Deep Blue Eternity Read online

  Deep Blue Eternity

  Copyright © 2015 Natasha Boyd

  ISBN: 978-0-9894925-9-1

  Interior design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  First Electronic Galley Edition: October 2014

  First Print Edition 2015

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

  Tags:

  ROMANCE/ CONTEMPORARY/SUSPENSE/NEW ADULT/ DRAMA/GOTHIC

  OLIVIA

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  TOM

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  OLIVIA

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  TOM

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  OLIVIA

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TOM

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  OLIVIA

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  TOM

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  OLIVIA

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  TOM

  THIRTY-FIVE

  OLIVIA

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  TOM

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  OLIVIA

  FORTY-THREE

  TOM

  FORTY-FOUR

  QUESTIONS FOR BOOK CLUBS AND DISCUSSION GROUPS

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  THANK YOU

  OTHER BOOKS BY NATASHA BOYD

  “Boyd skillfully navigates the scorching physical desire and personal insecurities of her protagonists, crafting a relationship that is tense, torrid and sure to keep the pages turning.” ~ RT Book Reviews

  “Fans of the Sea of Tranquility or Mia Sheridan will absolutely love this story.” ~ MissIngrid’s reviews

  “I can’t recall ever reading a novel that made me laugh, smile, cry… just, feel as much as this one did.” ~ Books over Bros Reviews

  “A captivating, heart-wrenching, beautifully written story about those who scar us and those who help us heal. I could not put it down and am still thinking about it!” ~ Mia Sheridan, New York Times Bestselling author of Archer’s Voice.

  “A story I could not put down nor look away from, DEEP BLUE ETERNITY will make you care for these characters and their raw emotional tale with all the haunting beauty of Colleen Hoover’s HOPELESS.” ~ Brenna Aubrey, USA Today bestselling author

  “It was beyond anything I ever thought it would be. It was everything that you look for in a book and then it leaves you with just more than you thought. It leaves you with hope, it leaves you with love, it leaves you wanting more and also hoping that one day just once you feel that type of love that is deep blue eternity!” ~ Three Chicks Book Reviews

  “Fans will find much to enjoy here” ~ RT Book Reviews

  “So far, my favorite read of the year!” ~ Ashley, Goodreads

  “This book was a beautiful, emotional journey that I am so glad I had the privilege to take. It’s the kind of story that will tear you apart, then piece you back together again.” ~ Books over Bros Reviews

  “Oh this book was everything. At times I would put it down and walk away to catch my breath. That’s just how good it is. Awesome, Awesome, Awesome.” ~ Tavia, Goodreads

  “A dark, often troubling, but ultimately rewarding story of secrets, lies and the power of love.” RT Book Reviews

  “Every now and then you get a book that just moves you.” ~ Jessica D, Goodreads

  “…intricate lies, heart-wrenching secrets, and an explosive romance.” ~ Jessica G, Goodreads

  For S., J., and W.

  “The tin soldier stood there dressed in flames. He felt a terrible heat, but whether it came from the flames or from his love he didn’t know. He’d lost his splendid colors, maybe from his hard journey, maybe from grief, nobody can say.

  He looked at the little maiden, and she looked at him; and he felt himself melting. But still he stood steadfast, shouldering his gun bravely.

  A door was suddenly opened, and a puff of wind caught the little dancer. She flew like a sylph, straight into the fire with the soldier, blazed up in a flash, and was gone!

  The soldier melted.

  He was reduced to a mere lump. When the maid came for the ashes next morning she found him, in the shape of a small tin heart.

  All that was left of the dancer was her spangle, and that was burnt as black as a coal.”

  ~The Steadfast Tin Soldier by Hans Christian Andersen

  I WONDERED WHAT would piss off my parents the most, the fact I ran away or that I stole their money to do it. Either way, I assumed they’d be relieved to see the back of me.

  The train jerked and vibrated. What had felt like an interesting sensation against my cheek when I first pressed my face against the grimy window now made my skin numb and my teeth jar. Yet still I didn’t move away from the cold glass where I watched the outskirts of our nation’s capital roll and shudder past me.

  I’d made the connection in Washington, D.C. without too much trouble, switching from my northeast bound train from Atlanta in order to head back down south along the coast, and hadn’t had to show my identification again.

  It was a gamble, but I knew if my parents looked for me they were likely to follow the trail where I’d purchased the train tickets online from Atlanta to New Orleans with their credit card. I’d confirmed and printed the tickets. Online, I didn’t have to show my identification. But when I’d bought the ticket to Savannah with my own cash and in person, I’d had to. I looked like the blonde girl in the picture. Too much like her, in fact. So no one questioned it. Oddly, the only way to head south toward Savannah had been to go north first. I reasoned it put me one step ahead of them if they decided to report me missing. I’d had to ditch my phone too. The idea made me jittery, as now I had no music to get lost in.

  Upon entering the final train, I’d immediately located the restroom and pulled the wig off before finding my seat.

  We rolled through a tunnel, and everything was pitch black, my stark pale face surrounded by jet-black hair and punctuated with black-rimmed eyes flashing back at me. I sat back abruptly, just as the daylight appeared again. It was going to be an uncomfortable thirteen hours. Rifling through my Indian fabric drawstring bag, my hand closed around the small cylinder. I pulled out the orange plastic and checked that the label was what I needed. Amy Orr, whoever she was, shouldn’t have left her prescriptions lying around. But I was grateful she had. I shook a small white pill that had cost me far too much into my hand and washed it down with my soda.

  I STILL FELT groggy when I woke up as the train pulled into Savannah around half past four in the morning. Pulling my cardigan closer around me, I wound my grey scarf around my neck and stood up on wobbly legs, my back stiff and sore. It was dark and would be for a while yet. I had no idea what time the sun came up in Febru
ary, but I assumed it was probably after seven. The urge to just find a bench and get horizontal was overwhelming, but I could sleep when I got to the cottage.

  I wondered what kind of shape the cottage was in. Grams had died almost ten years ago and since she left it to Abby and me, and had barely spoken a word to my parents for as long as I could remember, the chances were high the place had completely caved in. Still, it had to be better than where I was coming from.

  And it was mine.

  All mine, now that Abby was gone. My parents didn’t know I knew about it, which made it the perfect hiding place. Abby had given me a key for it and asked me to keep the secret. I was so grateful I had. Would they even bother to look for me? Uncle Mike probably would, but he didn’t know I knew either. The chance he’d find me would always be at the back of my mind, but it was a chance I had to take.

  I’d left a note that was as bitingly sterile as the rare words either of my parents uttered in my direction, but hopefully ensured I wouldn’t be considered a missing person.

  I’ll get out of your way now.

  Don’t look for me.

  Olivia.

  Looking down at my trembling fingers, I tried to ignore my tight chest. I was scared about what I was doing. But more scared to stay. I’d waited as long as I could. A job to feed myself and maybe fix the place up was a necessity. The meager amount of money I had on me would barely get me by. But the idea that I could start over and be someone with no past and no expectations was a heady rush. A complete reinvention of who I was.

  And I’d be safe.

  I squared my shoulders, squinting my tired eyes at the signs to find the exit. Taking a taxi would dent my cash further. But according to the map I’d printed, the marina I needed to hitch a boat ride from was way too far out of downtown Savannah for me to make it on foot. I was almost free.

  THE MARINA WAS a hive of activity, with men yelling and nets being pulled out and rolled and items of indeterminate origin being loaded and unloaded.

  After paying my fare, I opened the door of the cab. The stench of dead fish and brine slicked down my nose and throat, causing my empty stomach to heave. I swallowed thickly and moved my scarf up over my nose and mouth. Shifting my heavy pack onto my back with my free hand, I contemplated the scene in front of me. There were passenger ferries, I knew, but they weren’t running yet and would cost a small fortune. I needed to find a fishing boat and see if they could give me a free ride over to Bloody Point.

  The early morning wind was frigid off the river, the air slicing through my layers. I hadn’t expected it to be as cold as it had been in Atlanta. I didn’t know the next time I’d get a hot shower, and hadn’t even thought about how to buy food out there, although I seemed to remember there was a small general store for basics. The logistical challenges of what I was doing started to crowd my head. It wasn’t that they hadn’t occurred to me, but I had deliberately pushed them aside, knowing I’d talk myself out of this crazy idea if I thought about it too much.

  The familiar ribbons of panic wove their corset around my chest. Shit. I let go of the scarf at my mouth to press my shaking hand hard against my chest. An instinct. As if it could possibly stop the tightening. The shortness of breath. One hundred, breathe out, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, breathe in, gross, fish, ninety-seven, ninety-six, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, ninety-five, breathe in, breathe in, breathe in, shit, shit, shit.

  I stepped back, I needed to turn around. Shit, shit. Not here, not now. Something strong took my arm, and I jerked around and yanked myself free.

  “Whoa, hey. Are you all right?” a gravelly male voice asked.

  My vision swam with black dots as my oxygen lowered. I tried to focus so I could see the person. But the panic was hitting way too hard. The large form in front of me stepped closer, and I stumbled back, only to be pulled forward straight into the solid wall in front of me.

  “Damn, careful,” the voice boomed from inside the body that held me. “Pete, I need some help over here!”

  I fixed my attention on the rough material under my cheek, trying to hook on to something, anything to bring me back. I mentally grabbed onto the knots and ridges of the fabric. Denim? Cord? Anything to anchor me.

  The smell. His smell. I hauled in a lungful through my nose and picked out the soapy fresh laundry detergent smell over the fishy smell of the air. Something spicy and male. And maybe perfume. Women’s perfume, but faint. And a hint of alcohol.

  It was the large, warm hand on my back running up and down my spine that finally did it. My mind tracked the downward stroke, the pause at the base of my spine, and the slow migration up to my shoulder blades. Again it slid down, and again back up. I imagined the hand was catching all the tight bindings around my chest and unraveling them a few at a time on each pass. God, it felt good. Soothing. Soothing when I normally didn’t like people touching me. Down went the hand again, and then back up.

  “Call 911,” I vaguely heard.

  No, no. “No.” Don’t call 911.

  I became aware I was choking on large lungfuls of air and that I was now sitting down. God, did I pass out? I thought I was standing in someone’s arms a few moments ago. The fog cleared, and I went into action mode. I needed the meds. I tried to fumble at my backpack, but it wasn’t on my back. Had I put my drawstring bag inside my pack? I couldn’t remember.

  “My bag,” I gasped and opened my eyes, blinking heavily. Trying to see through the blur.

  “Here,” a voice rumbled. “Do you have medication you need?”

  I nodded, or tried to. My vision cleared enough to see the bag at my feet with large strong hands working the zipper. I lurched down to help.

  The hands grabbed mine firmly. Mine looked pale and sickly with their chipped black polish next to the tanned rough ones.

  “I’ve got it,” he said. Then to another pair of legs standing close. “Grab a bottle of water, Pete, would ya?”

  I relaxed my hands and pulled them reluctantly from under the warmth.

  Sucking in a slower lungful of air, I sat up.

  A man crouched in front of me, strong thighs in worn brown denim holding him steady. His shaggy brown–haired head leaned over my bag as his hands re-emerged with three pill bottles.

  “Amy?” he asked, squinting at a bottle. His face, what I could see of it, beneath copious amounts of facial hair, gross, was as sun-beaten as his hands. Then he flicked beautiful golden brown and startlingly familiar eyes up at me.

  I momentarily stopped inhaling my much needed air as confusion swirled in me. How did I know this person? Expecting to get the same reaction from him, I was startled when his gaze dropped back to the bottles and he said, “Or is it… Melodie?”

  That’s when he stopped. And looked back up at me, narrowing his eyes. Then just as quickly he shook his head as if to clear an unpleasant memory. I used the reprieve to grab the latest bottle from his hand.

  “The Klonopin, thank you.” I shook one into my hand and threw it in my mouth, swallowing before he could even hand me the water bottle that had just been delivered.

  I was exhausted. I needed to get to the island. My crash was coming.

  Taking the plastic water bottle from the man I presumed was Pete, I mumbled my thanks up to him. Pete was gray and portly, where the brown haired-guy seemed more lean and muscular. It was hard to tell under his heavy black coat.

  Pete nodded. “Can we, uh, call someone fer ya?” he asked, his voice gruff, like I imagined a pirate to sound. He looked agitated, though, like he had a million other things to be getting on with. Of course he probably did, this being a busy spot in the blue predawn light.

  Shaking my head, I forged ahead with my plan. “It was… just a panic attack. I’m so sorry, not sure why. I need to get over to Daufuskie, actually. I’m going to my grandmother’s…” I dropped the white lie in there, hoping to hell they didn’t ask me about her. There were only about two hundred fifty residents on the island as far as my Internet research had shown. And almos
t as many pieces of property for sale. Go figure. If they knew the island they’d know of her or know she was no longer there. I needed to prevail upon their chivalry just a little bit more. “I, uh, underestimated how much the train ride down would be to… visit…”

  The men in front of me exchanged a small concerned look.

  I clasped my hands together, twisting my fingers nervously. “Are you, I mean, is anyone going out in that direction this morning? To fish, or whatever? Do you think they’d mind dropping me off?”

  Brown-haired guy stood up, unfolding to a six-foot, if not more, tower in front of me. “Pete’s taking me over to Bloody Point. That work for you?”

  Relief was surely evident on my face. That was exactly where I needed to go. Seriously, he must have similar color eyes to someone I’d met before. They were so unique. And as he watched me from that hair-covered face, I had the oddest sensation I was looking at a lion. A lion and a pirate. “Thank you. And thank you for the water.” The small smile I attempted was quickly thwarted when lion guy turned abruptly on his heel. I almost missed the look of disgust on his face. Almost.

  I followed the two men down the jetty, my heartbeat and breathing still slightly erratic. I needed to try and stay awake as long as possible. The boat was small but sturdy and piled high with fishing equipment and what looked like grocery bags.

  Pete offered me his cold and callused hand as I gingerly clambered aboard in my heavy boots, then he motioned me toward a small bench he had cleared off. “An’ stay put, or your foot will get caught in a net or rope or somethin’.”

  I hesitated. Lion guy scowled. There was only one place for us both to sit, and I suddenly became uncomfortable that I would be practically plastered against my savior who clearly regretted helping someone he now assumed to be a dishonest druggie looking for a free ride. It was my least favorite part of what I’d been reduced to as well, so I didn’t blame him.