Dear Ava: Enemies-to-lovers Standalone Romance Read online

  Dear Ava

  Copyright © 2020 by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  Cover Design by Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Photographer: Corey Thomas

  Model: Christian Hogue

  Little Dove Publishing

  Copyright Law:

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, this book has been pirated and you are stealing. Please delete it from your device and support the author by purchasing a legal copy. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book or publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked statue and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  First Edition Feb 2020

  Contents

  Playlist for Dear Ava

  Dedication

  From the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Bibliography and Sources

  Excerpt - I Hate You

  Also by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  About the Author

  Click below to hear the music that inspired Dear Ava!

  http://bit.ly/Spotify_DearAva

  For every Ava in the world. Let your fire burn bright.

  Theme song: “Skyscraper” by Demi Lovato

  From the Author

  Recommended for ages 18 and over.

  1

  Junior year

  My hair covers my face and I shove it away, my heart speeding up and pounding as my eyes flare open in the dark. The air is cold, an early winter nipping on the heels of fall.

  Where am I?

  Straining to recall, I distinctly remember the road that brought me to these trees, a narrow, rutted lane, can barely even call it a road, really just a path used by tractors, ATV vehicles, and cars with good front-wheel drive.

  No matter the road you take, it doesn’t matter if it’s beautiful or ugly, hard or smooth, paved or pitted with ruts—it’s your road to take. What matters is how it ends.

  One of the nuns told me that once, but I can’t recall why—wait, God my head hurts as if someone took a sledgehammer and whacked me.

  Blinking, I swallow and focus, mentally willing the pain to stop.

  Where am I?

  A high keening sound breaks into the night, and I jerk, realizing it’s me making that weird noise. Shivering at the eerie sound, I stop, sucking in air then hissing with the effort it takes as I attempt to sit up. I decide against it when agony reverberates through my lower body. There’s a gnawing there—

  Screw it. Just let me lie here.

  I’m in tall grass, that I do know, and I breathe slowly, orienting myself as I stare up at the starry sky and look for answers. The moon is full and bright, illuminating the high pine trees towering over me, their branches rustling as the wind blows, like ghostly hands rubbing their fingers together. Watching the slow, creepy movement reminds me of a horrid Grimm fairytale where a young girl ventures out into the enchanted forest to pick flowers, only to be gobbled up by a monster.

  I close my eyes.

  Open them again.

  This isn’t an enchanted forest, but it’s definitely the woods.

  How did I get here?

  Twisting my head, I see the embers of a low bonfire glowing several yards away in a mostly open meadow. Images dance in my head—me at the fire, laughing, dancing, drinking—

  I inhale a sharp breath as another memory pierces, and I kick it down. Just not ready. My hands clench the dirt and damp leaves underneath me. My clothes are dirty. At least I didn’t wear my red and white cheer outfit. No, I had time to change into a mini skirt and a new blue tank top with scalloped lace at the top, “the perfect match for my eyes,” Piper had said even as she told me not to—what? What did she tell me not to do?

  More pain spirals in my head, and I wince, swallowing convulsively to pull moisture into my dry mouth.

  I focus on that meadow.

  Before I was in the woods, there was a party there, the Friday night kegger after the football game. Yes. At one point, people and music and cars encircled this meadow. Guys still in jerseys, some in jeans and preppy shirts, pretty girls decked out in expensive clothes I can’t afford, jewelry and shoes I’ll never have…

  It’s empty now.

  I lick dry, chapped lips when my stomach swirls. Bile curls in my gut. I’m not sure how my addled brain knows poison lies somewhere within me, but it does, and my body wants to eject it.

  But it’s so hard to move, and I’m exhausted and sore, and if I could just close my eyes and drift…

  The wind blows again and an owl hoots. Something howls off in the distance, a dog or a coyote.

  Definitely not a wolf, I remind myself. This is rural Tennessee, not Alaska.

  My body twitches in disagreement. Doesn’t matter! Leave this awful place!

  But, I’m so tired and weak and maybe if I just go back to sleep and wake up again, this will all just be a bad dream—

  Those ghostly fingers in the trees brush again and I snap to awareness, forcing my eyes to stay open.

  I sit up and prop my back against the tree behind me. A collection of pictures tiptoe through my mind: Jolena and me getting ready for the party at her place and my nervousness at being surrounded by the opulence of her huge mansion, then us arriving at the field party in her black Range Rover. We chugged shots of Fireball before we got out to join everyone. She offered, her ruby lips smiling, and I took it anxiously, needing the bravery for my first kegger. These people weren’t like me, didn’t really know me, except as Chance’s girl. They’re the Sharks at Camden Prep, rich and popular and pretty much assholes except for Chance. They rule the school. They decide who comes to the parties. They decide if you’re good enough.

  My fingers press on my forehead. Knox Grayson, QB1 and the leader of the Sharks, was the first person I saw when we walked up to the fire, his arm curled around…Tawny? Yeah. With the golden brown hair like sunlight. She’s not just pretty; she’s beautiful, wrapped in wealth and superiority—ah, crap, forget her. She doesn’t even know my name. It’s an image of him, of Knox, that lingers…the long, ugly scar that runs down from his right temple, through the hollow of his cheek, slicing into his upper lip. The devil. Hades. I call him that in my head sometimes before I shove him out of my thoughts and lock him away tight. My subconscious has always known to flee when I pass him in the hall, to run like the hot winds of hell are at my back.

  He watched me walk up
with Jolena, an intimidating glint in his narrowed gaze.

  What are you doing here? his face said with a curl of those twisted lips.

  His little looks—oh, how can I call them little? They’ve always been big looks, sweeping and brushing over me then dismissive, reducing me down to nothing but the air he breathes, the very dust motes that float around our hallowed school.

  But…tonight—God, it’s still the same night, right?—I forged ahead, swallowing my misgivings about him because Chance appeared in front of me. Beautiful, sweet Chance. My heart, which feels sluggish and weak, beats a tad quicker. He’s a Shark, in that inner circle, but he likes me. He’s been mine since this summer, little touches and slow kisses. We’re building up to more, so much more. A leftover wisp of joy caresses me as I recall him twirling me around, kissing me on the cheek, and asking me to sing. After much prompting and cajoling and another shot of Fireball, I stood in the bed of someone’s truck and belted out “Skyscraper” by Demi Lovato. Cheers rang out. Even Jolena smiled, and I don’t even think she really likes me. I felt…elated.

  Things get fuzzy after that.

  Stumbling around inside my head, I wince at the images I see. Chance is there, but he isn’t glad to see me anymore—which is weird because he invited me. He begged me to come. He made other promises too, but suddenly I see him right up in my face, jawline clenched, eyes blazing with anger.

  What…what did I do to him?

  Doesn’t he know I’ve put him on a pedestal and thought he might be different? I didn’t want to fall so fast. I don’t love much. I don’t. To allow love in makes one vulnerable and it—

  Forget him.

  What is wrong with my body?

  A lone tear wets my face and I wipe it away fiercely, surprised by the emotion.

  Stop it, Ava.

  You’re just in the woods, and God knows you’ve slept in worst places.

  Still, another drop of moisture sneaks out, and I swallow down the lump of emotion in my throat.

  This is just me being drunk. That’s all.

  Nothing terrible has happened. Nothing at all.

  I…I drank too much. That’s it.

  I suck in air as more faces from the party zoom in and out of my head, their features vague, funhouse images playing out, a horrible fair ride gone wrong. I see Knox leaving with Tawny. I watch Chance with another girl and my heart cracks. I see Jolena whispering to the other girls on the squad while they stare daggers at me.

  What did I do?

  Faster and faster and faster the events tumble around until I feel sick and lean over and vomit.

  When I was ten, I managed to escape Mama at a fair, which wasn’t really an escape because she didn’t care what I did as long as I eventually came back. She slipped inside one of those rusty trailers on the outskirts where the carnies lived. That night, she followed a man with thinning oily hair, a bushy beard, and a red bulbous nose. He pushed money into her hands and they wobbled off to disappear into that tiny metal house while I dashed for the rides, zeroing in on the Zipper. Most Exhilarating Ride at the Fair the blinking red lights said, but once the lady clamped that bar down and hurtled me into the sky, I screamed, my hands white-knuckled and clenched, certain the next spin into the heavens would be my last and I’d come crashing down, my guts flowing over twisted metal when the thing hit the earth.

  But, I didn’t cry. Not one time. Even when I went back to that trailer and snuck inside and Mama was on her knees in front of the man. His pants were at his ankles as her hands cupped his privates. Her eyes flashed at me then up at him, a sly look on her face. A long moment passed, seeming to stretch into eternity, then she motioned for me. Come here, Ava. Try this.

  He zipped his pants and lurched toward me, and I flew out that door and ran and ran and ran. He chased me while I flew past the Zipper, past the corn dog stand, past the goldfish game, and right out the exit. I didn’t see Mama for two days.

  Focus, please Ava, time is passing and you’re not right in the head and your body is wrong, just stop thinking about Mama and get yourself up and go go go go go go go go go go go…

  With a huge breath, I push myself up more. God, I hurt everywhere. I touch my face, checking for injuries, but there’s no swelling or blood. My arms are fine, goose bumps rising in the chilly air. I rub down my chest, squinting in the darkness. My shirt is shoved up to my throat, exposing my plain white bra, issued to me by the nuns at Sisters of Charity. The cups have been maneuvered down, and I adjust it with careful, slow movements, putting my breasts back inside. I don’t let myself think about how they came to be like that.

  My legs are jelly but still there, and I huff out a laugh as if expecting fatal injuries. No Zipper death yet. Ha.

  Wait… I let out a primal sound, as if my body knows, only it’s taking my brain a minute to catch up. My skirt is bunched up around my hips, my pelvic area bare. No plain white underwear from the nuns. Dimly, I process the leaves and twigs from the woods digging into my bottom. My hands flail uselessly over my skin as if the scrap of material might magically appear.

  Oh, Ava, oh Ava, you know what this is—how could you be this naïve…

  Craning my neck, I lean forward and take in small, purple-looking bruises on my inner thighs. I touch myself, there, and groan at the pain from the swollen tissue. My heart picks up more, flying inside my chest. Blackness dances in front of my face.

  “No, no, no…” I say then vomit off to the side, again. Finally, the alcohol is coming up.

  More memories—are they real?—slam into my mind.

  Me heading off to the line of trees. I had to pee. Was Jolena with me? No. I shake my head as an image of someone else pops up, male, looming over me, leading me away. He took my hand and told me he had something to tell me, and for some reason I followed him—

  I touch my mouth.

  He kissed me hard.

  He yanked my hair and shoved me down to the ground.

  Clarity and realization take over the cloudy memories, cutting like a sharp knife. I don’t remember details, most of it totally blank, but a monster was with me in these woods.

  I hear Piper’s voice in my head. Don’t trust them, Ava. You might be a cheerleader today, but no one gets inside their group.

  But…I just wanted to be close enough to be with Chance.

  I wanted to live in his world.

  Where is he now?

  My thoughts drift, and I don’t know how long I sit in the grass, grappling with what happened one second then wailing again the next as the reality of it settles around me.

  Clinging to a tree, I try to stand but slide back to the ground.

  Long minutes pass, and I’m aware of the moon as it moves through the trees. Just a little more time and I can walk.

  I can.

  I have to.

  Someone needs me out there. I brush my fingers over the cheap, gold-plated locket around my neck, touching the flimsy chain. He’s small and tiny and if he doesn’t have me and if I don’t get up, what will happen then?

  I can never desert him…

  That thought gives me strength, just enough to crawl away from the trees and across the open meadow. Past that meadow is that old road, and beyond that is a real highway where I can flag someone down—

  I hear the soft rumble of a vehicle as headlights flash in front of me, a car swinging into the field. A brief elation rises in me then crashes and burns.

  What if it’s him?

  My anxiety ratchets up, panic beating at me, and my muscles burn as I attempt to crawl back the way I came.

  Wait till morning. My head’s not right, but I can wait it out.

  I’m good at hiding.

  Always have been.

  The bright glow of the lights blinds me, and my head swings wildly around, looking for somewhere to go.

  Run, run, run…

  Shuffling sounds break the stillness, a car door slamming, a voice calling out.

  Fear courses through me and I cover my face, asham
ed to be so defenseless. Me. ME.

  Broad shoulders stand over me, and he speaks, and I blink up. I can’t see him with the beams of light from his car in my eyes. More talk from him. I can’t respond. I retch instead.

  He walks toward me. Bends down. Strong arms come down and sweep me up. Shifting around in his embrace, I try to fight, but it’s nothing but a flinch, no struggle, no girl from the inner city who knows how to fight. I’m empty, my body unable to resist him putting me in his car, snapping the seat belt around me. He speaks, maybe my name, asking me questions, but I can’t think straight. I can’t do…anything.

  He pulls away from the field, the car moving fast, so fast, and my head lolls to the side on the seat, staring at my captor.

  Who is he?

  Do I know him? I squint, catching a glint of chiseled jawline and furrowed brow. His head turns and his steely gaze locks with mine. I think I see anger, and just when I think I know him, just when it’s on the tip of my tongue—there’s nothing but darkness as I slip away and sink back into oblivion.

  2

  Ten months later

  The sun beats down on me as I get out of my dark green, older-model Jeep Wrangler, Louise, and give her a little pat. There’s a dent on the driver’s side—came that way—and the paint is rusted at the edges of the hood and over the wheels. I worked three summers waiting tables at a dingy all-night diner in downtown Nashville to buy her, and it’s my sole possession in the world. I paid for it with carefully scraped together money from every tip I got, and I got plenty because I was the best waitress there, pasting a broad, welcoming smile on my face for every truck driver, blue collar worker, and late-night drunk person. Sometimes if the waitstaff was full, I cleaned the kitchen, took out trash, or mopped the floor. Lou would text me any time one of his servers didn’t show up or called in sick, and I’d drag myself up out of my bed at the group home and jog the two blocks to the diner, half-asleep but ready to put the time in for the dollars. I find a smile. Louise isn’t pretty, but she’s mine.