Beneath the Surface, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Laurie Harrison
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at www.laurieharrisonauthor.com
Cover Designer: Laurie Harrison
Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7332859-9-5
Emerald Rain Publishing LLC
7643 Gate Parkway, Ste. 104-156
Jacksonville, FL 32256
For Melissa.
This story contains content that might be troubling to some readers, including, but not limited to, references and depictions of child abuse, sexual abuse, domestic violence, and death. Reader discretion is advised.
CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS BY LAURIE HARRISON
ONE
Jax | Present
Hannah Parker is going to be the death of me. The thought creeps into my head as I read an email from Professor Campos and see Hannah’s name listed next to mine.
It’s bad enough that I’m being forced to complete this ridiculous project. It’s insufferable to think that I’m paired up with her to do it.
I get out of the car and shove my phone into my pocket. I walk up to Libby’s, a small diner located less than a quarter of a mile from the Beaufort University campus. The food is decent, and the service is lightning fast, making it the perfect spot to grab a quick bite between classes.
As I reach the door to Libby’s, I see my roommate, Miguel, already seated inside. He looks up and gives me a friendly wave as I approach. Without a word, I slide into the booth, sitting across from him.
“Great. You’re in a worse mood than usual.” His tone is thick with sarcasm, but I choose to ignore it.
I snatch up the menu laid out in front of me. “What are we having?”
He closes his menu and sets it down on the table. “I’m having grilled chicken tenders and a salad.” He assesses my frown. “But I suspect you’ll be ordering a burger.”
I nod, then pick up our menus and shove them into a metal holder at the end of the table. “Don’t give me any shit about my cholesterol, Doc. It’s been a rough day.”
Miguel is premed and already acts like he’s my doctor. He warns me almost every day to take better care of myself, but I’m only twenty-one years old, so I ignore him. There will be plenty of time for eating vegetables and deep breathing exercises later. For now, lifting weights at the gym and jogging three times a week will have to suffice.
He laughs as he folds his hands on top of the table. “Jax, it’s not even noon yet. How bad of a day could you possibly be having? I saw you less than two hours ago.”
I don’t respond because I’m not in the mood to talk about it. But as he sits there expectantly, waiting for me to continue, I know he isn’t going to let it go.
“You know that stupid get to know yourself class I signed up for? The one that was supposed to be an easy elective?”
“Introduction to Psychology of Personality,” he corrects me.
It’s sad that he knows my class schedule better than I do.
“Whatever. Well, Campos is giving us an assignment to get to know someone else. Give you one guess who I got paired with.”
“Hannah.” His eyes widen, then light up with amusement. “Of course this is about Hannah.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before he can respond, our waitress, an older woman with graying hair pulled back into a long braid, walks up to our table to take our order. I disregard Miguel’s grimace when I add an order of fries to my burger.
When she’s gone, Miguel immediately picks up our conversation where we left off. “So, what are you going to do?”
I haven’t thought that far ahead, but I blurt out the first solution that comes to mind. “I’m going to drop the class.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t do that. You’re past the deadline.”
“Then, I guess I’ll fail because there’s no way in hell I’m going to spend three days with her.”
The second I say it, I know it’s a lie. Failing the class isn’t an option. I’m already on academic probation. One slipup, and I’m out. The only reason they haven’t already expelled me is that my stepfather, Paul, is a highly respected alumni donor, but even he can only do so much to counteract all the times I’ve messed up over the past three years.
Miguel frowns, but doesn’t reply.
After a few seconds, I say, “I’m going to talk to Campos and see if I can switch to another partner. It’s a long shot, but maybe I can convince her somehow.”
The waitress places two glasses of water on the table.
Miguel takes a slow sip as he considers his response. “Is it really the end of the world? Yeah, you and Hannah have some bad blood, but that was a long time ago, right? Can’t you just put it behind you?”
I’ve never given Miguel all the details about my history with Hannah. I’ve never given them to anyone. It all happened so many years ago that, thankfully, other than my family and Miguel, no one in my life knows we were once friends.
“That’s out of the question. Campos is not only requiring us to spend time together, but I also have to write an entire paper on her personality.” I can’t do that. Absolutely not. “I’ll just tell Campos that Hannah is my very recent ex-girlfriend and I’m completely devastated by our breakup and I can’t be objective on the assignment.”
It’s not true, of course. Hannah and I have never dated, but maybe I can appeal to Campos’s softer side, assuming she has one.
“What makes you think that will work?”
The waitress returns, dropping off our food.
Miguel cringes as I reach down and pick up my burger. Grease drips from each side of the bun.
“I can be very charming.” I take a large bite and smile at him.
After lunch, I drive over to Campos’s office. She’ll be there for the next fifteen minutes, according to her schedule. It’s time to see if she was serious about this whole open-door policy thing.
As I walk down the hall toward her office, I notice the door is partially open. Light from inside spills out into the hallway, giving me hope I haven’t already missed her.
I approach the door and hear voices coming from inside. Keeping out of sight, I stop and listen.
“Please, Professor, I’m begging you to reconsider.”
I groan quietly, recognizing the voice. I’d know her voice anywhere.
“Hannah, you are one of my best students, and I empathize with you. I really do,” Campos says. “But if I change your partner, I’d have to change someone else’s, and that’s just not fair to your classmates. I can’t redo the entire list because you’re upset that I paired you with an ex-boyfriend.”
I perk up. To be honest, I didn’t think Hannah had it in her, but apparently, she came up with the same sob story I did. If Hannah can manage to dig up some tears and tell Campos how traumatic our “breakup” was, then maybe Campos will cave and reassign us.
“Oh, we never dated,” Hannah replies too quickly and with a huff, as if insulted by the thought.
What the fuck, Hannah?
She just blew it.
“I’m very sorry, but you’re going to have to complete the assignment with Jax,” Campos says, her tone filled with sympathetic regret. “Unless …”
“Unless what?” Hannah asks, sounding hopeful, if not a little desperate.
“Are you frightened of Jax? I know of his reputation. Because if you are, that changes things.”
Frightened?
Jeez, I get in two—okay, three—fights on campus and people think I’m a crazed lunatic.
Still, I hold my breath as I lean closer to the door, awaiting Hannah’s response—unsure of her answer. Hell, she could say yes just to get out of the assignment. And there’s always the possibility that she is scared of me.
After what seems like an eternity, Hannah finally replies, “No. I’m not afraid of Jax.”
“Are you certain?”
Hannah sighs. “Yes.”
At the sound of a bag being zipped up, I realize it’s likely time for Campos to leave for her next class. Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, I head back down the hall and through the double doors leading outside.
My first instinct is to get out of there completely, but I wait at
A few minutes later, she does. She spots me and cautiously descends the stairs. The scent of coconut with subtle traces of orange blossom fills my nostrils the second the wind hits her long blonde hair.
As she clears the bottom step, I witness her expression turn indifferent, as if my presence flipped a switch on from inside her brain. This look is one that she reserves especially for me. It’s like her face turns to stone, completely void of any emotion. It’s rare that I get under her skin enough for her to break it.
“You couldn’t have just lied for once in your life and told Campos we’re going through a nasty breakup?” I ask.
Hannah, who’s about five foot five, cranes her neck to look up at me, turning her slate-blue eyes upward to meet mine. Without a doubt, she’s surprised that I’m talking to her. I can count on one hand the number of conversations we’ve had since our friendship ended seven years ago. But she holds her composure, not showing that she cares either way.
“I suppose lying doesn’t come as naturally to me as it does to you.” Her expression is emotionless, but there’s a smugness in her tone. “For the record, I’m not thrilled about being stuck with you either. So, let’s just plan to get it over with as quickly as possible, okay?”
The entire assignment is stupid, so I haven’t even read the details yet; however, I couldn’t agree more. Let’s do it and be done.
“Fine. When do we start?”
“Tomorrow. The paper is due next Wednesday. That gives us tomorrow, Saturday, and Sunday to meet up and work through the assignment and then Monday and Tuesday to write our papers.”
Of course she already has it all planned out. How very Hannah of her.
“Okay. What do we have to do tomorrow?” Being at her mercy to get the project completed makes me uneasy.
She pushes her slender shoulders back, straightening her posture, likely because she recognizes the small shift in power. “Questions and answers. It’s two days of that and then one activity.”
It sounds miserable, but I have no choice.
“Great,” I reply flatly. “Meet you at the campus coffee shop at eight a.m., before class.”
After I say it, I hope she doesn’t pick up on the fact that I know she doesn’t have a class until nine thirty a.m. on Fridays.
“See you then,” she replies, less than enthused, before turning and walking away.
I’ve got a full afternoon of classes, so I decide to head that way, which, thankfully, is in the opposite direction from where Hannah’s going. As I walk across campus, I can’t get the memories of my childhood—the ones of Hannah specifically—off repeat as they play out in my head. And I know tonight will be yet another sleepless night of thinking about her.
TWO
Hannah | Past
My stomach twists into knots as I stand on the Reynolds’ doorstep. I’ve never stayed the night at a stranger’s house before. Of course, Mrs. Reynolds isn’t a stranger to my dad. He’d never leave me with someone he didn’t know, but the fact that I’ve never met her has me feeling like I want to throw up.
Dad glances down at me. “It’ll be fine, Banana. Cindy’s an amiable lady. I promise.”
I nod, but with reservation. Mrs. Reynolds is one of Dad’s employees, but he hasn’t known her long. “She has a kid my age?”
Dad mentioned it earlier, but I was so busy freaking out that I didn’t really catch any of the details.
“Her son is your age. You might know him from school.”
I rack my brain, trying to remember someone with the last name Reynolds, but come back empty. I’ve only been at the school for a couple of weeks, and I don’t know too many people yet.
“She has a daughter too,” Dad offers, trying to ease my concern. “She’s a little older. High school, I think.”
Before I can ask any additional questions, the door opens, and a woman appears in the doorway. She greets us with a warm smile as she brushes a strand of dark hair from her face.
“You must be Hannah,” she says, extending her hand out to shake mine. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Her hand is warm and comforting, but rougher than my mom’s was.
“Thank you for letting me stay,” I reply, feeling a mixture of gratitude and reluctance.
I don’t necessarily want to be here, but the alternative would’ve been to stay at home alone for two days, and I’m pretty sure twelve-year-olds shouldn’t do that.
“I really appreciate this, Cindy,” Dad says as Mrs. Reynolds reaches out to take my overnight bag from him.
“It’s no trouble at all.” She turns back to me. “My son is going to be excited to have someone to hang out with.”
I hope that’s true. I’ve never really hung out with a boy before. All my friends were girls before we moved. Here in Beaufort, South Carolina, I don’t have any friends yet, so even a boy sounds better than no one.
After Dad gives me a hug and we say our goodbyes, I follow Mrs. Reynolds into the house.
“We have a guest bedroom all ready for you down the hall,” she says, walking past me.
I trail behind, trying not to be obvious as I take in the surroundings that will be my home for the next couple of days.
The house is modest and minimal, but spotless. My mom always kept our house clean, but this home is pristine. It’s not until we get to the hallway and I notice family pictures hanging on the wall that it feels like a family lives here. The house just isn’t homey.
I pause briefly at one particular picture on the wall. A little boy, who I assume is her son, is about four years old at the beach. He holds a large beach ball in his arms as he smiles at the camera. His front two teeth are missing. He probably hates this picture now. I silently recall how I begged Dad not to hang up my baby pictures when he was decorating our new house.
A few inches below the frame, I notice a hole in the wall. It’s at least six inches wide, and I can’t help but wonder why they haven’t fixed it yet. The imperfection seems out of place in such an impeccable home.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Mrs. Reynolds stopped farther down the hall. I don’t want her to think I’m weird for looking at her family pictures, so I hurry to catch up.
She opens the door to a room. “You’ll sleep in here. The bathroom is right there.” She points to another closed door that I already passed in the hall, but didn’t notice because I was too busy looking at the photo. “All the other bedrooms are upstairs, so it should be nice and quiet for you down here.”
I follow her into the room, taking it all in. She places my overnight bag on top of the twin bed as I run my hand over the soft floral quilt that covers it.
“Mom, I’m going to Jeremy’s,” a girl yells from somewhere in the house.
“Cassidy, come here,” Mrs. Reynolds says. “I’m in the guest room.”
A moment later, a tall, skinny girl with curly, shoulder-length brown hair appears in the doorway. She throws her hand on her hip, making her bracelets clank together. She glances at me and then looks expectantly at Mrs. Reynolds. “What do you want? I’m late.”
Instinctively, I raise my eyebrows. Are the Reynolds kids allowed to talk to their parents like that? If I attempted that, my dad would ground me for life.
Apparently, it’s completely acceptable because Mrs. Reynolds ignores the comment and motions to me. “Cassidy, I want you to meet my boss’s daughter, Hannah. She’s going to stay here for the next couple of days while her dad is away on a business trip.”
Cassidy shoots me a half smile. “Hey.” Then, she returns her attention to her mother. “Can I go now?”
Mrs. Reynolds nods. I can sense that she is dissatisfied with her daughter’s greeting but lets it go.
Cassidy practically runs away as Mrs. Reynolds smiles at me again. It feels more forced than before. Mrs. Reynolds seems nice enough and is clearly trying to be polite, but her attempted reassurance only makes me more nervous.
“Want to meet my son, Jax?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply.
I follow Mrs. Reynolds back down the hall, and as we pass the living room, I notice a man sitting in the recliner, watching TV with a beer in his hand. He wasn’t there before. I glance at the clock and confirm it’s only ten a.m. Dad drinks a beer now and then, mainly when there’s a football game on TV, but I can’t recall him ever having one this early in the day.
