Finding Me Read online

  Finding Me

  Copyright © 2016 by Stephanie Rose

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted on any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Except the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in the book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs

  www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Interior Design and Formatting: Christine Borgford at Perfectly Publishable

  www.perfectlypublishable.com

  Editing: Brenda Letendre at Write Girl Editing Service

  www.facebook.com/writegirlediting

  Table of Contents

  Finding Me

  Dedication

  Soundtrack

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Stephanie Rose

  Excerpt from Always You

  To Grandpa,

  It’s been a decade since I’ve seen the love and pride I could only find in your eyes. I hope heaven is an awesome place where your horses always win and the Yankees never lose. Now, you can brag up there about having a great-grandson named after you and a book dedicated to you.

  You were the best grandfather and father anyone could have asked for.

  Thank you for being both to me.

  Dreaming with a Broken Heart—John Mayer

  Perfect—One Direction

  A Sky Full of Stars—Coldplay

  If You Leave—Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

  Animals—Maroon 5

  Hands to Myself—Selena Gomez

  Everlong—Boyce Avenue

  I Won’t Give Up—Jason Mraz

  Let Her Go (feat. Hannah Trigwell)—Boyce Avenue

  Where are U Now—Pentatonix

  Unbreakable—Jamie Scott

  Waiting for Superman—Daughtry

  Piece by Piece—Kelly Clarkson

  Available on SPOTIFY

  Bella

  “ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE everything?” My mother pulled her long, dark hair into a ponytail as she once again tried to delay leaving my dorm room.

  “Yes, Mom. We made a list, packed, and then checked off the list as we unpacked.” I took her hand and ran my thumb along her wrist. The honey-colored eyes that mirrored my own darted frantically around the tiny room. As her jaw trembled, I realized she was willing herself not to breakdown, a battle she seemed to be failing miserably.

  “Yep, I think that’s everything.” Dad put a comforting hand on Mom’s shoulder and squeezed. She sniffled and nodded. Mom was a huge crier. Hallmark commercials, a sad book, and graduations all set her off. Dad was one hundred percent right when he nicknamed her his little mush ball.

  I gazed up at Dad and he nodded with a sad smile. I could tell he didn’t want to leave me either. A wave of guilt rushed over me. I didn’t want to hurt my parents, but I was itching to start my new life. Yes, I really didn’t know anyone on campus, but that was a major plus to me when choosing schools. The drama of my senior year had drained the life out of me. I reveled in making a new start for myself far enough away from home—a place where I could have a true clean slate. I chose Culver University with certainty. Well, as much certainty as I was capable of at eighteen years old. But my sad parents—and soon to be weepy mother—made me wobble a bit. Seeing her sob would draw out my own tears, and I needed to be headstrong and determined today. That would be impossible if I started out my new adventure crying on my mother’s shoulder.

  “Okay.” Mom sniffled as she clutched my shoulders. “I love you, and I’m proud of you, but please call us and let us know how you’re doing. I know you’re fine, but do it for your sappy mother who needs to hear her daughter’s voice. Can you do that for me?” I nodded as tears pricked my eyelids.

  “I’ll try to call as much as I can, Mom. I promise. I love you, too.” I wrapped my arms around her as Dad rubbed her back.

  Mom kissed my forehead and turned to Dad. “I’ll meet you downstairs, babe.” She sprinted out of the room. Poor Dad would have to deal with her weeping all the way down the Thruway and back to our house in Queens. We shared a sad laugh at her quick exit.

  “She’ll be okay. We both will—eventually.” Dad shrugged and cradled my face in his hands.

  “We better hear from you. Joey already misses you, and I need to hear my butterfly’s voice, to make sure she’s okay.” I chuckled at the nickname he gave me when I was five years old. “And if for any reason you aren’t, you call me. I don’t care what time it is. If I need to drive all the way up here to get you I will drop everything and do it. Understand?”

  “I know, Dad.” I reached up and grabbed his hands. His eyes were getting glassy now, too. He was always larger than life to me, six foot four and the vice president of a financial firm in New York City, but when it came to his family, a much bigger mush ball than his wife.

  “All right, I should go see if your mother is okay and that she doesn’t get dehydrated. I packed extra water bottles just in case.” I laughed as he cocked an eyebrow at me. “I love you. I’m proud of you, too. Don’t let the actions of one idiot make you doubt how amazing you are.”

  A rogue tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek as I giggled. “I love you too, Dad. And I think you’re a little prejudiced,” I choked out as he shook his head.

  “The fact you’ve had me wrapped around your finger since you were five has nothing to do with it. You’re meant for great things. I don’t doubt that for a second, and neither should you.” Dad brushed my tears away with his thumbs but that only made them come down harder. I dropped my head to his chest and it rumbled against my cheek as he laughed.

  “I need to go, and you have a new life to start. Talk to you soon, Butterfly.” Dad pushed me back by my arms and kissed my forehead. His eyes watered as he made his way out of my door. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand and shook off the sadness and sharp pain of homesickness, even though my parents hadn’t left the parking lot yet.

  I strode to the desk in the corner and plopped into the chair. My leg bobbed up and down as the fact I was finally all alone sank in—like I thought I wanted. Starting over at a place where no one knew me, or whispered behind my back as I walked by, seemed like heaven when I decided to come to Culver.

  “Hey, roomie! Nice to finally see your face!” I’d spoken to Laura a few times over the summer once we got our dorm assignments, but never met the
petite blonde girl bursting into our small dorm room in person. The guitar hanging over her shoulder almost made her fall backwards as she sauntered further into the room. As she set her things down in front of the bare bed, a blue streak of hair fell across her forehead. Three seconds at college and I would already be known as the boring one to anyone who stopped in.

  “Nice to see your face, too, Laura. I took this bed, but if you want to switch I don’t mind.”

  “Nah.” Laura laughed as she shook her head. “That bed is too close to the window. The sun peeking in would wake me up. I’m a super light sleeper and need total darkness to sleep. Oh God, you don’t, like, snore or anything, do you?” Laura scrunched her face in horror as she flopped onto the bed.

  I shook my head and chuckled. “Not that I know of. I’ll make sure the blinds are nice and tight so the sun doesn’t assault you too early in the morning. I didn’t know you played guitar. Music major?”

  “Yeah, I mean at least I think. It’s all I’ve ever been interested in. My parents are hoping I’ll …” Laura held up her fingers in air quotes. “‘Outgrow’ it. So here I am. Any clue what you want your major to be?”

  I nodded. “Probably finance, like my dad.”

  Laura pursed her lips. “I guess liking numbers runs in families. My poor CPA father doesn’t get how it completely skipped his only daughter.”

  I gave Laura a small smile. I was sure she didn’t want to hear the “my dad really isn’t my dad” story yet. My love of finance was something I had in common with him, not inherited from him as we didn’t have the same blood. I still loved overhearing him brag about my math grades and say “his daughter was just like him.” Lucas was the only real father I’d ever known, even though he never legally adopted me. No one ever talked about Marc, my biological father that I hadn’t seen since I was six years old. As far as our family was concerned, blood lines were inconsequential. I had a father who loved me, even if he wasn’t the one I was born with.

  “I really don’t feel like unpacking right now.” Laura sprang from the bed and sauntered to our door. “I think I saw a Starbucks or some kind of coffee place on the way in. I would kill for an iced coffee. Feel like taking a walk?”

  “Sure, I wanted to see the rest of the campus today. My parents stayed to help me unpack and some fresh air would be awesome.” I let out a deep breath as I followed Laura outside. I tried to block the nerves tingling in my stomach. Empowerment rushed over me like a wave. I could do this and it would be great. I said it to myself about twenty times on the car ride here and I hoped the more times I repeated it, the closer I’d get to actually believing it.

  “Crap, I should have known.” Laura tisked as she perused the menu on the wall. “Fake Starbucks. Bean Shooters? Really? Let’s just hope the coffee doesn’t suck.”

  “You two must be from the city,” a smooth baritone voice noted from behind us. “I’d take a coffee from Bean Shooters over the overpriced garbage at Starbucks any day.” I detected a slight Southern drawl. Even if it was my first day on campus, I wasn’t about to let anyone call me a city snob, no matter how much sexy timbre this guy had dripping off his voice.

  I narrowed my eyes as I turned around. I was prepared to tell him in my thickest Queens accent to keep his city comments to himself when I lost the ability to speak. I never thought I’d see the day a guy with silky ash brown hair almost down to his shoulders and held back with a black bandana would make me want to drool. My eyes traveled down to his tight black sleeveless shirt stretched out by a wide muscular chest and stopped at strong chiseled arms. I rolled my eyes to cover up what I hoped wasn’t obvious ogling and looked away before I spoke.

  “Whatever,” I sneered as my gaze darted to his face. Yep, he was gorgeous. His emerald eyes shone as his mouth twisted in a smirk.

  He raised his hands in defeat. “I wasn’t insulting the city, especially not girls with sexy New York accents. Just saying you should open your mind, is all. I’m Owen. Welcome to Culver.” His smile grew wide and revealed the sexiest dimples I’d ever seen.

  “Thanks,” I choked out. This was the first time a man was so good looking it paralyzed me on the spot. I was dumb to think I could reinvent myself here. No matter where I went, I was still Bella. Sort of pretty but uptight, only-kissed-one-boy-her-whole-life Bella, who was all jittery thumbs in front of an Adonis like this.

  “And you are …” Owen raised an eyebrow. The dimples almost made me forget.

  I took a deep breath and faked cool and collected the best I could. “Bella. This is my roommate Laura.” Laura gave Owen a side nod, and I chuckled at the double take she gave in his direction.

  “Nice to meet you, ladies.” Owen gave us both a big smile and a wink.

  “Here you go OT, just the way you like it.” The barista set the coffee on the counter as she gave Owen an obvious once over. He thanked her as he grabbed his coffee, not acknowledging the double meaning. Judging by his cocky grin, I bet a lot of girls at Culver knew how Owen ‘liked it.’

  “Guess I’ll see you guys around. Nice to meet you.” Owen winked at me again before he made his way out the door.

  “Holy hell,” Laura whispered. “He was …”

  “Yes, he certainly was.” We both stared at the door as if we just witnessed something miraculous. That face and body were solid evidence of a divine higher power.

  The barista snickered at us. “Ah, the OT spell. Happens to all of us.”

  Laura’s brow furrowed. “Why do you call him OT?”

  “Well those are his initials, Owen Thompson, and he’s the center for the hockey team. When he joined, the team really sucked. But then he started scoring goals at the last minute and forcing games into overtime. OT seemed to stick. Plus, he looks like the type of guy who’s always up for overtime.” Her gaze landed on the door. Poor girl practically had her tongue hanging out.

  I’d planned—or at least hoped—to meet someone new here eventually. But I wanted to get my feet wet first. A gorgeous jock who left a trail of panting girls in his wake was definitely jumping into the deep end of the ocean without a life preserver.

  “Okay, Laura. Focus. Coffee.” I smirked at Laura and nodded at the counter.

  Laura raised her eyebrows at me. “I’m not the only one who needs a napkin for the drool. Isn’t this what college is about? Soaking up knowledge and appreciating a better class of eye candy?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose.” An hour ago, I thought I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Now, I ached for real Starbucks and all the other comforts of home, even if I was forever known as the girl who got dumped. There was comfort in familiarity, no matter how miserable it was.

  It was time to get uncomfortable, and it scared the crap out of me.

  Bella

  “GOOD AFTERNOON, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. Welcome to Managerial Accounting 3000 Part 1. I’m Professor Sherman, and before we get started, I like to start each class with a little joke. Part of my job this semester is to prove it’s a myth that all accountants are boring.”

  My class responded with low groans and a chorus of sucked teeth. I couldn’t help but smile at this sweet pudgy old man recounting an episode of an old show called Three’s Company. I couldn’t speak for the rest of the students, but jokes and antics weren’t needed to keep me interested. Numbers were constant and reliable. As long as you knew the right formula, the end result never changed. It wasn’t subjective like creative subjects. I was probably the only student in class who felt warm and fuzzy anticipating all the numbers we’d get to crunch.

  “Hey, City.” I registered a familiar drawl and turned around. Mr. OT himself was sitting right behind me. His hair was down today so his long mane fell over his eyes. I fought the inappropriate urge to run my fingers through it and brush it off his forehead. The ripples of muscle up and down his arms were still visible through his long sleeve gray shirt. My eyes darted lower to his worn jeans that would of course cling to all the right places when he stood. My stomach twisted as I tipped m
y chin at Owen without making eye contact.

  “I’m surprised to see you here. I figured you were a freshman,” Owen whispered into my neck, making the little hairs stand at attention from the hot tickle of his breath.

  “I am. I took college accounting courses in high school.” I scooted forward in my seat and brought my gaze back to the front of the room. The professor was laughing at his own joke and even though I didn’t hear it, I regarded him with a small smile. He was trying; putting himself out there. I envied his ‘gumption,’ as my grandma liked to say.

  “Wow, smart and beautiful. You’re the total package, Bella.” He remembered my name? My insides fluttered when he said ‘beautiful,’ but I shook it off and reached into my bag for a pen.

  I shrugged without turning around. “I don’t know about that. I just like numbers.” I opened my textbook and tried to look unaffected, but I’d been in the guy’s presence for a total of fifteen minutes and my palms were sweaty. Jesus Christ, Bella—get a grip! How many classes would it take before I stopped feeling Owen’s eyes on my back? So much for comfort in numbers this semester.

  “Hey Bella, wait up!” Owen jogged after me as I left class.

  I turned but didn’t stop walking. “What’s up?” Appearing aloof was harder than it seemed. Stop staring at his mouth, and his eyes, and … ugh! Just look straight ahead.

  Owen grabbed my elbow, causing an unwanted tingle down my arm. “Maybe we could study together sometime. I’m not a numbers guy, but I need this class for my marketing degree.”

  “You’re lost after the first class?” I narrowed my eyes at him, trying my best to not confirm whether I was right about the fit of his jeans.