Unable to Resist Read online

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2014 Cassie Graham

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Cassie Graham

  Edited by April Hundza Gutierrez

  Cover Photography Stephanie White from Steph’s Cover Designs

  Formatted by Kassi Bland Cooper

  If you are reading this book and have not purchased it or won it in a verified contest, it has been pirated. Please respect the work of this author by deleting this copy and purchasing the eBook from one of its distributors.

  For

  My husband

  &

  My daughter

  You two are my whole entire world. I love you.

  And For

  My mama

  I hope I make you proud.

  No. Not again, dammit.

  This can’t be happening. I won’t look.

  I refuse.

  Closing my eyes is my only option. God, it hurts. It hurts so fucking much.

  I know it’s there. I don’t have to look to know what’s right in front of me.

  I can smell it.

  That nasty copper, metallic smell. You know the one. The one that makes your stomach churn because it reminds you of God knows what. I don’t know, sickness maybe. But, for me? It’s the smell of my nightmares. A nightmare I’ve been having since that awful day, six years ago.

  Fumbling backward, my back hits a wall and I slump to the ground. My ass meets the hardwood floor and I bring my knees to my chest. Forcing my head in between my legs, I cower and wait for the nightmare to end.

  God, wake up, Ann!

  I pinch myself. I’ve heard it works. Yeah, pinch yourself awake, right?

  Wrong.

  What the hell? It’s not working.

  I clench my teeth in pain.

  I can feel pain?

  Ugh, how?

  It’s like when you accidentally fall off a ledge in a dream and for that slight instant you believe you’re really free falling before jolting awake just before you hit the ground.

  This is a first for me. I’ve never once felt pain.

  I’ve had this dream hundreds of times over the past few years. Yet, it’s always different. Sometimes I’m in his car, other times, I find him in his office, and sometimes it happens in public in front of people.

  But, none of that is real.

  Where I actually found him is a place even I can’t bring myself to think about.

  It’s been six years. Six. Damn. Years. And now my subconscious is bringing me back to this dreadful place?

  Why?

  Being here, in this place, is suffocating. I don’t know if I can take much more.

  So, I sit with my eyes closed, silently praying I get the hell out of here. Soon. Like five minutes ago.

  Ah hell. Hurry up.

  Then, in the blink of an eye, the air in the room grows calm and quiet. My heart isn’t wanting to pound out of my chest, so I take a deep breath. And it stings; almost as if it’s the first time I’ve taken a breath in a long while.

  Maybe it is. Hell if I know.

  All I hear is the low hum of the deep freeze he used to keep emergency food in, so I chance a look.

  Cracking my eyes open ever so slightly, I take inventory of my surroundings.

  There’s nothing. I’m alone.

  Thank God. Maybe now I can finally wake up. So, I wait, and I count.

  One.

  Two.

  …Twenty.

  …Forty.

  …Hundred.

  …Two hundred.

  What the hell? Why am I still here?

  …Two hundred and fifty….

  I stop counting. There’s no point. I’m obviously still here for a reason. And that reason isn’t clear—at least, not to me.

  Good God, I can’t even bring myself to visit this place. Yet, I’m trapped here in a nightmare.

  If this is karma, she’s a bitch. She has to be.

  I decide to stand and walk upstairs, hoping to somehow find something. Anything. Maybe find some clues. Maybe, just maybe, get some damn answers. I need some answers. I’m sick and tired of these dreams…nightmares.

  Whatever they are, they suck.

  The second stair from the top creaks under my foot and, despite my moodiness, I smile. I used to make music with that creaky stair. He’d clap his hands while I stomped my foot and we’d sing songs and laugh till our sides hurt. Too bad he had to ruin it by tainting this place.

  Selfish man.

  I open the basement door and head down the long hall. Making my way to the living room, I have to blink a few times. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. He’s sitting in his recliner watching TV, feet up, drinking his favorite beer. He seems fine. Happy even. He turns to smile at me and my anger dissipates.

  “Hey sweet pea. I see you’re here again.”

  Again? What?

  I look around. Is he talking to me? Is that even possible?

  His face grows somber when I don’t reply. He sets his beer down, and lifts himself from the chair, walking toward me with a thoughtful look on his face.

  “Listen to me, okay?”

  All I can do is nod. He’s standing in front of me, and I can’t seem to force the lump down in my throat enough to speak.

  Gently, he grabs my shoulders and sighs. God, he looks so tired.

  “The answers are in the questions you ask.” He breaks and squats down to meet me at eye-level. “Do you hear me? The questions ARE the answers.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. How am I supposed to process that? I don’t understand.

  Opening my eyes, I scan the room, but it’s empty. He left or hell, vanished, I guess. Just poof. Gone.

  I’m alone.

  I don’t have enough time to breathe, let alone absorb the bomb my dad just sat in my lap when I’m violently shoved backward down the hall. So brutally that my back slams against the basement door and I scream in agony as I tumble down the wooden stairs. Landing with a heavy thud, I sit up to rub the back of my throbbing head.

  Dammit, that hurt.

  Then it happens. So quickly. I’m unable to close my eyes in time.

  There he is. Face down in a pool of his own blood, with the gun inches from his hand.

  The scream that radiates from my mouth is deafening. I cover my own ears hoping to drown myself out.

  The blood gushes out of his body as I scramble for higher ground. Looking for an escape, I t
urn to run up the stairs, but they vanish, and I’m forced to move to the only empty corner.

  Pinch yourself, Ann!

  I grab the sensitive part of my arm and squeeze as hard as I possibly can, yelping in hurt.

  Wake the hell up, dammit!

  Movement in the back of the basement catches my eye. I turn to find the culprit.

  Just as I think I see something, I’m hit in the back of the head with a large object. Black spots fill my eyes and I slump to the ground with a thud.

  The fall out of my bed is unexpected and I clutch at my heart. I can’t form a coherent thought, and I look around, trying to figure out where I am.

  The rug underneath my body is soft and I recognize the texture instantly.

  I’m back in my room in Nashville. Thank God.

  The moon shines vivid through my window and I turn toward the clock. Three fifteen a.m.

  My clothes are drenched in sweat, and I lift my hand to wipe the salty moisture from my face, I wince in pain.

  What the hell? The whole left side of my arm is bruised.

  Then the dream hits me like a freight train.

  The pinching.

  Freaking figures.

  Pulling myself back into my bed, I cover my head with a pillow and try to block out the world.

  I usually sleep insanely well after a nasty nightmare, and last night was by far the nastiest one yet. Quite honestly the most confusing too, but I’m not going to think about that now. I’m still happily floating in a state of bliss.

  There’s a faint ringing in my subconscious—a buzzing noise. A bee or fly, maybe? Who cares?

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Get away fly!

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. The darkness is so nice.

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Seriously fly? What the hell? Go bother someone else! I swat at it.

  Buzz. My swatting didn’t help.

  Buzz.

  “Ann, wake up,” someone gripes while shaking my shoulder.

  “Mmmrrrrhummp.” What did I just say?

  Someone titters.

  “Woman, wake up. It’s seven! Your damn phone has been ringing for almost twenty minutes.”

  Seven?! I sit straight up and smack my forehead against Liv’s.

  “Ouch,” we say in unison.

  I rub my head and open my eyes to see my best friend sitting on the edge of my bed, nursing her now very red forehead.

  I cover my mouth to hide my laughter, but my bouncing shoulders give me away.

  Liv narrows her eyes, lips pursed, then smiles. “Oh shut up, and get your ass out of bed. I made breakfast and you barely have enough time to get ready.”

  Groaning, I lay back down, covering my head with my comforter. My brain hurts too much to think about getting my lazy ass out of bed. I need a minute to process—well—everything.

  “Alright, give me a few minutes.” I muffle through my blanket.

  “Okay, but I’m giving you twenty minutes, Daniels. If your ass isn’t sitting in that chair at the table, I’m going to come up here and drag you down. You hear me? Twenty minutes,” she says with, I’m sure, a very-serious face. Not that I can see her.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wave my hand outside of the blanket. “Now get out.”

  Peeking my head out of the blanket, I snicker. She must feel my stare because as soon as she gets to my door, she turns to flip me off.

  And, that’s my best friend, ladies and gents.

  Once the door closes and I’m safely alone, I let out a deep breath.

  What the hell was that dream about last night? I seriously feel like I’m going a bit nuts. I mean—my dad talked to me last night. That’s never happened before.

  “The answers are in the questions. Seriously, Pops? Could you be any more cryptic?” I repeat to myself.

  “Ann,” Liv yells from downstairs, “I know you’re still in bed. Get. Up.”

  Okay, fine, no more analyzing my overactive imagination.

  And yes, my imagination. I’m feigning ignorance, okay?

  Judge me.

  Pulling the covers back, I let my legs dangle from the bed. The carpet is soft under my feet and I squeeze my toes, squishing the fibers.

  Buzz.

  There’s that incessant buzzing again. Although, this time I hear the ring that accompanies it, which means it’s actually a call. Glancing at the screen, I see it’s Jason, my best friend from back home.

  Friends since elementary school, we met on the playground our first day. Jason, making a spectacle of himself singing at the top of his lungs, put on a show for everyone to see. I thought he was the coolest kid I’d ever met. Like some all knowing being, he picked me out of the crowd of kids and pulled me onto his makeshift stage. We performed the entire recess, singing, dancing and laughing, much to the audience’s enjoyment. Our friendship began with the love of performing, and still holds strong. He understands me in ways very few people do.

  “Hi, Jase,” I say in greeting.

  “Morning, gorgeous. You doing alright?”

  Seriously, it’s creepy that he knows me so well. Even from across the country he knows something is wrong.

  I rub my forehead.

  “It’s official, you’re a psychic,” I sigh. “I had another nightmare.”

  He huffs into the receiver. “I’m sorry, Ann. You want to talk about it?”

  It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it with Jason, it’s just—I don’t want to admit that maybe I’m stepping into some sort of unknown I don’t really understand.

  “No, I need some time to process. Thank you, though. What are you up to today?” I ask, changing the subject.

  As Jason tells me more about his upcoming day, I get up and head to my walk-in closet to find my favorite jeans, a white tank top and one of my many pairs of Converse.

  “And, Ann,” Jason says, “guess the fuck what?”

  Pulling on my last shoe, I switch the phone to my other ear. “What?”

  “I’m auditioning for the Broadway Company tomorrow.”

  I shoot straight up to my feet, leaving my shoe untied and beam.

  We’d acted together for years. Most of our time spent in school was either performing on stage in a production, or practicing for auditions. We perfected our craft, and the more shows we did, the stronger our friendship got.

  “That’s so great, I’m jealous. You’re going to kick some serious ass.”

  There are days when I wish I could go back there and live that life with Jason.

  “You could be here with me, you know?” He challenges.

  I can’t, though. Too many memories are in that town. That’s why I fled to Nashville.

  “Maybe one day,” I deflect. “Plus, I can’t leave the shop. You know that.” I interrupt our conversation to apply mascara on my light, blue eyes.

  “I know, I know. Alright, I gotta get going. I love you. Call me if you need anything. You know I’m always here for you.”

  “I know, I love you too. And good luck…errr, break a leg, I mean. Call me when you get out and let me know how it goes. What are you auditioning for, anyway?” I ask.

  “Are you ready for this?” He asks in an excited voice, pausing for dramatic effect.

  I chuckle.

  “Drum roll please.” He waits.

  “Seriously Jase, this better be good after all this build up.” I droan.

  Then what does my manly queen do? He giggles. Damn schoolgirl. “I’m auditioning for…”

  I can hear him drum on a table. Ass.

  “WICKED!” He sings. Only, he doesn’t just sing it, he sings it like Oprah. Yes, Oprah.

  Remember how she would have a show every year where she gave away outrageous gifts to her audience? ‘You get a car! You get a car! You get a pony! You get a pony!’ Remember it, now? Yeah, so it sounds like, ‘Wiiiiiickeddddd.’ The overabundance of vibrato makes it that much more funny.

  I drop my mascara and jump up and down like a teenager. “Oh my God! Jason! Who are you auditioning for? Elphaba?” I joke.
>
  In case you don’t know anything about the show, Elphaba is the green witch—a woman witch. Get my drift? Jason may be an all-American, woman-loving male, but the man can sing in some seriously high notes.

  I hear Jason do a spit-take and laugh. “Seriously, Ann. Dammit, I just spit my mini-wheats all over my table.” He pauses, probably cleaning up his mess. “You know I wish I could audition for her. Lord knows I have the vocals for it. But, sadly I don’t have the boobs or the vagina for the role.”

  I snort.

  “No, I’m hoping for the witch’s father,” he says.

  I can see that. He isn’t old by any means, twenty-five, like me, but with stage makeup? Oh, sweet baby Jesus, that stuff is magic. It’s amazing, and also fun.

  Jason may be this manly man, but when it comes to performing, you’d never know there is a dark, mysterious man hiding underneath the façade of an actor. He’s charismatic, hilarious, always on point and can hit some pretty high notes for a man. He’s a genius on stage.

  “Well, have fun. And sing for me. Bye, rock star.”

  Jason laughs. “Bye, baby girl.”

  After I hang up with Jason, I check the time. Shit, I only have ten minutes till Liv barrels in my room to get me.

  I plug my curling iron in and pray it heats up quickly. Applying a little foundation and bronzer, I look in the mirror to assess the damage that was my night. I thankfully don’t look too bad, considering.

  This whole dream situation feels backward. It’s a weird feeling.

  I shrug a shoulder at my inner monologue.

  Maybe I am going nutters.

  I curl my long, red hair in tight curls all over my head and, once satisfied, I comb my fingers through it to bring out the wavy loose curls. Spraying a bit of hairspray, I smudge a bit of gloss on my lips and head out the door.

  Music blares from the living room when I head down the stairs, and I dance into the kitchen, happy to be out of my funk.

  “You look better.” Liv notices from the island in the middle of the kitchen.

  Nodding my head, I plop down on a stool next to her and breathe in the mouthwatering smell of bacon and eggs. My favorite. It’s not the healthiest, but Liv must know about last night and this is her way of cushioning the blow. I’m thankful because frankly…I’m starving.

  “I feel better,” I say. “Last night was pretty intense.”

  Liv studies my face and nods. “I had a feeling something happened. I heard you scream.”