Seventeen Days

  SEVENTEEN DAYS

  Copyright © 2016 by DB James

  Kindle Edition

  Editor and Formatter: Wendi Temporado of Ready, Set, Edit

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  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

  Epilogue

  This book is dedicated to my mama, Alicia. Without her, I wouldn’t be a reader. She passed on her love of reading to me at a young age. (She may have also passed on her love of book hoarding.) She's my best friend, my rock-solid foundation, my everything. Without her late night Ambien serenades, I don't know what I'd do. <3

  I love you Mama.

  I met the love of my life when I was eighteen. Sounds cliché, I know, but it doesn’t change it from being true. We may have been young but we knew it was real. Worth fighting for. And fight for it, we did. At first, we fought our attraction, then we fought about our individual life paths. But we always made it past any hurdle life could throw at us.

  We were that couple. You know the one.

  The couple that makes you sick to your stomach by being in the same room. That was us.

  Unbeknownst to me, one day I'd grow to regret the events in my life leading me to Harrison Dean Montgomery. The summer when I first met him changed my life. He brought down rays of sunshine to my otherwise dark and stormy path. His soul lit mine up like a fucking shooting star. He set me on fire.

  I'd celebrated my eighteenth birthday two weeks’ prior in Paris. I've never wanted for anything in my young life, at least not for long. Whatever I wished for, I was given. Oh, don’t get me wrong, Sienna may have paid for them, but I did earn these things after all, which was how I ended up spending my birthday in Paris with two of my closest friends.

  Three teenage girls on their own in a foreign city may not be typical, but for Sienna Young’s daughter, it was. Sienna was my mother and a complete bitch. She’s an international super model. Having been discovered as a teenager, she’s been fighting father time ever since. Why she had me, I haven’t a clue. She doesn’t know who my father is, or, at least, she’s never told me. He’s probably dead. Or a deadbeat, felon, rapist … who knows? Use your wildest imagination; your guess is as good as mine.

  Both of my girlfriends’ parents thought we'd be on a three-day birthday shopping trip. Not to mention the fact they didn’t know we went there unsupervised. My mother had supplied us each with plenty of cash—you don’t want to know what I did to earn it.

  Sienna doesn’t give a shit about what I do. If it doesn’t hurt her, she couldn’t care less. I can hear haughty judgmental tone now, “Stay out of the spotlight, Morgan. We have an image to upkeep. If you’re going to drink, don’t drink to get drunk. At least, not in front of the cameras. If you get into trouble, don’t bother calling me, call Mr. Dawnbres. And if you run out of fucking cash, use the Amex card. Don't forget though, you’ll have to earn whatever you go over in budget once you’re back home.”

  Ladies and gentleman meet my lovely mother. Isn’t she a peach? All about protecting herself and her image. Of course she would want me to call her lawyer if I got into trouble. She couldn’t be bothered with it. Finding myself in trouble would probably cause her to miss a facial or a shopping trip. We both knew she’d rather not spend any time with her only daughter. She couldn’t be bothered to fly to Paris to see me, and it was my damn eighteenth birthday. Oh well, I’d rather spend it with people who care about me.

  Hearing ecstasy made dancing amazing and never trying it ourselves, we decided it was an experience we didn't want to miss. I’d never even smoked pot; why I thought a hallucinogenic was the way to break my drug hymen, I’ll never know. Gathering as many pills as we could, we headed out to the dance clubs.

  Such a bad idea.

  By the time we reached the first—and only—club, I was high out of my damn mind. Couldn't form a sentence to save my life. When the bouncer asked for my birthday, I didn’t answer him and barely managed to shove my ID in his face. All the while, I was giggling and couldn’t stop touching myself. Everything felt ah-maze-ing.

  “Happy birthday, Morgan,” he said as he led us through the velvet rope. While holding onto his bicep, I stood on my tiptoes placing a kiss upon his cheek. Holy shit, this guy is built. Come to think of it, I wanted something else for my birthday. Him. In my bed. Naked.

  “Come back to my hotel tonight,” I told him in the sexiest voice I could muster. Yeah, I didn’t ask, I was confident he liked what he saw. They all did.

  He replied in his sexy French accent, “I’m married. Move along inside before I change my mind about allowing you in.” Well, that was a mood killer. Pffft, his wife could’ve watched.

  “Sh-Sh-Shots! We need to do more need shots, now,” Celene yelled at me on the dance floor. Amanda was busy dry humping a random dude, but Celene and I were dancing with each other, on each other, touching each other. After the debacle with the bouncer, I popped two more pills and planned to dance the night away. So far, my plan was working out perfectly.

  “‘Kay,” I mumbled. “Let’s get some more shots. Tequila ought to do the job and sounds heavenly to me. Then we need to dance and dance and dance.” I may have twirled around in circles while replying. Movement of any kind was awesome. We dance-twirled our way over to the bar. Bumping into every single person I could along the way. Touching people, or myself, felt incredibly good. Like every sensation was being felt all at once. It’s like I could feel sounds. The bass bumping from the speakers felt like it was bumping through my veins. The lights strobed across the dance floor, and I swore I could feel the fucking lights as they glittered over my body. I could feel the blood pumping through my veins with every heartbeat. Bumpbump. Bumpbumpbump. Bumpbump.

  The combination of ecstasy and tequila caused me to forget anything that happened over the next several hours. All I knew was whatever happened landed my ass in jail.

  Jail.

  In a frickin’ foreign country.

  No parents or supervision in sight. Technically, I’m an adult now, so…

  With illegal drugs in my possession. Several hundred dollars’ worth of ecstasy pills, to be exact.

  To put it mildly, I was fucked. Thirty days in jail, no bail, fucked. All before I’d get to see a judge.

  Plain and simple, I was a problem for Sienna, and she didn't want to deal with me.

  Typical.

  But thank f
uck for her money or else I’d be sitting in jail now.

  Her answer to the ordeal was the same as always: whatever was easiest for her. Whatever would cost her the least amount of bad press. She wanted to sweep it under the rug like yesterday’s trash. She wanted to sweep me under that rug, too.

  The answer to the Paris debacle ended up being I was to live with my Aunt Savannah, who I'd only met once in my entire life. I could barely remember her—what if she hated me? But I was sure it had to be better than living with my bitch of a mother. Anything had to be better than that, even being swept away with the trash. And yes, even jail.

  Aunt Savannah lived in a small town in Alabama. In other words, my own personal version of hell.

  I was a city girl, a big city girl. New York City, to be exact.

  Until the day I landed in the Mobile airport, I'd never seen a dirt road. Never lived where I didn't have instant access to a Starbucks, a manicure, a concert, my friends … civilization.

  Me, “Miss Fifth Avenue” in Ala-fuckin’-bama.

  That was all before Harrison came crashing into my life.

  Spoiled.

  Entitled.

  Immature.

  Ignorant.

  Materialistic.

  Broken.

  Yesterday’s trash.

  Knowing him for one day changed me, but knowing him for seventeen days, changed me for life.

  This is me after surviving the storm that is Harrison Dean Montgomery.

  Two Weeks and One Day After Paris

  This summer should have been one of the best summers of my life.

  Instead, I’m stuck in Bumfuck Alabama and not back in New York with my friends. I know I’m missing out on living it up—spending our summer at the shore indulging in a summer fling while working on my tan. With plans to attend Columbia in the fall, Sienna’s money had worked in my favor when it came to getting into the school I wanted to attend. My grades certainly didn’t help; there were more important things to do instead of studying.

  Celene, Amanda, and I planned on getting an apartment together and registering for all the same classes. None of us cared what we majored in to begin with. We were young. We could decide later. Our whole lives were ahead of us.

  As soon as that first pill hit my tongue, my dreams of the shore, an amazing tan, and a summer fling evaporated. Gone up in flames in the blink of an eye, a swallow of a pill. As part of my “punishment”, Sienna has practically cut me off in every way possible, not speaking a word to me in two weeks. She’s agreed to pay Aunt Savannah for my monthly expenses, but that’s it.

  No more Columbia. No more apartment with my friends. No more New York.

  My life now consists of waking up, taking a shower, drinking coffee, participating in a random boring activity, eating dinner, watching television, then sleep. Repeat. I feel like my life has turned into the instructions on a shampoo bottle—wash, rinse, repeat. Savannah could at least have a few interesting books lying around for me to read. All I can find are medical journals. Veterinary medicine medical journals, in fact.

  Today is the start of my second day in hell, and I’ve decided I’d like to go for a walk to check out the neighborhood. If you can call it one, considering the nearest neighbors are more than a mile down the road. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do with my time; I might as well spend a couple hours getting lost in the trees. The solitude might do me some good. At this point, what could it hurt?

  “Morgan?” my aunt calls as I'm making my way down the stairs.

  “Yeah, Aunt Savannah?” My tone drips with boredom.

  Let me explain a couple of things: I came here ready to dislike my aunt. From the moment I laid eyes on her picking me up at the airport, I was prepared to hate her. She’s my mother’s twin, and therefore must be exactly like her, and frankly, I despise Sienna. A shrink would have a heyday with me. Don’t get me wrong, I know why I hate my mother. She’s never done anything for me that I didn’t earn. My own mother doesn't know me. After a few hours, though, I started seeing my aunt was nothing like my mother. They’re like oil and water. I’m slowly coming around to liking her, but I don’t want to let her know and give her any sign of hope that I’d be a permanent fixture in her life or vice versa. As soon as I can work it out, I’ll be heading back to New York and leaving all thoughts of a future relationship with my aunt behind. I plan on cutting off all ties to Sienna as soon as I can, too.

  It’s frickin’ strange I never had any interactions with my only aunt. My only family, besides Sienna.

  “Why don’t you take Mac with you? I’m sure he could use the exercise.” Ugh. Mac is the devil. Well, if the devil was a dog, which he may be. He’s a huge Chow-Chow; in other words, a barking ball of fluff. So far, I’ve avoided him as much as possible. When we do meet, we manage to tolerate each other, but I can tell the asshole is silently judging me.

  “Does he have a leash, or will he follow along?” Please have a damn leash. Knowing my luck lately, I’d forget he was with me and lose him down the road. It would be a good thing for me, but I’m sure my aunt wouldn’t appreciate me losing her devil dog.

  “Yes, it’s on a hook near the back door. You’ll find he’s an excellent walker. Be sure to take your phone with you in case you get lost. Mac would always lead you back, but you can never be too safe. Either way, if you’re not back by dusk, I’ll come searching for you.”

  Sighing, I stomp my way to the back door and grab his leash. He's right there as soon as he hears the jingle of the clasp when I pick it up. “Come on, you old bastard,” I mutter while attaching his leash to his collar. Seeing his treats on a nearby shelf, I shove a few in my pocket. Who knows? I could end up needing them later.

  Funny, how he seems to like me now. I still think he's frickin’ judging me.

  Nearly three hours later, and we’re lost.

  Coming upon a creek, I decide to rest and regroup. Maybe I’ll see if my phone has a signal and bring up the directions app. But there’s no way I’ll actually call my aunt letting her know that I actually think we’re lost. After all, she said Mac would be able to lead me home. Or she’d come to find us once it’s closer to dusk. That’s like six or something, right? We have plenty of time before I need to worry about being found. Let me also add in the fact it doesn't bother me at all that I'm lost. It's funny to think I'd rather be lost in an unknown forest with a dog who hates me, than be sitting around doing absolutely nothing at my aunt's house. Or worse yet, answering her questions that I'm not completely sure I have the answers to.

  It truly is beautiful here. Don't get me wrong, I still don't like it, but I'm not a complete bitch who can't see the beauty surrounding me. The water is so frickin’ clear, and I can see the rocks at the bottom. To my surprise, I see fish as well. I’ve always loved to be near the water. Before my world came crashing down, I thought maybe I could study business and that would lead me to working near the water. By that, I mean maybe one day opening my own coffee shop near the shore. Combining two things I love, something small I guess. Maybe someday.

  The sound of the water flowing in the creek, the leaves on the trees as they blow in the wind, and crickets chirping are … peaceful. When was the last time I've taken the time to actually stop and listen to my surroundings? Probably never. Besides, my surroundings in New York consist mainly of yellow cabs honking their horns and angry pedestrians yelling back in return. There is no silence to be found in New York, no matter what time of day it is. I love it.

  Mac has abandoned me and is snoring under a nearby tree, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. Or care we’re lost. After the first few minutes of walking him, I was happy to see he didn't actually need the leash. It was there more for my own comfort. Aunt Savannah must've known that without it, I'd eventually lose track of him. Or known he’d get pissed off at me and leave me behind.

  Deciding to take a page out of his book, I settle down next to him and close my eyes. We can be “found” later.

  The chirps o
f the crickets are soon replaced by twigs breaking. Sounds like we’ve been found, though we didn’t send out a mayday call. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed and pretend I’m sleeping, whoever it is will go the frick away. Wishful thinking, I’m sure.

  After the sound fades, I assume it’s safe to open my eyes, assuming my fake sleeping actually worked. Wrong. There’s a man standing directly over me, crouched down as if he meant to wake me up, even though I wasn't truly sleeping. He has the most intense stormy-gray eyes—they’re the color of the clouds filling up the sky before it pours down rain. So. Damn. Intense. It’s almost as if he sees right through me. I’ve never seen anyone with gray eyes before. Quickly looking away, I see the hair peeking out from underneath his cowboy hat is a stark contrast to his intensely light-gray eyes; it’s as dark as midnight. Holy shit, he’s like a walking, talking, wet dream. Give the man a pair of chaps, and he’ll be starring in my X-rated dreams tonight.

  Not thinking twice, I let out my best blood-curdling horror-movie-worthy-scream, instantly waking up Mac. Only, it doesn’t startle Mac at all. Told ya the bastard doesn’t like me. I could’ve been being murdered, and he’s not going to rescue me.

  “Easy there, calm down, lady. You'll end up scaring ol’ Mac here and give him a heart attack. I was checking to see if you were okay, I mean no harm.” He holds up his hands in surrender. This walking, talking, wet dream is here to … help? When my aunt said she'd find me, I wrongly assumed it would be her doing the finding. Was that a tail wag I just saw? It figures the judgmental bastard Mac is wagging his tail for Mr. Stormy Eyes. The stupid jerk.

  Finally finding my voice, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, “You know this evil mutt?” Inside, I’m cringing because this delicious man has seen my inner snarky bitch. I guess I need to work on the whole not actually being a bitch thing. My inner snark always sounds so much nicer in my head.

  While shaking his head, he lets out a laugh that can only be described as one of disbelief.