Salvage, page 1
Contents
Acknowledgments
Author's Note
Prologue
1. Tale of Two Funerals
2. When Things Burn
3. Pee Is For Picasso
4. Tale of the Necklace
5. Just A Man And His Murder Board
6. Doctor Prescribed Ex
7. How To Fix… Broken Hearts
8. Introducing Violent Rose
9. Tale of the Lovies
10. How To Fix… Missing Your Ex
11. Alone Time With A Punching Bag
12. How To Fix… Eggshells
13. Stay For Dinner, Not Forever
14. How To Fix… Social Skills
15. Couple’s Costumes
16. Dresses and Zippers
17. Brawnan Sausage
18. Ordinary Chats
19. Cheese of the Gods
20. How To Fix… Once Upon A Time
21. Diamond Shoes Aren’t a Woman’s Best Friend
22. How To Fix… Social Interactions
23. Epic, Indeed
24. Puzzle Piece
25. Pause
26. Pull the Pin
27. There Are No Words
28. Egress
29. En Garde!
30. Grounded By The Whiskey
31. Feelings Hurt
32. Magic Game Room
33. You Win Some, You Lose Some
34. Singlehanded
35. Let’s Call ‘Em Tweaks
36. Something About A Truck
37. Epilogue
Bonus Scene
About the Author
You can find Alexa on social media at the following links:
Also by Alexa Gregory
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Copyright © 2021 by Alexa Gregory
Cover Art © 2021 by Madhat Studios
Formatted by Madhat Studios
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All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by an, including electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, companies, places, events, and incidents are either used in a fictitious manner or are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is purely coincidental.
High school sweethearts, a tragic accident, and a second chance to salvage their love.
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Three years ago, an accident ripped Rowan Walker’s life apart. He doesn’t recognize himself or his life. He’s no longer a boyfriend, volunteer firefighter, and friend. But he’s got a plan to make amends and get his life back on track. If he catches the Caribou River Arsonist, it will be his apology letter to his family. To Eastwood. To Violet.
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Violet Ross has always been a fighter, but the darkness in Rowan’s head never played fair. Now, Violet has to avoid the man she still loves. No easy feat. They share custody of their dogs, and he hasn’t technically moved out yet. Slowly, she lets Rowan back into her life, and her heart reminds her that she’s never been a quitter.
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Old hurts don’t stay hidden long when loss and grief follow them around. Violet might still have some fight left in her, but she can’t win Rowan’s battles for him. She has her own to contend with, something she thought was long gone and buried.
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This small-town second chance romance is the second book in the Caribou River series but can be read as a standalone.
Acknowledgments
Mr. Fire, my darling husband, my best friend, my dude. I say this ALL the time, but I don’t know what I would do without you by my side. You’re literally the best. Thanks for cheering me on and believing in me enough for the both of us sometimes. Thanks for all the Tesla and Edison pep talks. Plus de pigeons, malgré le nid d’oiseau sous le patio. Promis. I am so happy and so grateful share my life with you. Thanks for reminding me that I need to eat and leave the cave sometimes, lol. I love you so much.
Thanks to the L, who might not know just how many times she’s brought the tomatoes. Thanks to O for some pretty motivating videos and chats. I love you both.
Thanks to my amazing author friends who Get It. It’s nice to have unconventional coworkers who can panic and freak out with me! Makes things less lonely.
A massive thank you to my awesome editor, Devin Govaere, who always knows what to say when I’m in a tizzy about something. Poor her, it happens a lot.
I also want to thank Linda from Foreword PR & Marketing for her help, guidance, and patience. She also introduced me to the amazing Shari at Madhat Studios, who gave Salvage its beautiful cover. Thanks for the awesome book clothes.
I tip my hat to all of the small Ontarian towns I borrowed from to make my fictional Caribou River small towns. Those long drives inspire me so much.
And finally, thank you, dear reader. Thanks for reading Rowan and Violet’s story. Welcome to the Caribou River!
Author's Note
This book takes place in Canada, and as such, temperatures are given in Celsius. That means 40 degrees is 104 degrees Fahrenheit; -15 degrees is 5 degrees Fahrenheit. Yes, it gets that hot and that cold in the Great White North.
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Trigger Warning
This book contains some discussions of suicide, drug abuse, and miscarriages. If these topics are triggering, please read with care. Your wellbeing comes first. Always.
For Mr. Fire,
Prologue
Rowan
Nineteen Years Ago
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I was fourteen years old when I realized I was in love with Violet Ross.
It hit me square in the heart before ringing through my soul. Not only was I completely head over heels for one of my best friends, I knew she was my forever.
Violet was my destiny.
It wasn’t a particularly special day. Actually, it was a regular summer's day, like thousands we shared before.
As the sun beamed onto the murky green Caribou River, we easily forgot it wasn't the cleanest. The water shimmered like jewels; its blossoms of bright light crowned us the kings and queens of our own little world.
It was the playground of our lives. We jumped into the rushing rapids in the summer or ran across its frozen veneer in the winter. It was woven through the landscape of Eastwood. Of our lives, too.
Violet and I shared a lot of moments on the banks of the Caribou River.
My love-addled adolescent brain didn’t know what made this moment so different, but it was. It really was. From the tips of my soaked hair all the way down to my toes, I knew.
I just knew.
The breeze hit my wet limbs, but it did nothing to shake me out of it. There I stood, dripping onto the burning cement, falling in love with a girl I'd known my whole life.
She was there my – our – first day of school in a pink floral dress her mother forced her into. She was there when I fell off the monkey bars and lost my first tooth. She was there when my parents finally brought my baby sister home. There were more moments with Violet than without her.
I wanted it to be like that forever.
Maybe I always loved her without knowing it. Not completely. Not like this. Or perhaps this was a new kind of love. Something Violet awoke in me.
Around us, our friends launched themselves off the bridge into the cool fast currents of the Caribou River with childish mirth. They swam to the shore and ran up the small hill to jump back in. Their happy screams echoed across the blazing heat, laughs and shouts drowning out the incessant chirps of the cicadas.
At least no one could hear the breakneck rhythm of my heart over the din.
The sun shone down onto Violet's hair, painting the black strands with shades of blue that nearly matched her eyes. Her creamy pale skin flushed with the beginning of a sunburn. I passed her a bottle of sunscreen with a grin. Our fingers brushed like a million times before. It was different now that I knew I loved her.
Violet squeezed lotion into her hand and rubbed it into her cheeks and forehead. With a ball in my throat and no desire to breathe until I touched her, I reached out to wipe a streak from the tip of her nose.
"Thanks." She smiled, handing the tube back. Her one-piece swimsuit, a bright purple number, stretched tight across her body, made me shiver despite the swelter.
"The current is changing." She pointed to the increasing churn below us. "The rapids are coming. We should stop." She watched her older brother warily, knowing Craig was as stubborn as her. He would vehemently disagree and keep swimming until he decided he was done. Rapid current, be damned.
Violet was the sole girl in our group of friends, but she was also the (only) voice of reason. If it wasn't for her calming and rational influence, we would get into way more trouble. Craig never listened to her, though. He had the scars and tales to prove it, not that he cared much.
"Come on, Vi." I closed my fingers around hers, tugging her toward the bridge. "We’ve got at least fifteen minutes. Jump in. The water’s fine.” I shook my wet hair, sending drops flying into the air. Her shocked gasp made me chuckle. She decked me in the shoulder while giving me a very Violet-like smolder. I adored her annoyed glances. Especially now.
“That’s freezing. You’re an ass.” She grinned when I did it again, and I loved her even more.
“Jump with me.” I didn’t know if I was asking her to swim or if she loved me too.
Pro
She sighed, scrutinizing the waves below. The cloudy verdant flow steadily increased from a slow, lazy current to a dangerous parade of white-peaked waves. Jumping from the bridge near the Reid Farm was perfectly safe most of the time, but there was a two-hour window in the afternoon when the tide became traitorous. It was an unwritten rule: do not jump from around 1:30 until the ebb decreased. Time inched by, bringing with it the rapids that would make leaping from the bridge dangerous, if not fatal.
“I’m going in,” I announced, hopping over the ledge to stand on the other side of the rusted metal railing.
I felt Violet roll her eyes like she so often did when one of us did something idiotic. In her opinion, it happened a lot. In ours? Not so much. I guess that’s the difference between boys and girls. Her sense of self-preservation was way more developed.
I turned to face her and winked. The curve of her cheeks turned bright red. I hoped it wasn’t because of the sun. “Save me, Vi.” I let go of the ledge and fell forward.
Air whizzed by my ears, deafening, until I hit the frigid depths. My body sank deep into the green tide, and I immediately kicked my legs, moving my arms to the same rhythm. I surfaced, gulping a breath. My body revolted against the cold. My balls retreated into my body in punishment for letting them catch a chill.
I shielded my gaze from the blaring sun to look up to the bridge. Violet clung to the side of the bridge with a stern stare.
“Are you coming in, or what?”
“Vi’s a chicken,” Colson chortled before breaking out in loud bok-boks in the weirdest poultry imitation ever.
“Yeah.” Viktor joined in the chirps.
“Had a nightlight till last year,” Craig added smugly like only an older brother could do.
Violet clutched the rail with one hand, flipping them off with the other. I grinned because Violet was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, but when she stared someone down with that blue scrutiny of hers, anger mixing in with her annoyance, she was downright irresistible. The icy river didn’t worry my balls anymore.
“Dude,” I warned the guys. “Don’t be dicks.” I splashed them all in warning.
But of course, their questioning of Violet’s bravery worked its magic. She wouldn’t have her courage challenged by the likes of us. She let go of the rail, and her body fell like an arrow toward me. She squeaked out in shock before being fully submerged.
I counted the seconds before she emerged, worried for a mere instant. She surfaced with a winning smirk, her impossibly darker hair slicked onto her head. She swam toward me with purple and trembling lips.
“Fuck me. It’s freezing. How can it be this damn cold when it’s forty degrees outside?”
I laughed, floating toward her. I didn’t mean to, but I constantly found myself drawn to Violet. I understood now. It was that love thing that led me to her. Whenever she was near, a strong magnetic pull drew me to her. Under the waves, her arms and legs brushed against mine. If the water was frozen before, it was suddenly a boiling bath.
“You shouldn’t let ‘em rile you up like that.”
Vi arched a brow at me. “I could kick Colson’s ass in the ring. Craig’s, too. I don’t need to prove shit to any of them.”
I chuckled and reached for her hand. Our fingers touched, interlacing for a brief second before the current pulled us apart. “No one can beat you in the ring, Vi. That’s what being the champion is all about.”
She snorted and clicked her tongue. “I’m not the champion. I just like to win.”
“Ya don’t say?” I teased because if Violet was recognized for the signature Ross blue eyes, she was renowned for her competitive spirit.
All of Eastwood knew that Violet hung out with the guys, herding us like her own pack of disobedient kittens. She kept up with us, choosing not to lap us twice over. But she was also the common-sense machine for us. If it wasn’t for Violet, some of us would be missing eyebrows and fingers for all of the trouble we got into.
“Do you think you’ll come watch my next tournament?” Her lips, the color of her name, trembled so hard it was difficult to make out her words.
I reached out and tucked her into my side. She came willingly, her body pressed against mine. I swallowed hard, keenly aware that every single pore reacted to her proximity. A dangerous thing for a fourteen-year-old.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I vowed. “I fucking love watching you win competitions.”
“Cool.” She licked her lips, her gaze catching mine. “If I win, maybe we could do something to celebrate.”
“Yeah? Like what? Might as well make plans now. You’ll win, Vi. You always do.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Rowan. We should go to the movies or something.” Violet didn’t add that she wanted it to be only the two of us. She didn’t need to.
I understood as I always did. I spoke fluent Violet.
“Next weekend is all yours.” I promised her every weekend for the rest of my life.
Under the water, her hand clutched mine. “I’m done with this. Wanna ditch these morons and go to my place?”
“Yeah.” The answer was barely out of my mouth than I’d towed us to the shore.
It was the first time we broke away from the gang to spend time alone, but it was definitely not the last. In fact, it became par for the course.
Rowan and Violet.
Together.
Like it was meant to be.
1
Tale of Two Funerals
Rowan
Seventeen Years Ago
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John and Sheena Ross sat on the loveseat, their shoulders glued together, their hands gripped tight. If one moved, the other would fall. John’s face was ashen with deep purple bruises under his eyes. Sheena, who was typically a force, looked teeny. The sofa would have swallowed her if John let go. Her throat bobbed up and down with sobs she wouldn’t let loose. Every time it looked like she was going to cry, she glanced over to Janet, Craig’s biological mother.
Janet was a ghost of a woman. Her pale, rail-thin body was wrapped in a black dress a few sizes too big for her. She’d long since stopped wiping her tears. They pooled on her lap.
Violet grabbed a few tissues and walked them over to Janet. The grieving mother took them without recognizing what they were, only balling them up in her fists. I wondered, for one uncomfortable and judgmental second, if Janet was on something. Hand to the fire, if I took a whiff of her, she’d smell like hard liquor and harder drugs.
It wasn’t a kind thing to think, but the woman hardly did her part to protect Craig.
Maybe if she hadn’t been so damn caught up with booze and drugs, Craig would still be alive right now. He wouldn’t have started his own twisted love affair with illegal substances and trouble.
He wouldn’t be buried six feet in the ground.
His death wouldn’t be a mystery, sure to plague us for years to come.
Like a lot of people gathered in the Ross home today, I blamed Janet.
If she had stayed gone, if she hadn’t come back into Craig’s life, none of this would’ve happened. But Janet had blazed back into her son’s life shortly after his fifth birthday, demanding custody.
