Landslide

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Legit Heroes

  About the Author

  Also by Jenn Cooksey

  Get Dirty

  Sneak Peek

  Where Credit Is Due

  LANDSLIDE

  By Jenn Cooksey

  First Printing 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, locations, and events that are portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously solely for the express purpose of telling an entertaining story and are not to be taken otherwise. Additionally, due to language and some adult content, this book may not be appropriate for readers under the age of sixteen. Furthermore, it is a parental obligation and responsibility to know and approve what their minor child is reading. Thus stated, parents of minors will not hold the author responsible for their child being exposed to language or any subject matter herein that parents may deem inappropriate for their specific minor child during said child’s reading journey as it pertains to this book.

  Landslide. Copyright © 2012 by Jenn Cooksey. All rights reserved.

  License Notes

  Please be advised, this e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book is not to be sold, shared, reproduced, altered, or quoted in any way whatsoever without written permission from the author. If you wish to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you wish to share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  And remember, although Johnny Depp might’ve made it look cool and everything, piracy is illegal in all forms, as well as being an uber-douchy thing to do. And Nancy, the burly redneck with halitosis of The Other Fish in the Sea License Notes fame, will forever be on standby to bring forth the punishment for such acts as illegal downloading and file sharing, not to mention that my scary-ass bitches have substantially grown in number and bring all kinds of new and frightening skills to the table. In conclusion, you’ve been duly warned.

  Copyright © 2012 Jenn Cooksey

  All rights reserved.

  For two lifelong friends who haven’t quite turned lovers…

  Yet.

  Acknowledgements

  New York Times Best Selling Author, Jay Crownover told me upon finishing reading Landslide that it wasn’t a simple love story; it was a love experience. That was her take on it as a reader, although from an author’s standpoint, she couldn’t have described it any better, because that’s how it felt to write it. It’s been nothing but a labor of love, and a long one at that, as I began this project in late 2012. That’s a long-ass time for one, standalone book. Over the course of these past two years, though, I have of course had ample time to fall in love with my characters; people who although fictional, are very much alive. I’ve also however been so incredibly blessed to be given the time of actual human beings—some of them awe-inspiring individuals, selfless, tenderhearted, and talented beyond what I can say. They are the ones who, in one way or another, tirelessly helped me breathe life into Landslide. And for these people to give of themselves to me as they did, some of them aiding me day after endless day in bringing alive characters as well as their journey within the pages of a book, I could not feel more grateful. Or, humbled.

  My family always deserves props for being saddled with me as they are, and I honestly don’t know how God has found me worthy to have them; and I certainly don’t have words to express my appreciation so I’ll just continue to count my blessings there, and endeavor to be a better me for them.

  To the many authors and bloggers who participated in Landslide’s cover/playlist reveal, I sincerely cannot thank you all enough. I know I broke from tradition and essentially threw the rule book right out the window in doing it the way I did, and for you guys to have my back and get on board the way you did—especially the day after Christmas…? Unbelievable. You’re rock stars, each and every one of you. I wish I could thank you all individually, but there were SO many of you, we’d be here for hours. (For you interested readers, there’s a linked list of all the participants on my blog, and it’s my opinion you owe it to yourselves to check out all the marvelous people who played my reindeer games if you haven’t already.)

  To my fave hooker in all the land, USA Today Best Selling Author, Tara Sivec, I love your face something fierce and the reasons for why I do are legion. They all boil down to one simple truth though; you inspire me. Every day.

  To the aforementioned Jay Crownover… Shock and awe. #3Hours #YouAreInMe

  To Author R.L. Griffin, for squeezing me in, blowing my horn all over the damned place, and concurrently blowing my mind, I’m lucky to know you and proud to be able to call you friend. Btw, gray matter—everywhere. Still.

  To New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Karina Halle, not only are you an incredibly talented author, but even more, you’re an exceptional woman, and my adoration of you is vastly greater than even my passionate hatred for Javier. That’s saying something. #KillJavi #Moist

  To Liis McKinstry, you know what you did, and my cup runneth over to the ends of the earth. And, I have something for your Baby Cameron.

  To the members of #TeamGYP, never in a million years did I ever think I would have a hardcore, dedicated team such as you guys. I don’t deserve you. And special thanks to Starlyn and official GYP Bitch, Laura.

  To Author Michelle Warren, aka; Michelle Preast, cover designer extraordinaire at IndieBookCovers, or as I know her, Wonder Woman… I am still blown away by what you did. I am not an easy person to work with; I’m overly critical, I’m indecisive, I’m lazy, and I have no vision, thus cover art literally gives me nightmares. <—I will own all of that and many can back me up on it. Yet, somehow, you not only made time for me at the last minute in your busy life, but you also hit a home run during your first up at the plate, knocking it way way out of the ballpark with ease by producing a book cover that encapsulates everything I wanted it to; a cover that I’ve heard time and again is beautifully heartbreaking and something that will be widely talked about because of its uniqueness. I honestly don’t know how you did it, but I do know I can never say thank you enough.

  To my military friends, family, and loved ones… If I think about the myriad reasons for why all of you should be recognized and honored, I’ll ugly cry. Ug
ly crying gives me a migraine, and ain’t nobody got time for that. So instead, I’m just going to thank you for having unbelievably awesome senses of humor and not only sharing them with me, but yourselves as well. Stay safe and be blessed. Always.

  And finally, to my beta readers who stuck with me for two arduous years. I sincerely doubt people will ever understand what a tremendous task it is to beta read for me, I do. Even when it doesn’t take me as long as Landslide took. And I want people to understand. They need to, because without you, I can’t do it. I can’t write deeply developed characters and an intricate storyline filled with the gamut of emotion. I can’t put everything I have and more into it. A couple of you clearly lost your damned minds and have actually called me a genius, on more than one occasion, and one of you compared me to The Most Interesting Man In The World once, saying that even my symbolism has symbolism; those things may or may not be true, but if they are, there’s a reason. It’s you. I’m needy. I’m insecure. I don’t have self-confidence in my talent. And to put a bright red cherry on top of all that, my brain is a scary-ass war zone and often times a pretty fucked up place to be. That is, until I’m able to talk it out. Incessantly. In texts. On the phone. Live. For hours. Day after day. And in Landslide’s case, year after year. You guys did that for me. Freely. And for you readers who don’t know how betas read for me, I’ll explain why reading a single book is such a big deal. My betas read as I write and supply me with feedback right away so that I can adjust and tweak things as I need to, rather than going back in once I have a rough draft. They don’t wait to read the entire thing once the book is completed; meaning, these people gave me TWO YEARS of their lives so that I could write ONE book. They are people, with lives, families, jobs, and real-life responsibilities, yet with grace, divine generosity of spirit, and utter selflessness they took me on. They worked their asses off for this book almost as much as I did. And they deserve to be recognized. Shit, what they really deserve is glory and honor, amen. So please, put your hands together for them in applause and then for the love of Bacon, remember these women in your prayers, as they are warriors all, and, Landslide’s heroes…

  *Ali Hymer of Black Heart Reviews, aka., Tyler Durden. Thanks for being ready and willing to kick my ass, dick—er…bitch? I don’t even know anymore.

  *Allura LeBlanc Ralston of Teacups & Bookends who read OBHH and ugly cried, which in turn made me cry.

  *Melissa Brown, author of Wife Number Seven, the Love of My Life series, as well as the upcoming Sorority of Three series—Thank you for your words, your tears, your enthusiasm. And not least, for loving Erica and giving me the confidence to be her champion. #NoYouHangUp

  *Lea Marika of Lives & Breathes Book Blog, who also happens to have carved herself a special little place in my heart for literally every day bearing the brunt of the burden that I know I can be, and always being up for a round of #MusicalChapters.

  Author’s Note

  Music is a huge part of my writing and it plays a larger than normal role in this particular book, so I encourage you to listen to the title songs either before, during, or even after you read, whichever your preference is, and to help you with that, the titles are linked so that you may listen online. However, I was unfortunately made aware by a couple of ARC readers that a handful of the links were broken in the ARC, which means that the host site either removed them or the user took them down. I have replaced them with new, working links, although that clearly doesn’t guarantee that they’ll all remain workable for decades to come, so just a heads up.

  That’s all I got, except to say, carry on my wayward son, and, I hope you enjoy the ride…

  Respectfully,

  Jenn Cooksey

  1

  “Son of Man”

  —Cole—

  “You really should quit, Cole.”

  I drag in a breath, inhaling deeply as I do. “Yeah, because I can really afford to quit,” I mutter, exhaling through my nose and staring at the spiral of smoke trailing up from the burnt-orange cherry of my cigarette. I flick the ashes off the end and bring it back to my mouth to repeat the process.

  “Not your job, dude. That… Smoking.”

  Exhaling again, I huff out a short laugh and peer through the night and the thin curtain of smoke to see Holden shaking his head at me. I can’t even count how many times he’s told me to quit smoking and here I am thinking he’s talking about my job. Well, this job. I have three—no, four now. Why do I have four jobs at the ripe old age of nineteen, you ask? Because my dad’s a prick, that’s why.

  One night during the tail-end of his misspent youth, my dad knocked up a stripper at her going away party while he was working as a bouncer at the strip club. She never told him she was pregnant and about three or four weeks after I was born, she’d shown up to the club with all my crap, set me in my car seat on the bar in front of the bartender with a note addressed to my dad pinned to my blanket that read, I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t what I wanted for my life, so congratulations, you’re a father. All his shit is in the bag and I’m out of here. Don’t look for me. Ever. P.S. I’ve been calling him Cole, but you can rename him if you want. Not like he’ll know the difference. The bartender I guess told my dad that she just turned around and walked out. She hadn’t signed the note and neither of us ever heard from her again. Hell, I don’t even know what her real name is, but her stage name had been Candi, with a heart in place of the dot on the i. Original and classy, right?

  After having a DNA test to determine that I am in fact his son, I’ve spent all of my nineteen and a half years of life being raised by a hard-ass who started pounding it into my head before I could even talk that life isn’t easy and there are no freebies or handouts. Not only that, but anyone who ever tries to give you something for nothing is an untrustworthy liar just looking to screw you in some way or another. That being the case and our household motto, I was expected to wash my own clothes, work around the house, do all the yard work, learn how to work on cars because, “every man should know how to take care of his car if he’s lucky enough to have one,” and I wasn’t to be a freeloader in general.

  Thus the minute I turned thirteen and was old enough to open a bank account in my name, my dad told me to find a job and started charging me to live under his roof. At first it was just for meals, but when I got older and could drive, he started charging me rent and made me pay my share of the household utilities; and I found myself swapping out my sporadic babysitting gigs and neighborhood lawn mowing jobs for a pizza delivery position in addition to adding days to my paper route. Of course that was after my dad fronted the money for me to buy my jalopy of a dream car—a 1967 Chevy Impala. It was the only time he’d ever offered to help me out in my entire life and even then, I had to pay him back for the loan plus interest.

  Regardless of whether I had a car though, being a minor and having a driver’s license requires insurance, and that was an additional bill I was suddenly responsible for paying. So, I picked up another job at one of the movie theaters in town. A little while after that, I was falling asleep in class so I gave up the paper route, but I decided I wanted a computer and a cell phone like everyone else in the free world so I got hired on as a bus boy in the restaurant at the golf course, which turned into a double position with me taking the early morning weekend shifts setting tee times and working the register at the pro shop. I don’t bus tables there anymore, though, because I got promoted into the kitchen doing meal prep and learning how to be a cook, but I still work the pro shop every Saturday and Sunday morning. When the pizza place I was delivering for went bankrupt and shut down about four months ago, I got myself a job with a mom and pop construction company building things like gazebos and add-ons to people’s houses. The money is pretty decent and although the work is hard as fuck, I like the time outside and using my hands. The hours are unreliable though so I figured I’d add Walmart to my schedule just so I can try to save enough money to get out of my dad’s house and this hellhole of a town.


  Sad to say, that isn’t gonna be happening any time soon, seeing as how my baby has been making some clunking sounds and has slipped once or twice when I go to change gears, which means I might be having to replace the transmission soon. At least I know how to do that, thanks to my asshole father who wouldn’t even let up a little so I could go to college. Like everything else, if I want to go to college, I have to pay for it myself. The day before the first football game of my senior year, though, I slipped and fell off the roof while I was patching the tile up there and I broke my leg in two places, forcing me to sit out the entire season, and there went all hope of an athletic scholarship. And even though my grades were in the top five percent in my graduating class, they weren’t good enough for a full-ride academic scholarship. So, I work my ass off, take as many community college classes as I can afford and can cram into my work schedule, and I’ve completely forgotten what sleep is like; all so I can hopefully blow this popsicle stand one day.

  I look at the burning end of my one indulgence and think again about giving it up. Cigarettes are expensive and let’s face it, I can be saving the money instead of upping my chances at an early death, but hell, smoking relaxes me. Plus, I like it and it’s not as if I don’t deserve to do something that I enjoy with the little free time I have.