Amazing Grayson (#MyNewLife Book 3) Read online

  Amazing Grayson

  #MyNewLife series

  Copyright © 2018 by M.E. Carter

  ISBN-13: 978-1-948852-09-8

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  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 your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To my “Oli”.

  The teenage years are hard on everyone. These will probably be the hardest you’ll ever have in your life. But we’ll get through it, without actually killing each other. Because I believe in you. And you can do amazing things.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter One

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Two

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Three

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Four

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Five

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Six

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Seven

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Eight

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Nine

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Ten

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Eleven

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Twelve

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Thirteen

  Amazing Grayson: The Beginning – Chapter Fourteen

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter One

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Two

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Three

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Four

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Five

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Six

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Seven

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Eight

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Nine

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Ten

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Eleven

  Amazing Grayson: The Continuation – Chapter Twelve

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter One

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Two

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Three

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Four

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Five

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Six

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Seven

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Eight

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Nine

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Ten

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Eleven

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Chapter Twelve

  Amazing Grayson: The Conclusion – Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Inhaling a deep breath through my nose, I recognize the smell of those organic cleaning products I order online, fresh paint—which probably offsets the organic cleaners, but I’ll get over it—and faintly of cardboard boxes. It smells like home.

  Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think I was going to move to Flinton, Texas. I’ve resisted for years, mostly because the entire process sounded daunting. But life changes. Circumstances change. Now here I am, standing in my new house, everything already moved in, thanks to my brother, Jack, and his new girlfriend, Joie.

  I’d never admit it to Jack because he worries enough as it is, but I feel a sense of peace I haven’t had in a really long time. The last several years have been rough.

  When the kids were still little, I filed for divorce from my ex-husband after I found out he was stealing money from our son’s medical account. A few weeks later, the feds showed up at our door to arrest him. Over the next few months, he was tried and convicted of misuse of funds at his job where he was in line to be the next chief financial officer. Something about skimming funds off the top of people’s accounts. I didn’t really understand all of it, being that there were pages upon pages of mathematical data as proof. Basically, it boiled down to a whole lot of theft. Luckily for the company, it was caught before Neil could take over as CFO and do more damage.

  Unluckily for me, however, part of the investigation looked into all of our tax returns. Turns out, he was falsifying those as well.

  At first, fingers were pointed at me too, which was incredibly stressful. Very quickly they realized I had no idea this was going on behind my back. It wasn’t that I didn’t pay attention; I’m just not a numbers girl. I’m a word girl. Upper level math makes no sense to me, taxes practically making me itch, and he had a master’s degree in business and accounting. I never thought twice about him taking on that task during our ten-year marriage. Until he was arrested, that is.

  Because of his crimes, everything was confiscated—our home, all the bank accounts, his 401K. Everything. Fortunately for me, my parents left a sizeable inheritance when they died a few years before the whole fiasco started. It legally couldn’t be touched in the seize, and that’s the only reason the kids and I were able to start fresh without worrying where we would live.

  I’m not happy about how I got the money. I would give it all back for my parents to be here with us, but I am grateful they had a good financial planner who knew exactly what to do when they died.

  I still need to work to make ends meet. There are still utilities and medications and other life necessities, but at least I was able to pay for our home outright. That takes a lot of the pressure off. And having a special needs teenager, it’s not like I can get a regular eight-to-five job. He has to be supervised at all times, and at seventeen years old, no daycare in the world will take him in.

  Oliver is a great kid, don’t get me wrong. He’s kind and loving and funny. But there were issues when he was born. His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck twice, forcing an emergency C-section. After we brought him home, everything seemed normal. He was a happy baby, and I loved being a mom. We trudged through the toddler years like everyone else and believed our sweet boy had come through his traumatic birth unscathed. But at about six years old, things started to change. He stopped maturing emotionally and became more defiant. Things stopped “clicking” for him, when they continued to click for the other kids.

  We’ve d
one multiple batteries of tests, all of which have been inconclusive, with the exception of confirmation he suffered a certain level of brain damage, likely linked back to oxygen deprivation at birth.

  All that being said, every day is a struggle when your child has the emotional maturity of an eight-year-old, with the impulse control to match, while living in the body of a hormonal seventeen-year-old. It can get rough. That’s one of the reasons I’m glad we’re finally in Flinton near family.

  Julie, on the other hand, my fifteen-year-old daughter, is a stereotypical teenager in every sense of the word. Well, maybe not totally stereotypical. She has a special needs brother and a dad in prison. She’s not normal at all.

  But what she is, is relatively easy. Compliant. Mild-mannered. She doesn’t like going to parties. She has a very small social circle, just a couple close friends. She loves trying new activities and being involved, but she doesn’t strive to be the best at them, just enjoys the participation and knowing lots of things about lots of things. It’s one of the characteristics I love about her. She has a thirst for knowledge.

  I know I shouldn’t rely on how steady she is because she’s my child and I’m the mother, but with all the other chaos that goes on around us, it’s nice having a low maintenance child. We can sit in the same room together and just be, without worrying about the other one having some sort of outburst.

  Don’t get me wrong. I don’t consider myself her friend at this stage in our lives. I’m her mother. My job is to guide her, even when she hates me for it. But in a situation like ours, I imagine it’s more of a unique kind of bond than in homes with greater stability. We rely on each other differently than most. It’s either going to help us get through the tumultuous years, or I’ll never see her again after she leaves for college. It remains to be seen which direction she goes. Especially now that we’ve moved.

  We haven’t had the opportunity to rest much lately. Between packing up our lives in Kansas, driving a moving truck down here while towing my car, which was an adventure in and of itself, and getting everyone enrolled in school, it’s been a whirlwind. At this point, at least, everyone seems to be adjusting well.

  In fact, while both kids are at school and things are calm, I better check in with my client.

  Sitting at my new desk in the open dining-room-turned-office, I grab my cell and get comfortable. I’ve always dreamed of having a home office with custom bookshelves around the room, and this area was perfect. Because it’s technically a formal dining room, I can see right into the living areas and keep an eye on things while I work. As soon as I claimed it for my office, I had bookshelves installed. Every time I sit in my chair and see the finished product, it makes me smile. As a freelance book editor, sometimes my clients will send me the finished product in paperback form, all pretty and usually signed. They finally, finally have a place to be displayed proudly, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment whenever I look up. I need that. It reminds me my hard work is worth it.

  I always wanted to work in a publishing house, and I did for a while when I first got married. But once Oli’s issues began to surface, there was no way for me to work. It’s impossible to hold down a job when you have to be on-call and available to go to your child’s school on a moment’s notice if he’s having a meltdown. It happens more frequently than any job would accommodate for. Not to mention summer break when there is no reprieve at all.

  Thankfully, that was around the time the self-publishing world took off and many of my financial issues were solved. Or at least helped. I got a few jobs with indie authors who didn’t want to spend years trying to get a publishing deal. They did it themselves, and I helped. Slowly but surely, I built a good reputation and gained new clients. And here I am, several years later, with a fairly successful business and clients who book several months out.

  My first client, Aggie, known to the world as Adeline Snow, was one of the first indie authors to hit the New York Times Best Seller list. She was almost immediately picked up by a publisher and technically doesn’t need me to do most of her editing anymore. But she’s a perfectionist and wants each manuscript to be as clean as possible before sending to her official editor. Enter me. A super beta, a content editor, her biggest supporter. However you want to spin it, I’m still part of her team and get to work on her books first.

  Plus, we’ve had a relationship for so long, we’ve become friends.

  It only takes a couple of rings before she picks up the phone. “How did you know I was suffering from a horrific case of writer’s block? Do you have super powers?”

  I chuckle under my breath. “Are you at the bookstore?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Are you staring at a cardboard cut-out of Spencer?”

  “No, really, are you stalking me? Where are you? You’re hiding behind one of the bookshelves, aren’t you?”

  This time I laugh out loud. “What if I told you I was standing right behind Spencer’s cardboard body, staring at you though the holes in his eyes?”

  “I’d tell you that was the creepiest thing you’ve ever said, and I may have to end this friendship.”

  I gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “No, I wouldn’t dare. But I really hope you’re not here because that would be weird, and I refuse to be involved if you get arrested for loitering.”

  “Well, you can relax, my friend. I am not stalking you. I’m sitting in my new office chair in my new office in my new house.” I swivel the chair, punctuating my point, even though she can’t see it.

  “Oooh! That sounds amazing! Did you get all your books unpacked?” I knew that was coming. Getting the bookshelf set up is every author’s priority in a move.

  “Sadly, I think I may not have enough shelving. I might need to get another custom one made.”

  “Those are the single greatest words you have ever said to me.”

  “I knew you’d appreciate it.” And I do. She might be a best-selling author, but she’s a reader first and foremost.

  “Seriously. I think I may have just had a Big O right in this bookstore.”

  Now the red flags go up. “You are making inappropriate comments in public. Exactly how bad is this block? If you drop the F-bomb, I’m flying out there to put you on a 5150-Hold at the local psych ward.”

  “Please don’t,” she groans. “I hear Courtney Love might be back in there, and she frightens me. I don’t want to be her bitch.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh my. This is bad.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Greer. I’m really stuck this time.”

  Shifting out of friend mode and into work mode, I put on my encourager cap. “First of all, it’s a psych ward, not a prison. No one will make you their bitch.”

  “You’ve never been there. You don’t know that for sure.”

  “Second,” I interrupt, ignoring her theatrics, “you say that every time, Adeline, and you’re never actually stuck. You only need a little bit of motivation.”

  “Which is why I’m here. I’m getting my motivation.”

  “Why don’t you buy your own cardboard cut-out of Spencer for your house?”

  “Because that would be creepy.”

  I quirk an eyebrow she can’t see. “No creepier than sitting in a public store staring at it from across the room.”

  What sounds like a thump, vibrates through the speaker. I assume it’s her head hitting the table in defeat. “I don’t know what to do, Greer.”

  “Well, let’s sort this out,” I say as I spin my favorite gel pen around my fingers. Which reminds me, I need to find the nearest office supply store. Pens, Post-it Notes, corkboards—they’re my weakness. It’s the one thing I miss about working in an actual office. It was like Christmas every time there was a delivery. “What do you have so far?”

  “He’s a surfer.”

  “Ooooh, surfing this time. I like it. You haven’t done that one yet. What else?”

  “That’s it. It’s all I have. He’s a surfer.”
<
br />   The pen freezes in my hand. “Adeline.”

  “Yes,” she says sheepishly.

  “Honey, you do know you’re supposed to have thirty thousand words to me in the next month.”

  “I know.” Another thud. “I’ve never been blocked this badly before. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m looking at my muse—right at him. Oh crap. I just got caught looking at my muse.”

  A laugh bursts out of me.

  “This isn’t funny. I can’t seem to get any inspiration, and I certainly can’t do it when I keep getting caught trying to find it.”

  “Maybe you need to find a new muse.”

  The sound of a shrill gasp crosses the line. “You take that back,” she whispers harshly, making me laugh.

  “Okay, okay, fine,” I respond, still chuckling. “Spencer is your muse. He will always be your muse. Why not take it a step further?”

  She gasps again. “I can’t write about what he actually does!”

  This is what I love about Adeline Snow. She’s quirky, odd, and a bit socially awkward. Known for creating heroes who are extreme sports gurus, she has cornered the market of Sports Romance. Yet, she refuses to touch skateboarding simply because she never wants anyone to find out all her books are inspired by Spencer Garrison, professional skateboarder, unknown muse and author of a new autobiography, which is why his cardboard form is sitting in a book store.

  I don’t know how she does it. How she makes different stories about different sports all because of one guy. It’s a talent. Spencer is a super hero in her eyes, and she can make him be anything she wants him to be.

  Hopefully, their paths will never cross. I’m not sure she’d ever recover if she found out he’s actually human.

  “Well, what about making the heroine a single mom?” I toss out, beginning our back and forth brainstorming.

  “Ugh. It’s been done.”

  “What if she’s older?”

  “Like a cougar story?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “I’m just not feeling it.”

  “How about a secret baby?”

  “Wait.” I can practically hear the gears turning in her head. “Like he left town to pursue his dream of being a pro surfer, and on his way across country, he has a one-night stand and doesn’t know he has a child until she finally tracks him down?”