Snapshot, p.1
Snapshot, page 1
Snapshot
KB. Row
Copyright © 2024 by KB. Row
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, locales and incidents are products of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblance to actual person’s- living or dead, things, and/or events are entirely coincidental.
ebook ISBN: 9781957959108 Paperback ISBN: 9781957959139
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Editor: Brazen Hearts Author Services
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Contents
playlist
dedication
trigger warnings
foreword
prologue
1. Winnie
2. Reese
3. Reese
4. Winnie
5. Reese
6. Reese
7. Winnie
8. Winnie
9. Reese
10. Reese
11. Reese
12. Winnie
13. Reese
14. Reese
15. Reese
16. Winnie
17. Reese
18. Winnie
19. Reese
20. Reese
21. Reese
22. Reese
23. Winnie
24. Winnie
25. Reese
26. Reese
27. Reese
28. Winnie
29. Winnie
30. Winnie
31. Reese
32. Winnie
33. Reese
34. Winnie
35. Reese
36. Winnie
37. Winnie
38. Reese
39. Reese
40. Reese
41. Winnie
42. Winnie
43. Reese
44. Winnie
45. Reese
46. Winnie
47. Reese
48. Winnie
49. Reese
50. Winnie
51. Reese
epilogue
acknowledgements
also by
about the author
playlist
Home – Three Days Grace
Gives You Hell – The All-American Rejects
1985 – Bowling For Soup
Still Into You – Paramore
You Can't Hurry Love – The Supremes
Dirty Little Secret – The All-American Rejects
Juliet – LMNT
L-O-V-E – Nat King Cole
The Reason – Hoobastank
Mama Said – The Shirelles
You're a Jerk – New Boyz
My Girl – The Temptations
Ain't No Moutain High Enough – Marvin Gaye, Tammi Terrell
Brown Eyed Girl – Van Morrison
You Are The Reason – Calum Scott
Kiss My Slowly – Parachute
Thunderstruck – AC/DC
Cherry Pie – Warrant
Kickstart My Heart – Motley Crue
Out for a Rip (lol) – Shark Tank
Don't Stop Believin' – Journey
Addicted – Saving Abel
Closer – The Chainsmokers, Halsey
Hooked On A Feeling – Blue Swede, Bjorn Skifs
You Had Me From Hello – Kenny Chesney
My Best Friend – Tim Mcgraw
Just So You Know – Jesse McCartney
Sorry – Buckcherry
Burn it to the Ground – Nickelback
Are You Ready – Three Days Grace
I Will Always Love You – Whitney Houston
Chapel of Love – The Dixie Cups
Listen along HERE!
dedication
To hot hockey players and the women that love them.
trigger warnings
The trigger warnings do include a huge spoiler for the book
Alcohol use/abuse
Alcoholic/Abusive parent
Drug use
Death of parent
“Age of consent” sex (mentioned, not on page)
Violence on page
Pregnancy & Pregnancy loss (ON PAGE)
foreword
Snapshot is the first book in the interconnected Emerson University series but can be read as a standalone as each book will follow a different couple.
prologue
Reese
“I think sometimes people fight because they don’t know how to love.”
“I think that’s just an excuse.”
“Maybe.” Winnie shrugs, not caring that I’m arguing with her, and it’s not because I don’t know how to love. It’s because she’s wrong.
My parents don’t argue because they are in love; they argue because my dad has anger issues and my mom is depressed—or lazy, as Dad often calls her. But Winnie is young, so I don’t hold her innocent outlook on life against her. I wish I could still think the way she does, but instead, I have to accept the world for what it is, not what I want it to be.
I fall back onto the rough shingles on the roof outside Winnie’s room and stare up at the night sky. Winnie moves, laying her head on my stomach and stretching her feet out perpendicular to my body.
“The stars are so bright tonight.”
The sky hasn’t been that clear lately, making seeing the stars difficult, but not tonight. They are a stark contrast to the inky sky, and I bet if we wanted to, we could count them all. We’ve done that a few times. Winnie finds it soothing—I mostly agree.
“They’re a good reminder that the world is big, we are small, and our issues aren’t always as big as they seem.” She drops her head to the side and stares at me with big brown eyes. “Don’t you think?”
Winnie’s dad always says she has an old soul. He usually tells her that when she’s crying about not making friends, but I think he’s right. She always says things that sound weird coming out of a kid’s mouth.
“Even small issues can feel like big issues if you’re close enough.”
“True. But it’s a nice reminder that not everything is as big as it seems, right?”
“I suppose.” It’s my turn to shrug now.
Our peaceful moment is interrupted when a door slams. I know that’s my front door across the street. I just don’t want to acknowledge it. Dad’s angry mutters rip through the quiet air. His rusty old truck is loud as it roars to life, and then he’s gone, most likely heading to the bar.
Knowing my mom is probably over there crying like every other time he leaves the house pissed is like a brick sitting on my chest. Just once, I wish my parents could pretend to get along. It’s exhausting because I know I’ll have to go home and try to comfort her. Probably put her to bed, too, since I bet she’s popped open a bottle by now. None of my other friends have to deal with parents like mine. I don’t know why I had to be born into the family I was.
Why not a family like the Lewises’? Their household is always calm. Our houses might look the same structurally, but they couldn’t be more opposite behind closed doors. People in this house actually love and care about each other the way a family is meant to. They aren’t looking to argue any chance they get. I mean, I’ve seen Winnie and Elijah go head-to-head, but it’s always over normal sibling stuff. He ate her last snack; she stole his CD player—it’s never serious, and an hour after they argue, they are back to normal.
Growing up, I always wanted a sibling like them, but now I’m glad I don’t have one. Someone else having to live through our parents nearly tearing each other’s throats out on the daily doesn’t sound enjoyable. Misery loves company—but not that much. At least not mine.
I wish my parents would grow up and learn how to love each other like Christopher and Sheri do. I’ve never even seen them mad at each other. Mrs. Lewis has scolded Christopher in front of us for various things before, but usually, he is biting back a smile when she does, and it always ends with him giving her affection until whatever anger she was holding dwindles. That’s how I want my marriage to be. No relationship is perfect, but we’re meant to fight battles together, not battle with each other.
“How did your parents meet?”
“Uh, college. I think.”
College. Two more years and I’m there. Maybe then I’ll meet my soulmate.
“What about yours?”
My parents? I nearly snort. They were a random hookup, but I won’t tell a thirteen-year-old that. I’m sure she hears worse at school—I know I did at her age—but still. I’m not risking her asking weird questions I don’t want to answer. Elijah would kill me if she went to him asking what a booty call was.
“I think at my mom’s work.” It’s not a lie. Mom was a stripper, and they did meet at her work. Apparently, he paid for more, and nine months later, out popped a bouncing baby boy. The only reason I know all this is because of their arguments. Dad’s not quiet when he calls Mom a cheap whore, and she’s not quiet when she calls him a drunk, good-for-nothing piece of shit.
Winnie rolls to her stomach and props herself up on her elbows, staring at me expectantly.
“What?”
“Are you coming to the apple orchard with us tomorrow?”
“I can’t. I have to work.” But I wish I could. Going to the apple orchard with the Lewises every year is one of my favorite memories. It’s a tradition, and they have a competition to see who can pick the most. I won last year, but I think that’s because Mr. Lewis let me. Picking is fun, but it’s all the baking and cooking that I really love. Mostly because Mrs. Lewis is an amazing cook and always asks us to taste test everything.
“Can’t you call in?” She frowns, puffing her bottom lip out. She knows I hate it when she does that, and I swear that’s why she does it.
“Some of us have to work, Winnie.” It’s not fair to snap at her, but I do. How would she know about struggling? Her dad is a higher-up at the same factory my dad works at, and a few years ago, Mrs. Lewis opened a bakery downtown that is always busy. They probably aren’t swimming in cash, but they’re comfortable enough, I’m sure.
“I know.” Her voice is soft, and I feel like a dick. “I just like when you come.”
“Maybe I can stop by after.”
Her dark eyes brighten as if that’s the best news she’s ever heard. This is why I love hanging out with Winnie, even if her brother thinks it’s weird. And he doesn’t even know about nights like tonight when we simply lie on the roof outside her room and talk. She’s always excited to see me, unlike anyone else in my life. And she’s a great listener. Maybe a couple years my junior, but she understands most things really well, and even if she doesn’t—like my parents’ genuine hatred for each other, or me having to work—she’s still nice to talk to. The nights I don’t want to talk, she finds a way to distract me, always flipping a bad night to good. I consider her as much of a friend as I consider her brother.
“I’ll be sure to save you a peeler.” She grins and falls onto her back once again, placing her head on my stomach.
I know the world will get to Winnie one day, and her positive outlook will more than likely shift into a realistic one, as it does for most, but I dread the day that happens. Whatever it is that changes her, I’m going to hate it forever.
1
Winnie
Present Day
Why the hell are there so many flavors of Pop-Tarts? There definitely weren’t this many when I was a kid, and that is a crime. I would have loved eating a pumpkin pie Pop-Tart while I watched morning cartoons.
It’s no wonder Dad always needed a very specific list from Mom when she sent him to the store. The options are practically limitless. I used to watch Mom toss things into the cart and not think much about it, but now that I’m doing the shopping, I realize it’s not that simple. There were many things I knew would change when I moved away from my mom and in with my brother for college, but struggling to decide which Pop-Tarts to buy was not one of them.
I grab a few boxes of new flavors and one of brown sugar cinnamon because Elijah would kill me if I didn’t get his favorite kind. They thunk against the plastic basket as I toss them in and turn away, right as someone calls a name I wasn’t ready to hear.
Looking over my shoulder, all I can do is blink. What are the odds? My first time out in Pinecove, and I run into the only two people I was hoping I wouldn’t see. I watch—or listen—to a lot of his hockey games, although I’d never admit that out loud. So I obviously knew he would be around, but I didn’t think he would be around. And I definitely didn’t think he would be linking arms with Zoey the first time I saw him.
Are they together?
It doesn’t matter, Winnie. He’s not yours.
He never was.
I need to remember that, even if seeing him with those hazel eyes I fell in love with so many years ago brings back feelings and memories I’ve done my best to block out.
“Never let the enemy see your weakness.” Dad would always tell Elijah that. He was talking about hockey, but it can be applied to real life, I’m sure. I don’t know if Reese Larson counts as an enemy, but Zoey Miller sure as hell does.
I force a smile and head their way, figuring it’s too late to take off in the other direction and praying I look as unbothered as I want to. It’s a good thing they can’t hear my heart, though, because the heavy beating would be a dead giveaway. I’m no longer in high school, and I promised myself I wouldn’t be meek in college, but there’s something about facing my old bully and the man I thought was the love of my life in the same place—touching—that threatens to bring that trait roaring back to the surface.
The first time Zoey ever approached me, it was to ask about Reese. She wasn’t the first girl or the last. I was always around Reese and my brother, and I guess I was more approachable than those two because many, many girls thought they could get to them through me. Like I was their door guard or some shit. Either way, Zoey was by far the most persistent. Most of the time, girls would want basic information about them that they could use to connect. It usually worked with my brother, although I prefer to not think about how many girls I set him up with on accident.
Reese, however, never entertained them. I always looked up to him for that, not knowing it was deep-rooted jealousy that made me happy for his rejection of those girls.
Zoey wasn’t like the rest, though. She didn’t take his blatant uninterest lightly and made my life hell because of it. Like somehow I was the reason he wasn’t interested in her.
Couldn’t be her horrendous personality or anything.
She tried to befriend me first, but it wasn’t long after she first approached me that I caught her talking about me to her friends in the bathroom, and it wasn’t nice. They made fun of my hair, my freckles, and the way I followed Reese and Elijah around like a “lost puppy.”
I never questioned my relationship with the guys before that, but when I heard them making fun of me for not hanging out with anyone else, I took a step back and wondered if my brother and Reese let me hang around them because they liked being around me, or because they felt bad. It was a real eye-opener and a thought that pricked my mind for a very long time. Even when Reese would knock on my bedroom window after he finished hanging out with Elijah, or when Elijah would call me into his room to play games with them without my prompting.
I guess, in a roundabout way, she’s the reason I haven’t gotten close to many people. I never wanted to come across as pathetic for being around people who didn’t want me there.
2
Reese
Flashback
Fire alarm—the best sound to hear in high school, especially in the middle of math. As long as it’s a drill, obviously. Which I’m assuming this one is, at least until the sprinklers start, and before I know it, I’m soaked.
“Alright, come on,” Mr. Hart grumbles. “Everyone outside.”
It’s the last hour of the day, and with only twenty minutes of class left, this couldn’t have happened at a better time. Of course, I hope it’s nothing serious and no one gets hurt, but it’s still great timing.
Spring hangs heavy in the air, not hot but not winter cold either. Being wet from the indoor sprinklers is uncomfortable, but at least it’s a nice day. Things are finally beginning to turn green, which means summer is almost here—my last summer at home. Thank fuck. After graduation next year, I plan on traveling with the money I’ve saved from lawn care over the last five years, then head to college. Hopefully with a hockey scholarship.
Someone slaps a hand on my shoulder, bringing me out of my head. Elijah halts next to me, grinning like he usually is.
“You look too happy about our school possibly burning to the ground.”
“How sick would that be? Never have to go to school again.”
I don’t have it in me to tell him that’s not how it works, and the school burning would cause several issues for our town, but he’s onto a new subject before I can anyway.
“Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”
“We can’t just leave. They would go looking for us.”
He drops his head back and groans as if that’s the worst news he’s ever heard. There is no way he’s that hungry. Lunch was three hours ago, and I saw how high he piled his plate.
Elijah is a nice reminder not to take life so seriously. I’d like to say we balance each other, but I don’t think I have any influence on him. He says my “broodiness” is a “sweet personality trait.”
