin is trampling all over my heart, but he doesn’t know that, and it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose. He can screw whomever he likes, and it’s none of my business. Doesn’t matter that every girl, every kiss and every caress I’m witness to, adds another scar to my heart. Outwardly, there is no reason why he should feel like this, so I don’t understand what’s going on in his head.