Horizon compass series b.., p.1
Horizon (Compass Series Book 3), page 1
Horizon
Copyright © 2021 by Aria Wyatt
www.ariawyatt.com
This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or real businesses and locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Except for original material written by the author, all song titles mentioned in the novel Horizon are property of their respective songwriters and copyright holders.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher at compassprosebooks@gmail.com. Brief quotations may be used in articles or reviews without prior permission. Thank you for respecting the author’s intellectual property.
FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Cover design by Lori Jackson Design
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Editing by Silvia’s Reading Corner, Eve Arroyo Editing, and The Picky Bitch Editing
Proofreading by My Brother’s Editor, Proofingstyle, Inc., and Alexa Gregory
Formatting: Champagne Book Design
ISBN: 978-1-7359505-7-0
Title Page
Copyright
About This Book
Dedication
Epigraph
Content Warning
Prologue
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Playlist for Horizon
Excerpt from Masquerade, Prodigy Series #1
Other Books
About the Author
Acknowledgements
When hemispheres collide . . .
It started out innocent.
He was my older brother’s best friend. The teen who built sandcastles and splashed in the waves with me when I was a little girl. We’d collect seashells and build moats around our castles to protect the imaginary princess within. He was my Jake. I was his princess.
His summer visits to Australia became less frequent after scoring his first record deal, but I never forgot him. While the multiplatinum singer-songwriter traveled the world, melting hearts and panties with his lyrics, I filled a notebook with his name.
Everything changed when Jake flew in for my brother’s thirtieth birthday party. At eighteen, I’d come a long way from the girl he remembered. One lingering touch was all it took to ignite us. I kissed him, but he walked away. He was still on tour, I was about to start college, and let’s not forget my hotheaded brother.
But after graduation, when a New York internship opportunity lands me in the Brooklyn brownstone across from his, the ocean between us is replaced with a street.
Jake thinks he can’t have me—we’re different as earth and sky—but I’ll prove him wrong. Those five years of distance only deepened my ache. His demons don’t scare me. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I know I can make him happy if he’ll let me.
I’m determined to try. After all, his old sweatshirt is not the only thing I’ve held on to for him . . .
When earth meets sky on the horizon, Jake Bennett, the King of Ballads, will be mine.
To my cherished friend Melissa,
I admire your ferocity and resilience. I adore you, and I’m beyond thankful for our years of friendship. Fuck lupus. This book is for you.
Cassandra (and all the other lupus warriors out there), keep fighting. You rock, lady!
Ho · ri · zon (noun)
Definition of horizon:
The line where the earth seems to meet the sky; the apparent junction of earth and sky.
—Merriam Webster
CONTENT WARNING
This novel explores mental health topics, including depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. There is extensive discussion about lupus erythematosus, kidney transplants, and cancer. Please read with caution.
IF WE’RE RELATED OR WORK TOGETHER:
Skip the sex scenes. Please & thank you.
(Pronounced: EYE-la)
Internal playlist: “Waiting in Vain” by Annie Lennox
Five years ago
It’s no secret that tightly woven fabrics excite me. Bonus points awarded if they’re stretchy. Today, as I scan the packed private beach, my love affair with spandex and neoprene has never been more relevant. In fact, I’m considering a ménage à trois with nylon and polyester. Maybe even Lycra. If anyone needs me, I’m building a mental shrine for the people who design men’s bathing suits.
All around me, blokes wearing boardies, rashies, and wetsuits pulled down to their waists parade their sculpted bodies across the sand. As a girl who grew up toddling in Australia’s Bass Strait and Tasman Sea, one would think I’d be used to seeing so many muscles in one place. Nope. Still gets me.
A salty breeze ruffles my hair as the sunset paints streaks of color over the crashing waves. Music is blasting. People are laughing, drinking, and surfing. Someone built a huge bonfire. The crackle of burning wood is barely audible over the surf. Leaping orange flames mesmerize me almost as much as the abundance of rippling abdomens and toned arses . . . almost.
I sip my watered-down wine cooler and smile. My oldest brother’s birthday bash is the last place I expected to find myself tonight, mainly because I wasn’t invited to the bloody thing. That is, according to Reed, middle child, and resident party planner. His decree didn’t sit well, so I went over his head and asked Wes. It’s his birthday, after all.
As the youngest, and the only girl in the family, I’m used to getting what I want—especially from Wes. This time is no exception. So here I sit, feasting my eyes on a delicious buffet of scantily clad musculature.
Across the fire, Reed’s still glowering at me. Nothing new. I get it, we’re ten years apart and he can’t stand me, but that’s his problem. Our relationship has never been a close one. Truth be told, it bothers me sometimes. As far as I know, my greatest offense to him was being born. You know, something I had zero control over. I blow him a kiss, and his lip curls.
My gaze drifts to Wes, who’s standing near a shed that houses surf equipment, waxing his surfboard. I still can’t believe he’s thirty. The scar from five years ago contrasts with the bronze of his skin. My fingers instinctively trace along my matching scar—the one that represents our bond and my freedom from dialysis.
It doesn’t seem possible I’ve had his kidney for half a decade. It took years for the doctors to come up with a diagnosis. When they finally did, it was too late. Lupus nephritis landed me in renal failure at age twelve. My health has been a rough ride, but I finally have a handle on my illness. I’m nothing if not resilient, and I’d like to think posttransplant Isla is much stronger. Wiser. More refined and in control.
Mostly.
Movement in the parking area draws my attention. The party has been going since noon, and everyone who was supposed to come is here. A Jeep rolls to a stop, and the driver’s door pops open. A man emerges, silhouetted by the glare off the car’s windscreen. He walks across the sand, approaching Wes from behind.
Who’s this?
I squint and blink a few times, holding up a hand to shield my watery eyes. Where the hell are my sunglasses? Lupus makes me extremely photosensitive, which is why I chose to arrive closer to sundown. This time of year, the sun doesn’t set until after eight, which means I missed most of the party. Sadly, I didn’t have a choice. Even with ample protection, my skin and eyes can’t handle sunlight for more than a couple hours.
I blink to clear my vision as mystery man claps my brother’s shoulder, causing him to spin around.
“Bennett!” Wes’s surfboard and wax hit the sand as he throws his ar ms around his best mate.
Jake Bennett.
I stare openmouthed at the man I’ve loved since he built sandcastles and splashed in the waves with me when I was a child. We collected seashells, played Barbies, and he endured endless games of hide and seek. I taught “my Jake” everything I knew about hopscotch.
Now, my Jake is a multiplatinum singer-songwriter with the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. I have the audio file for every song he’s put out, and I adore listening to his smooth, deep baritone on repeat. I especially love falling asleep to the ballads. Thanks to his touring schedule, I haven’t seen him in person in almost three years.
Jake is here.
My.
Jake.
Is.
Here.
Aviator sunglasses obscure his eyes, but I can picture those warm chocolaty irises like I saw them yesterday. Dressed in a plain, gray T-shirt and khaki shorts, with a charcoal hoodie draped over his arm, his muscled physique heats my insides. Forget the blokes in boardies, my reaction to him surpasses sparks, bordering on a bushfire. Factor in his tousled chestnut waves and stubbled jawline, and I’m done for. I’ve crushed on Jake my whole life, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this tidal wave of longing.
He doesn’t see me yet. Just as well—I need a few minutes to cool down. I duck behind the surf shed. Careful to stay hidden, I peek around the corner to where the men are standing.
Wes grins. “Holy fuck, mate, I didn’t think you could make it. I thought you were still on tour.”
“I am. Got another six months for this leg, but I had a few days off between shows, so I hopped on a plane.” Jake glances at his watch. “I can hang for a couple of hours, but I need to fly out in the morning.”
I spy like the quintessential little sister that I am. Perhaps it has something to do with Jake being the speaker, but their conversation is perfectly audible from my vantage point.
Austin “Memphis” Pines, pop star and tonight’s chef, jogs over to Jake and Wes. Austin is their other best mate, and the one who brought all the guys together as kids. “Bennett, you made it.” He turns to Wes and grins. “Surprise!”
Jake hugs Austin. “What’s up, Memphis? You save me any food?”
“Yeah, man. The ribs are almost done, and I made my famous honey-bourbon wings. Saved you some bourbon too.”
“Sweet. Thanks.” Jake runs a hand through his waves. “I could use a drink after that flight.”
“Screaming babies?” Wes asks.
Jake nods. “Triplets.”
Wes chuckles. “Ah, the Three Musketeers like us.”
Jake, Austin, and Wes are affectionately known in the entertainment industry as the Three Musketeers. Instead of swashbuckling swordsmen, two singers and an actor comprise this inseparable trio, brought together as kids by an international youth talent competition. With Austin hailing from Tennessee, and Jake being a Brooklyn, New York native, their globe-spanning friendship has been going strong for two decades.
My family resides on the Mornington Peninsula, in Victoria, Australia. We’re not too far from Melbourne, where our mum works. Wes’s acting career has taken him all over the world. He’s climbed the ranks and is now a bona fide Hollywood A-lister. Since details about the party were kept under wraps, the paparazzi haven’t shown up.
Yet.
Wes’s fame is still weird for me—especially the way women throw themselves at him since his lead role in the Olympus Fire franchise. To the rest of the world, Wes is Ares, the Greek god of war. The bikini-clad group of giggling women following him around are clearly enthralled by the Ares persona. To me, he’s just my big brother.
“The flight was awful.” Jake shakes his head, then massages the back of his neck, making me ache to touch him. “The babies were in the row in front of me. At one time or another, they were barfing, shitting, and screaming.”
Wes cocks his head to the side. “You didn’t fly first class?”
“Nah, it was booked.”
“Thanks for suffering to come to my party.”
Jake claps his shoulder. “Of course, man. Happy dirty thirty.” He flashes a wicked grin. “I spent the flight thinking up ways to harass your old ass, so you don’t miss me too much when I leave.”
Wes’s booming laugh makes me jump. I’ll need to dial back my jitters if I have any hope of interacting with Jake.
“I’d expect nothing less from you, Bennett. And don’t worry, I’ll be sure to return the favor for your thirtieth.”
Austin chuckles and points to the eskies. “Bennett, I’ll grab you a drink. Be back in a min.”
Reed makes his way over to them and gives Jake a fist bump. “Glad you could make it, mate.”
I edge my body away from the shed’s corner and peer through a crack instead. If Reed sees me, he’ll gladly blow my cover. He fucked up every game of hide and seek we played.
Austin returns, handing Jake a shot of bourbon. “Bottoms up, brotha.”
Jake smoothly knocks it back. His throat moves on a swallow, making me jealous of the amber liquid. I glance at the diluted piña colada wine cooler I’m holding like the shitty excuse for a beverage insulted me. Watching everyone party, the subtle lupus reminder may as well be a gut punch. I can’t drink hard liquor but wish I could do shots with the guys. I’m so bloody tired of having limitations.
“What’s new? How’s the family?” Jake asks Wes and Reed.
“Everyone’s good, mate. Mum and Dad are on a trip, and Isla’s here somewhere,” Wes answers, gesturing to the partygoers.
“Really?” Jake scans the beach, his smile doing something to my insides. “I haven’t seen Sprite in years. Where is she? I can’t wait to catch up.”
Oh my God, he wants to talk.
To me.
Sprite is the nickname he gave me when I was a kid because I’d flit around like a bird or a fairy. It’s one of my more endearing pet names.
“Yeah, Bird Brain’s crashing the party like always,” Reed grumbles, ever the sullen fucker.
Wes shakes his head. “Don’t call her that. I said Imp could come. Besides, she’s not bothering anyone.” He smirks and lightly punches Reed’s shoulder. “Other than you, obviously.”
Austin chuckles. “Yeah, be nice to Flight Risk. She brought that mango dessert I can’t wait to get my hands on.”
Bird Brain, Flight Risk, and Imp. Talk about a shitty nickname trifecta. It’s not that they’re wrong—I am flighty—but if dialysis taught me anything about myself, it’s that I hate being caged. Why stick to the ground when the open sky awaits?
Jake nudges Reed. “I see nothing’s changed in the Emerson family.”
“Don’t remind me,” Reed mutters. He shields his eyes, scanning the beach once more. “I swear, she was just here.”
I press my body to the weathered building, praying no one spots me. Given my penchant for eavesdropping, I should probably pursue a career in espionage instead of fashion design.
Down the beach, someone calls Wes to help with their surfboard.
“Be right back. Reed, come with me. I want you to meet this bloke.” He jogs across the sand.
Reed limps after him. The familiar wave of sadness crests as I watch him move. It’s no wonder he’s miserable. A drunk driver shattered his acting career, along with his leg and vertebrae when he was my age. He hasn’t been the same since. The only positive to come of it was Cora Priest, his physical therapist girlfriend. Only Cora sees Reed’s soft side. Much as his distance hurts me, I’m grateful he has her to turn to.
Austin laughs, bringing my focus back to him and Jake. They discuss some music industry stuff, and I continue to listen, hanging on every word that leaves Jake’s lush lips.
Cora catches sight of me after retrieving a dry towel from her car. She cocks her head at my position behind the shed.
I hold a finger to my lips and wave her over.
“Why’re ya hidin’ out here, love?” she whispers.
“Oh, uh . . . well, I—”
Her knowing smirk stops me as heat floods my face. “He’s only gonna be here a few hours, so you’d better make it count.”
“Please don’t tell my brothers,” I whisper.
