Eandj, p.1
E&J, page 1
Copyright © 2024 SHON
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: SHON
Contents
Copyright
Author’s Note
CONTENT WARNINGS
Dedication
Epigraph
PROLOGUE
Week one
Week two
Week three
Week four
Week four continued
Week five
Week five continued
Week five continued
Week five still
Week five still
Week six
Week seven
Week seven still
EPILOGUE
Keep In Touch
WHAT'S NEXT
Also by Shon
Acknowledgments
LEAVE A REVIEW
Author’s Note
Hey, you.
This one is soft. And sweet. And full of so much love.
Thank you for being here. Happy reading.
P.S. Not only does this book contain spoilers for what happened in Unstoppable, but certain plot points touched on in this novella won’t make sense if you haven’t read it. I did not use the limited pages of this book to rehash what was discussed in great detail in a separate, longer book.
Whether you choose to keep reading with that information in mind is up to you. This has been your warning.
CONTENT WARNINGS
Before you read this, there are a few things you should know.
This novella contains the following themes which may be triggering for some audiences.
⁃ depression
⁃ mention of suicide (no ideation or attempts)
⁃ physical violence
⁃ mention of emotional and verbal abuse
⁃ explicit sexual content
⁃ strong language
⁃ and hella time jumps (never more than a week, but they are frequent)
⁃ difficult parental relationship
⁃ biracial mmc (Black mother, White father) (yes, I included that because I know how y’all are)
Therapy is not pursued in this novella. I know that is an element I include in so many of my books, but it is also important to highlight the human experience that doesn’t seek that out as an immediate option. Other coping mechanisms (reaching out to friends, movement, compassionate self-care, and prescribed medication) are highlighted in this short work, most important among them being the passage of TIME. There is no magic switch, no magic dick, and no magic motivational quote that just makes depression disappear overnight. It ebbs and flows.
I know it may seem like I’m overexplaining, but this topic is too sensitive to leave up in the air. Thanks for understanding ☺
Safety
⁃ no cheating
⁃ no other woman/man drama
⁃ guaranteed HEA
TLDR: content contained on these pages may be triggering for some audiences.
Dedication
To the angels who sit with you in your darkness
and bring you back into the light.
Epigraph
“I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me.
It terrifies me what I would do for you.”
--Alexandra Bracken, Never Fade
PROLOGUE
JONAH
I didn’t like killing people.
Now, that wasn’t to say that I wouldn’t do it. But it wasn’t my preferred method of problem solving.
Some might look at my chosen profession and say that was counterintuitive, but it was simple — I was more interested in protection than destruction.
It was the reason I provided personal protection services.
Self-defense classes.
Firearm training.
Anything a person needed to feel safe in any environment.
Proactive over reactive was my M.O. I liked to stay ready so it would never even get to the point I was at right now.
And to be fair, Aaron hadn’t gotten me here overnight.
No, the goofy motherfucker had committed a laundry list of questionable bullshit that made him pop up on my radar before I grabbed his ass off Clematis Street and brought him back to my…sanctuary.
It was the house I grew up in, completely gutted down to the bare necessities and waiting for me to pull the trigger on renovations. Now that I’d retired my parents to a fifty-five-plus community in West Delray, I had free rein of the property. But something was keeping me from making any big decisions about the redesign. Something told me I should wait…
My guest shook himself awake before I could take a mental detour and acknowledge why I was being so hesitant.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” I greeted dryly as he tried to focus on what was in front of him.
The empty room left him no option but to center me as the focal point of his attention.
And the white shirt tied around his mouth made it impossible for his words to sound like anything other than muffled gibberish.
But the trepidation in his glassy eyes spoke volumes. A dark departure from the excitement in his gaze when he first laid eyes on me.
“Hey, you’re Jonah Kincade!” he exclaimed, awe dripping from his nasal tone like I needed a reminder of who the fuck I was. “You’re one of my favorite quarterbacks of all time.”
His words hit a sore spot because they transported me back to the night I pulled up his Instagram for the first time only to realize he had on my old jersey in his profile picture.
Embarrassing.
That being said, it made getting him that much easier. He barely protested when I told him to get in my truck. And when he did eventually hesitate, nobody blinked an eye when I “helped” him into the front seat because of how excitedly he’d approached me.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
His words were still indecipherable, but I had a nagging suspicion he wasn’t mumbling the answer to my question anyway.
In vain, he squirmed in the folding chair and tried to free his hands from the duct tape binding his wrists.
When he cried out in pain, pride swelled in my chest. I still got it.
“You know, I really don’t like doing this.” I dropped into a squat so we were eye level. “But you left me no choice when you did the shit you did.”
His clammy face fell in confusion at my words.
“You fucked with someone who means everything to me.” I pulled the folded papers from the back pocket of my Levi’s. “Look familiar?”
I held up the printed text messages I’d accumulated over the last month and waited for him to bring himself up to speed as his beady brown eyes raced over the printouts.
“Look at how you speak to her,” I sneered, shoving the paper against his sweaty face. I knew he couldn’t read anything at this vantage point, but that didn’t stop me from relishing in the desperate sounds he made in his throat before I tossed them on the floor.
Without warning, my open palm collided with the side of his face and stunned silence filled the room.
Satisfied, I yanked off the shirt tied around his mouth and returned to my full height. “Explain.”
Aaron blinked up at me, his expression a cry for mercy. “You got five seconds to start talking before I make you,” I threatened before an audible gulp tainted the silence.
“I-I d-didn’t…she was—”
We both blinked, and my hand was around his throat. “I didn’t ask you about Ericka. I asked you to explain. You got so much goofy shit to say in these messages, why the cat got your tongue now?” My knuckles flew against his nose, and another smile inched across my face when crimson oozed from his left nostril and stained his top lip.
More silence.
Shaking my head, I tugged at the brim of my baseball cap and flexed my jaw.
“Fine. Read this shit aloud then.”
I held the papers up to him again.
“Let’s analyze it together because I’m still stuck on why you ever fixed your fingers to say this.”
Aaron blinked up at me like a bitch, and before his lids could close for a second time, my fist slammed into his jaw with a gratifying crack.
“Owww, fuck! Why are you doing this?”
Flexing my fingers to relieve the impact on my knuckles, I narrowed my eyes at him. “I feel like my instructions were clear. Read this bullshit and help me understand, Aaron.”
The single brain cell he had left looked like it was fighting for his life if the vacant look in his eyes was any indication.
“Thirteen messages,” I said, slipping my gun from the holster against my hip. “I need to give you thirteen reasons to speak the hell up?”
Aaron groaned, freeing a desperate sound from his throat as he tried to focus on the paper I was shaking in front of his face.
“And if I do, then you on a t-shirt. You don’t wanna be on a t-shirt. Do you, Axel?” I dropped my head to the right and watched him while disgust simmered beneath the surface of my contempt.
He didn’t bother answering my question, but he did finally start reading. Even if he was stammering over his words.
Snatching the first sheet down, I pulled out the one I was saving in my pocket and waited for him to keep going.
“Come on. You were doing so well.”
“I—I don’t wanna read that one.”
My gun was resting against his temple before he could finish that sentence.
“I didn’t ask you what you wanna do, Apple. Now, read it.”
His voice shook as he read the text verbatim. “In case you ever thought you were special, just know that I used to fantasize about other women to get off when I was inside of you—oww! Fuck!“
“Oops.” I glanced at my gun like it had moved without my permission and clocked his shit. “Hand slipped.”
Aaron glowered at me, blood pooling in his mouth before leaking onto his collar. But he was smart enough not to say anything.
“Keep reading.”
◆◆◆
“Where are we?” Aaron whined as soon as I shoved him out of the front door and onto the porch half an hour later.
Since he’d been blindfolded before we made it out of West Palm, he had no idea where we were.
I looked him up and down and smirked at the tremor he thought he was hiding. Bitch ass.
“Loxahatchee,” I supplied. A good thirty minutes west of where I’d picked him up in West Palm.
Some people called it the sticks, but I called it home. And it was the perfect place for me to do my business unbothered.
“What?” he squeaked. Fucking squeaked. “No Uber is gonna pick me up out here.”
His eyes were the size of his big ass head by now, and I fought another urge to laugh in his face. “Sounds like a personal problem, Alexander.”
“It’s Aaron,” he grumbled, suddenly more interested in the plant outside my door than maintaining his flimsy eye contact.
“What did we learn today?” I asked, my dry tone mocking.
“You don’t give a fuck about my name.”
A grin spread across my face. “What else?”
“I don’t know anyone named Ericka Smith.”
“Which means?” Even though I’d watch him delete all her contact info in front of me, I still wanted to hear him say it.
“I don’t call her, text her, or think about her.”
“Glad we had this talk.”
“Can you take me back to my car at least?”
“Now why would I do that?” I asked, distracted by an incoming message.
Smith: I’m at Concord until I have to pick up Devyn later.
In his own way, he was inviting me to have a drink with him. He wouldn’t admit that shit out loud, but the nigga enjoyed my company.
Jonah: On my way.
He thumbs upped the message and didn’t say more. I could have let his cool reply slide, but I specialized in stirring the pot when it came to Smith. It was my duty as his future brother-in-law.
Jonah: Ericka gonna be there?
Derrick: Never mind
A slow smile touched my lips, and I slipped my phone into my pocket as I descended the three steps leading to my yard.
That was when I remembered I had a guest. A guest that would have bled out by now if Derrick knew what the fuck was going on. He was a lot more trigger-happy than me. I could appreciate his efficiency, but something about taking my time—sometimes to the point that they begged for a quick death—would always appeal to me.
“Look, Aaron— I gotta go. But if you’re on my property when I come back, I can’t promise I’ll be as nice as I was earlier.”
I turned in a full three-sixty with my arms open to indicate not only the lot we were on, but the twenty acres in every direction surrounding it.
“And I own all this shit. Including the half-mile driveway to get back here. Don’t make my night and be here when I get back.”
I knew damn well I planned to stay at my apartment in downtown West Palm tonight.
Regardless of that small fact, I had cameras strategically placed around my property. So, if he was still lurking beyond the five-minute grace period I planned to give him, he was leaving here with more than his wounded pride and a fucked-up jaw.
“Aight, I’m out. Don’t make me regret letting you live.”
Before he could sputter and string together a useless comeback, I was in my truck.
Pulling a hard left turn out of my yard, I drove back down the dirt driveway. By the time I hit Highway 441, headed back to the city, the stress knotting my muscles took a backseat to the Kane Brown flowing through my speakers and the warm night air flowing in through my wide-open windows.
Tonight was gonna be a great night.
Week one
1. ERICKA
The next day
There was a man in my bedroom.
I wasn’t in the mood for this. I wasn’t in the mood for anything. Yet, here he was.
Standing at the foot of my bed. Frown in place while he sipped ice water from a mason jar.
He stood there like he belonged here. In my space. Like it was nothing for him to show up and check on me, even without me asking.
“Why are you here?” The better question would be, how was he here?
I hadn’t let him in.
But Jonah, being who he was, shouldn’t have surprised me.
“You haven’t changed the passcode on your door since you moved in,” he supplied as if he’d read my mind.
Oh.
Since he’d been the one to install the locks, the mystery on how he’d gotten in without me knowing was solved.
His frown deepened, marring his boyishly handsome features as he continued to peer at me from the foot of my bed. “We’ll talk about that later. That’s not why I’m here.”
I didn’t care why he was here.
The only thing I wanted was to sleep. And sleep. And sleep some more.
Anything not to feel the shit I felt when I was awake.
I didn’t know what was worse, being numb or feeling everything too deeply.
But I was starting to lean toward the latter. There weren’t enough professionals in the world to help me process this…affliction. Especially when I couldn’t even adequately articulate what was wrong.
It was the breakup. It was work. It was Boca.
Simply put, it was everything and nothing. All at once.
I felt like I was existing outside of my body and watching myself deteriorate.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Nothing I wanted to do to stop it.
Heaving a drawn-out sigh, I pulled the blanket up over my head. It was a poor attempt to hide my overgrown roots and the sleep crusted over my eyes.
Once upon a time, my locs were red. Now? I hadn’t looked in a mirror in a while, but the last time I had, it was all bad.
And if Jonah noticed, he was gentleman enough not to point it out.
Which brought me back to the present moment and the question he had yet to answer.
“Why are you here, Jonah Kincade?”
He laughed dryly at the use of his full name, and I could hear him shifting from foot to foot.
“Your brother told me he was worried about you,” he shared, and I could tell his brows were dipped in disapproval.
“I’m fine.” The lie was blatant, but at least my voice hadn’t done that thing it usually did when I deviated from the truth.
Jonah called me out anyway. “Save your lies for someone else, E.”
“Don’t call me a liar. It’s impolite.”
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked, his voice suddenly stern as he ignored my avoidance.
“Yesterday,” I said without thinking.
That was my first mistake.
“It’s seven o’clock at night, E.”
Shit. Was it?
“What the hell is going on with you?”
“I told you, I’m fine. Please just leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Something heavy and unmoving settled in my throat, making anything but tears impossible.
The sob that tore out of me made me grateful I was already in bed because it would have ripped me in half if I was standing.
“Hey,” Jonah said, his voice naturally soothing as he moved to sit on the bed. I felt the mattress dip before I felt the weight of his arms on my shoulders, pulling me up. He cradled my head against his chest and more floodgates opened. “Fuck, E. I’ve never seen you like this.”
