Bad Intentions

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Part Two

  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

  A Note From the Author

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Nacole Stayton

  Bad Intentions

  Nacole Stayton Publishing, LLC.

  Copyright © 2015

  Cover photo by Shutterstock

  Book design by Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Editing by T. Buckalew Media

  Interior Design by Kassi’s Kandids Formatting

  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 (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only licensed authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This work of fiction is approximately seventy-eight thousand words.

  Other titles by Nacole Stayton

  New Adult

  The Upside of Letting Go

  In the Lyrics

  Contemporary Romance

  A Graceful Mess

  Savaged

  Not All

  Who

  Wander

  Are Lost

  - J.R.R Tolkien

  Our lives are mapped out long before we open our eyes for the first time. Some call it destiny. Some call it fate. I call it bullshit, but that’s neither here nor there. Whatever you want to call it, it’s thought about long before we’re conceived. Then we’re born, and poof—the world introduces us to who it wants us to be.

  I was meant to be an Olympic gymnast, so naturally I was born tumbling. My mom said that I flipped right into the doctor’s hands and from that moment on, I didn’t stop flipping. From the age of three, gymnastics was more than just a sport to me—it became my life. Everything else just revolved around it.

  School taught me about our nation’s history and what molecules were, but gymnastics taught me discipline, responsibility, and gave me purpose—all while prancing around a gym—sometimes with sweat pouring off me, blistered hands and aching limbs.

  The harsh reality is that life can be cruel—even downright ugly. In the blink of an eye, my identity was stolen. I stopped flipping, and simply became a spectator of my own sport. The memory of that day still haunts me…

  With a calming breath, I climbed on the balance beam. Four inches in width, the soft leather material made my feet stick like glue as I maintained my balance on the tiny platform.

  Pivoting, I leaped into an Omelianchik and landed perfectly. The judges would eat that up. Arching my back, I prepared to dismount. Within seconds, I knew something was wrong. A stabbing pain shot up my spine and caused me to yelp. The sound of the crowd gasping echoed off the walls as I smacked against the mat with a loud thud.

  Devastated.

  Broken.

  Empty.

  My world spun out of control, wreaking havoc and teeter-tottering on its axis. I remember the excruciating pain, the narrowing of my vision, and the heartache in my chest when I was able to comprehend what had happened. From that moment, I would no longer be Adaley Knight, junior Olympic gymnast. I would forever be a broken version of her, and a shell of the competitive athlete I’d been destined to be.

  My parents tried like hell to make me feel better, they even ignored their own rules and invited my boyfriend, Mark, to spend the night. Granted, he had to sleep on the living room couch, but it had been a giant milestone in our relationship. Sadly, not even his presence extinguished the fury that burned deep within me.

  Even though it wasn’t their dream, we were all shattered in some way. Long gone was the sparkly, peppy daughter they had raised. She had been replaced with a teenager who no longer enjoyed volunteering, watching her dad practice his sermons, or even attending church, for that matter. I gradually slipped into a depression and became my own worst enemy.

  If I would have just listened to my body and stopped pushing myself so hard, maybe I would have noticed it had been slowly deteriorating from the inside out. The doctors say that spondylosis doesn’t just happen. Because of a defect in the connective tissues between my vertebrae, every time my spine flexed, it increased the chances of a stress fracture. My spine had been flexing for thirteen years by the time the accident happened.

  I hated the doctors. Every last one of them. I hated the hospital rooms, and I hated my parents for making me see specialist after specialist. And, more than anything, I hated the way the townsfolk looked at me like I was a broken piece of fine china.

  It took what seemed like an eternity, but once I finally came to terms with the fact that life had given me the middle finger, I slowly started to accept my dreaded fate—I wasn’t ever going to compete at a national level again. Sure, I could coach, but nothing would ever be the same.

  After what seemed like months, my sulking and self-loathing had lasted long enough. It wouldn’t help fix my spine and stop the aching pain that required prescription drugs. The only real choice was to pick myself up—just like I’d done so many times before—and use the lessons I’d been taught. The world was my oasis, and I was still determined to find exactly where I belonged.

  The only problem was that the perfect bubble I’d lived in had imploded the day of my accident. In an alternate universe, maybe I wouldn’t have been doomed. But living in a small town where people expected me to rise up, plaster a fake smile on my face, and pretend that everything was okay, was mentally exhausting. I was suffocating while trying to live up to the gimmick that my life would go back to normal.

  I had forgotten what my normal was.

  With gymnastics, at least I’d known exactly what my future entailed, but without gymnastics, I had no reason to keep playing by the rules.

  I’m careful, but I want to be reckless.

  I’m cute, but I want to be sexy.

  I’m innocent, but I want to be bad.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I bite down hard on my lower lip and exhale through my nose, seething. I’m careful not to allow my eyes to wander off the road ahead, as I reach across the tattered center console toward the empty passenger seat and grab my cell. My hand vibrates from the desperate buzz of the phone. The damn thing is begging me to put it out of its misery and to answe
r it already. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I either answer it or toss the annoying little bastard out the window. As much as I’d prefer to send it to its death, I’m not naïve enough to risk having no phone when driving alone, even when I’m on the last leg of my trip.

  Young, dumb and stupid isn’t written across my forehead, and I sure as heck don’t want it on my tombstone.

  I hastily slide the bar to the side with the pad of my thumb. “Hello.”

  “Uh…hey. I just…” he fumbles over his words. “I wanted to hear your voice.” The hopelessness in his declaration pierces my heart like a thousand needles. I sigh out loud and grip the wheel in front of me until my knuckles turn white. “Sorry,” I mutter, so over explaining my reasoning for fleeing, that I can’t form an entire sentence, let alone another meaningless explanation. I don’t have a nice excuse wrapped in a red bow that will magically eliminate the hurt I caused him. I am truly sorry I broke his heart into a million unrecognizable pieces, but I’m not sorry that I left. If anything, I’m relieved. I know it makes me a bad person and paints me as an evil villain, but this is my story, and I refuse to apologize for something that my entire being longs for.

  “If you’re sorry, come home.” There’s more than a tinge of pain laced in his plea as he continues, “I’m going to keep calling until you realize what you’re leaving behind.”

  I want to point out that his last call had been only forty minutes ago, but I refrain and press my lips firmly together before any unnecessary words fly out of it. Clearing my throat, I manage only to squeak out his name. “Mark.”

  “Adaley,” he breathlessly sobs into the phone. “I’m lost without you. The sun doesn’t shine like it used to. Music doesn’t sound the same. Nothing seems right without you here.”

  I know I left abruptly. I left him, and my parents, with their jaws on the ground, but I honestly thought he’d handle it better than this. I was obviously wrong.

  In our six previous conversations – I look at the clock on my dash – today, I’ve tried to coddle him. Maybe that’s made things worse. Using a different tactic, I spit the harsh truth. “Please, just stop,” I beg, knowing that I can’t take much more. “It’s not like I’m a cold-hearted b—.”

  “I love you.” He blurts out, interrupting me midsentence.

  My throat feels like it’s closing, constricting my every breath. Do I lay it all on the line, or sit here rehashing every agonizing detail for the millionth time. “I told you why I had to go. Coming home isn’t an option. I doubt my parents would even have me.” A dull pain lingers in my chest. “I lo… I’ll always love you and what we had. But it’s over. I told you why.” I swallow another gulp of air, praying all the while that I can pull myself together.

  I’m eighteen. Legally an adult. Leaving is my decision. Unfinished thoughts play on repeat in my mind.

  We were best friends and lovers. Ha. “Lovers” is pushing it, to be brutally honest. Yet, he and I had shared something special. I just hate to admit that it wasn’t enough for me.

  “Was I ever enough, or did you know all along that we wouldn’t end up together?” His voice hardens. “What if you never got hurt—would you have chosen me then? Am I just your safety net?” His voice increases in volume, and I can tell that he’s getting more enraged by the second.

  He’s a ticking time bomb, and I’m holding the detonator.

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s not… I never… I thought we’d be together forever— just like we planned—but after the accident…I changed. Things I always wanted…my future…it was all obliterated. I was a wreck…you know this. I realized chunks of my life were missing. Parts of me felt completely empty.” My words sound raw as they leave my lips because in the pit of my stomach, I know that anything I say or don’t say is only going to break him more. Sticking with the cold hard truth is all I have left.

  “You deflected my question.”

  I can picture him standing in the middle of his bedroom looking out the window. It’s directly across from mine, with only a patch of bright green grass dividing our houses. Knowing Mark, he’s pacing back and forth racking his brain and trying to figure out the moment things went south. He’s so analytical. But, love isn’t a math problem— it’s real—and sometimes there is more than one answer.

  “You can live with me.” His voice cuts the silence like a butter knife. “We can live in a co-ed dorm.” A silent beat passes. I dodge a dead deer on the road, and he continues pleading. “Please,” his voice is now a low tremble. “I’m going nuts here, Adaley. You’ve only been gone two days, but with each passing minute, I know I lose you a little more. Don’t I?”

  “You’re not losing me. You’re getting a fresh start. It may not feel like it now, but severing ties really does you a favor. Don’t you want to go to college and enjoy yourself? A girlfriend wouldn’t make that new experience enjoyable in the slightest. I just want to live life to the fullest—get the full college experience— and I want the same for you.” Hopefully this time, he’ll hear my goodbye for what it is. I don’t want him tied down as he enters his freshman year in college. I want him to move on, and maybe even find someone that will adore him in ways that I can’t.

  I hear a grunt escape his lips. Lips that I’m sure are swollen from tears running down them. I can hear him trying to muffle his sniffles as I hold the phone to my ear with one hand and steer with the other.

  Silence.

  Cursing.

  Credible pleas.

  It all pierces my ears with just the same intensity, and then moves south, obliterating my heart. Blood and guilt oozes out and fills up my chest.

  “I hope you regret this,” Mark says sternly. The sucky part is that I deserve to hear it. “I hope you get there and don’t make any friends,” he continues, as a string of hateful remarks follow. Tears pool in my eyes. “I hope you get your heart crushed just like you crushed mine.”

  I have pushed him into this dark place where he’s resorted to being belligerent. After a few muted seconds, I realize the silence dangling between us like the miles I’ve distanced us with. I stop myself before I respond to him and tell him that he’s right. I might end up regretting it. I might run back home and beg for his forgiveness, only for the tables to be reversed when he pushes me away. I gulp, swallowing my anxiety, and turn on the windshield wipers to clear away the discomfort and the rain. “Mar—.”

  Click.

  The sound of him hanging up is disheartening, yet it puts an end to my unease.

  The silence of driving alone is deafening, and with nothing but pavement in front of me for miles, I can’t help but recall how I landed in this predicament in the first place. Even now at eighteen, I realize I was always different. From grade school to high school, I’d been an outsider. While everyone my age was out getting wasted and attending parties, I was either in the gym, studying, or doing something that was less than thrilling. Of course I had girlfriends, but our dreams of being the next Shawn Johnson outweighed the bonds of true friendship.

  My mother would have shot daggers out of her crystal blue eyes if I’d ever left the house with the skimpy piece of cloth other girls wore draped around their hips that passed as a mini-skirt. Although, I do find it funny that both she and my father allowed me to prance around a gymnasium in a skin-tight leotard in front of hundreds of spectators. But, for fear of disappointing them outside of the gym, I never pushed it. I stayed in line and acted like the perfect child, all the while breaking on the inside as I yearned to dress in anything other than the clothes they bought for me. I felt like I was about to be shipped off to the freaking nunnery.

  I wanted to be admired. Drooled over.

  Growing up as the preacher’s daughter put a giant damper on my social status. The boys steered clear, afraid that I would become the next Virgin Mary, and the girls gossiped about me like I carried the plague. If they didn’t want to get to know me, screw them. It had been my mantra.

  When they tossed revolting remarks a
round like stones, I turned a cold shoulder and acted like it didn’t affect me. As hard as I’d tried to brush it off over the years, chalking it up as their loss, it still hurt. I had just become a master of disguising my feelings. I kept a smile on my face even though at times, I felt as if I would crack.

  No one knew how badly I wanted to escape. How deep the need had festered within me until it was too late. The part of me who longed to be perfect—to make her parents proud and put everyone’s needs before her own— died. My accident had become an awakening.

  The girl who’d survived wanted to rip off her good-girl label and stomp on it while strutting around in a pair of the forbidden high heels. I wanted to flip everyone the bird as my mouth curved into a devious smile. And that’s exactly what I did.

  The news of my obscene behavior spread through our small town quicker than a forest fire. I slayed the girl who I was and prepared to meet the woman I wanted to become.

  Life- 1

  Adaley-1

  The sound of thunder rolling in the distance pulls me out of my trance just in time for me to notice bright red numbers lit up by neon lights. A pit stop is just what I need. I veer to the right and head toward a filling station just off the next exit. The building is dimly lit outside. I guess the owner spent his entire bulb budget on the sign luring customers in. Maybe I’ve watched too many reruns of Criminal Minds, but this looks just like the type of place that lunatics lurk around. I’m thankful my dad gave me a little can of pepper spray before I embarked on my journey.

  Putting the car in park, I hold onto my car key like a makeshift shank as I hurriedly walk inside to get some snacks and try to wait out the storm. Luckily for me, the patrons look blessedly normal. No one is wearing a ripped T-shirt with blood splattered on it. I take a deep breath and relax a little.

  Rows and rows are adorned with yummy goodness. Taking my time, I browse the aisle with my mouth slightly hung open. I pray I don’t drop any drool on the discolored floor beneath my feet.