Living For Two Read online

  Copyright © 2014 Theresa M. McGill

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Living For Two, My Heart Is Yours – Book Two

  ISBN 978-0-9863645-1-8 (eBook)

  ISBN: 978-0-9863645-4-9 (Paperback)

  First edition: 2015

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, any electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected] or at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. Teri McGill is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians or artists mentioned in this book.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning:

  The unauthorized or reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  WARNING:

  This book is intended for mature audiences (18+); contains adult sexual situations and language.

  In loving memory of

  Diane Spina McBride and Robby Settles.

  This book is dedicated to leukemia patients, their families, and friends, as well as to the teams of healthcare professionals whose careers are devoted to improving the survival and the quality of life for patients with leukemia.

  In addition, dozens of lives are saved and transformed every day, by organ, eye, blood, marrow and tissue donors. I also dedicate my story to the countless families of donors who find the strength and generosity to turn their loss into life and hope for others.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  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

  About the Author

  Contact Info

  Credits

  My sincere thanks and appreciation to the tireless staff at Hot Tree Editing: Becky Johnson, Peggy Hurst Frese and all the other editors and beta readers who have offered support and encouragement. I am grateful to everyone who has read, blogged, shared or just friended me in the book world. Thanks to Bex ‘n’ Books and Hot Tree Promotions for their willingness to spread the word and steer book-minded people to my Facebook pages. Many thanks to all the wonderful online book blogs whose mission is to share indie novels with the literary world! I am also indebted to the numerous FB book-related sites who offer authors free ‘takeovers’ to advertise their novels. I especially wish to thank the many authors whom I have never met — members of the Indie Author Community — who so graciously corresponded with me through email or Facebook and always had time and patience for a new author’s endless questions: A.C. Bextor, Victoria Paige, Sheila Kell, and especially Sandra Nelson. Sandy has become my mentor, advisor, teacher and friend. A few months before my first novel was published, she released her fabulous debut novel, Stolen Fate, which I had the pleasure of beta reading. We connected online and the rest is history. I have followed in her footsteps, so to speak; she taught me how to make the perfect tantalizing teaser as well as the art of a successful blog takeover. Soon after she released her second novel, Redemption, my follow-up novel was released. Thanks for everything, Sandy!

  Heartfelt gratitude to my many friends and supporters in SoCal — always willing to like, comment and share my author and book series FB pages. I would also like to thank Julie Escat, who invited me and my debut novel to her Book of the Month group — aka ‘Book ‘em Danno!’

  In addition, I appreciate the support of my friends and fellow authors in the RWA, Romance Writers of America, especially LARA — Los Angeles Romance Writers, and my dear friends in our Saturday Critique Group. You ladies ROCK!

  “Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand

  Henceforward in thy shadow.

  Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine

  With pulses that beat double. What I do

  And what I dream include thee, as the wine

  Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue

  God for myself, He hears that name of thine,

  And sees within my eyes the tears of two.”

  – Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  Geneva

  Geneva St. John was wide-awake twenty minutes before her alarm was set to go off at 8:00 a.m. Unlike most people, she did not reach out to press the ‘off’ button. She needed to hear its message; it was her mantra, her morning prayer.

  The familiar, always stunning, Southern California late-August sunrise was already streaming through the narrow crack in her bedroom curtains. Her sleep had been somewhat restless; standard for the anticipation she always felt on the first day of school. This particular day, however, was the beginning of her final semester as a university student; a tinge of melancholy threatened to intrude on her excitement. She thrived on learning and loved being a student, sad to see that phase of her life ending.

  Geneva had attended UC Berkeley, her mother’s alma mater, for three years, majoring in Mathematics. She had transferred to CSUN, California State University, Northridge, sixteen months ago so she could be closer to her family; her sister, Madison, had been diagnosed at that time with acute myeloid leukemia. Following nearly a year-long battle against the disease, including debilitating chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant, Geneva’s magnificent, awe-inspiring big sister was gone. The family was utterly devastated. Maddie’s twin brother, Dallas, took it the hardest; he had donated his bone marrow and blamed himself when the transplant was not successful. Geneva blamed God — she had lost her role model and best friend, counselor, therapist, ‘partner in crime’, the other half of her heart.

  She glanced around the bedroom as if it were an old friend. It was the bedroom of her childhood, her adolescence; the room she had shared with Madison. She tried not to stare at the empty bed on the opposite wall, but her eyes were somehow drawn to it, as if hoping to feel her sister’s presence there. The spacious bedroom now belonged to her four-and-a-half-year-old sister, Violette, but because of a recent health crisis of her own, the little girl was sleeping in her parents’ bedroom until the doctors gave her a clean bill of health.

  Her sleepy gaze drifted to the array of photos on her nightstand; one in particular stood out. Two adorable, laughing young girls, wrapped up in a hug, were sitting on an oversized beanbag chair in their pajamas. Six-year-old, platinum blonde Geneva was gazing with adoration at eight-year-old, dark-haired, pig-tailed Madison. Geneva remembered that day vividly as if it were fifteen minutes ago, instead of fifteen years. They had been watching their favorite movie, E.T., for maybe, the hundredth time. Madison loved the part where Gertie sees E.T. for the first time and screams at the top of her lungs. Geneva and Madison would scream at the same time as Gertie, causing the
ir mother to run into the room to see what the commotion was about. They would dissolve into hysterical giggles, and on one occasion, their mother had grabbed a camera and snapped the photo.

  The alarm clock clicked on and a serene female voice recording filled the room.

  “Hi, G, it’s Maddie. I love you, always. Remember, I’ll be right here.”

  Geneva rolled over on her side and quietly sobbed, just like she and Maddie used to do when E.T. said goodbye to Elliott; touching his forehead with his glowing finger, and gently growling in his endearing alien voice. “I’ll be right here.” The sisters had re-enacted that scene numerous times growing up. The final replay was in Maddie’s hospital room, the day before she died. Geneva opened the nightstand drawer, removing a leather-bound book, one of two journals she had been writing in since the day her sister had died. She kept the other journal at her apartment.

  Hi, Mad! First day of my last semester. Wish me luck. G

  There was a soft knock on the door, followed by the entrance of Geneva’s mother. Although in her mid-forties, D’Arcy St. John looked more like an older sister, sharing her daughter’s fair coloring and striking violet-blue eyes. Gently climbing onto the bed, she placed her daughter’s head in her lap, stroking her hair. “I miss her too, sweetheart.”

  Geneva nodded sadly, but could not speak. She realized although she did not have to be here, it was what she needed. She had her own apartment, a convenient two miles away from campus. This was, to a certain extent, the continuation of an annual ritual, which began years ago on the first day of the new school year. Madison and Dallas were starting first grade, and Geneva was going to pre-school. They would all sleep in the same room, Dallas on the floor in his sleeping bag. Mom would wake them up with a fanfare, something wild and wacky, different every year. Then there would be the traditional breakfast: banana-walnut pancakes, homemade biscuits, and ham, bacon, or sausages.

  D’Arcy’s comforting voice was a welcomed interruption. Her hand was raking through Geneva’s silky hair. “I really do love the streaks; how did you ever find magenta hair dye?”

  They shared a laugh. Magenta had always been her favorite color since she got her first gigantic box of Crayola crayons. “Mom, you can find any color you want online. This is called ‘Virgin Rose’,” she smirked, wiggling her eyebrows as her finger playfully twirled a tendril.

  D’Arcy kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Coffee’s ready, honey. Pancakes in five.” She turned to leave, calling out over her shoulder, “Your dad will be home for dinner tonight.”

  The trip from her parents’ Woodland Hills home to her apartment took about twenty minutes. Luckily, the route involved only side streets; California freeways were infamous for their congestion. Geneva quickly changed her clothes and grabbed her backpack, which was already stocked with supplies, including two required textbooks. Finding a suitable parking space for her denim blue VW Beetle, she proceeded to her favorite hangout, the Sports Grill. CSUN had over a dozen campus dining options but, being a sports fanatic, she always gravitated to this spot. Geneva really missed UC Berkeley, but during the past year, she had gotten used to CSUN, and actually preferred the SoCal weather. Several of her close friends from high school had been here last year as well, making her transition painless. Most of them were seniors, on track to graduate in June. Her two closest girlfriends had graduated last June and were beginning internships. She was supposed to graduate with them, but had lost a few credits due to Madison’s illness and the subsequent transfer, and was here to make up three classes: Statistics, Astronomy, and for her PE class, she chose tennis.

  She did not need tennis instruction; she finagled a teaching assistant position in the beginner tennis class. Geneva was a very good player, a natural athlete; the star of her high school team for four years. She knew the men’s tennis coach at CSUN, and called in a favor to land the TA job, which would also fulfill her PE credits in lieu of pay. Gabriel Tucker had actually been her boyfriend for a few months. He was the coach of her high school team; they first met when she was seventeen and he was twenty-five. Geneva knew very well he was into her, but she had a boyfriend at the time. She also understood any relationship between a teacher and student, especially one who was not yet eighteen, was a disaster waiting to happen. For years, she had seen similar scandals splashed all over the tabloids and TV. After she had graduated and turned eighteen, they got together. It only lasted a few months; a darker side to him had emerged that Geneva could not accept, and moving up north to UCB made a long-distance relationship too difficult anyway. She ended it; he persisted for a while, wanting to reconcile but she refused. Way too many hot guys at UCB.

  Her brief reminiscence was disrupted by a piercing screech, “Geneeeeva! We’re over here.” She headed to a booth in the corner, where she found Roxanne, Devyn, Adam, and Cory. After a round of hugs and kisses, she sat down as Devyn was wildly waving her iPhone.

  “Updates from the girls,” she declared, pressed a few buttons and started her animated report, eyes glued to the small screen. “Okay, Kendall is interning with a hot Fidelity broker. She’s freakin’ out a little, cuz the Pacific Stock Exchange opens at six- freakin’-thirty, but she’s done at two, so it’s all cool.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Cory muttered. Kendall was his older sister, and she had talked about nothing else all weekend. “I’ll start paying attention when she comes home with some hot insider stock tips.”

  Roxanne chimed in, demanding, “Let’s hear from Lacey. Is she killin’ the kids yet?” Devyn hit another button. “Lacey says she’s been paired up with a very experienced third grade teacher, who is kinda old-school and pretty strict. So far the kids are little angels.”

  Adam, sitting silently, suddenly guffawed raucously. “Let’s see how long that lasts.” Adam was Lacey’s long-time boyfriend. “You’ve seen her with children ... she’s a push-over.”

  Geneva nodded along with the group. “Gotta run, you guys. Heading to the tennis courts; see ya tomorrow.”

  Walking around the CSUN campus always invigorated Geneva, with its vast orange groves and olive trees. After the five-minute walk, Geneva entered the tennis office where she found Gabriel Tucker and a few other instructors. Gabriel greeted her warmly; she was relieved he seemed to harbor no latent angry feelings.

  “You’ll be working with me, hope that’s okay,” he informed her. “The class is for beginners and a few intermediates who haven’t played in a while. It should be fun.” They walked over to one of the courts and met the students, who were chatting with each other nervously. Gabriel did all the talking, while Geneva took attendance. It was obvious why the females in the class were paying very close attention to Gabe; he was personable and good-looking, even handsome to someone who was in love with him. Geneva was not; never had been. He had intrigued her when she was a young, impressionable girl; he was older, controlling, from a powerful, wealthy family, and spoiled. Gabriel Tucker had not been Geneva’s ‘first’, but he had been the one who introduced her to the rougher aspects of sex. It was exciting at first, different; but ultimately made her uncomfortable and left her feeling used. He had also gotten too rough on occasion, biting in very sensitive areas compelling her to fake every orgasm with him in order to have the sex over with as quickly as possible. He was cold and insensitive; there was no compromise. It was ‘Gabe’s way or the highway’; Geneva had ultimately opted for the highway.

  He was an organized, efficient instructor; explained the rules, scoring, vocabulary, etiquette, and appropriate clothing. Then racquets were handed out and basic grips were demonstrated. Gabriel worked with the nine male students, Geneva with the six females. She was aware they would have preferred working with Gabe, but that was expected. The class seemed to fly by; the students were dismissed and soon the two of them were back in the office.

  “We are gonna make a great team, Geneva. I’m happy this worked out.”

  Geneva nodded her agreement. “Yeah, me too. Thanks for making it happen,
Gabe. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Wanna meet for coffee later and catch up?”

  Geneva hesitated for a split second, unsure, and then relented. “Can I text you after my last class? I have Statistics from 1:30 to 3:00. You know how those Math teachers like to pile on the homework, right?”

  “That’s cool.” After exchanging cell phone numbers, she headed to the Science building.

  Astronomy was fascinating, although the textbook was huge and loaded with complex information. The teacher seemed eccentric, but knowledgeable and very funny. He also had a strong French accent; Geneva was fluent in the language and actually spent two summers in Switzerland when she was in high school. She was looking forward to conversations with Monsieur Lemieux.

  Checking the time on her Blackberry, Geneva realized she had forty-five minutes to kill, so she ran over to the Starbucks across the street from the Mathematics building. She ordered a large iced latte, and returned to campus, enduring the blazing sun. After finding a nice shady spot, she took out her Astronomy text. A sudden chill slithered up and down her spine, goose bumps rising on her arms. The air was completely still; not a single leaf stirred. Suddenly feeling eyes upon her, Geneva scanned the surrounding area and then she saw ... him. He was about ten yards away, sitting on the ground, a book perched on his lap; leaning back against a tree with his head slightly tilted. He was looking, no, he was staring intently at her with penetrating eyes, as if peering into the depths of her soul; it was intimidating, overwhelming, but not in any way threatening. He was extraordinarily beautiful, ethereal; a single ray of sunlight broke through the leaves of the large oak above his head, bathing his countenance in an amber glow. His longish, wavy, light brown hair was sun-streaked; he wore faded jeans, a Los Angeles Lakers T-shirt, and hi-top Converse sneakers. He could have been eighteen or perhaps twenty-five, although his facial stubble indicated he was probably closer to the latter. The shimmering light seemed to hover around him, causing Geneva’s heart to race, her breaths coming in short bursts. Maddie, are you here with me? In me? Am I seeing him through your eyes?