Come to Me Quietly

Come to Me Quietly by A. L. Jackson


For my family. Nothing is worth doing if I don’t do it for you.



Acknowledgments


I have a few very special people who I would like to thank:

My momma… who always supports me… no matter what.

Katie, because you know I couldn’t do this without you.

Molly, Kristen, and Rebecca for sprinting with me every morning and listening to me whine that you all write way faster than I do.


Kevan Lyon for working with me through a brand-new experience, for your patience in answering all of my questions, and for the advice you give. I’m so thankful for you.

Claire Zion of New American Library for helping Come to Me Quietly become what it is today. Thank you for taking a chance on me.

I would also like to say a special thank-you to Robyn Rosenberg. Robyn participated in a fund-raiser hosted by My Secret Romance for Vicki Rose Stewart, who was undergoing treatment for cancer. Robyn won the opportunity to name a character in one of my books. As you all meet Augustyn Moore in the pages of Come to Me Quietly, know Robyn picked a very special name for her in honor of this awesome fund-raiser.



Prologue



Dashed lines blur until they become a solid line. My bones vibrate from the thousands of miles I’ve spent straddling this leather seat, the muscles in my right arm screaming from the hours my hand has been locked on the throttle.

But I don’t stop. I can’t, and I don’t know why. Something in my gut spurs me forward. I plow ahead.

Hot air blasts my face and my hair thrashes in uncontrolled chaos.

I bite back a bitter laugh.

Uncontrolled chaos. That’s exactly how they described me.

The desert sky goes on forever, an ocean of the deepest blue. The city rises like a beacon in the distance. Because I am drawn.

What am I doing?

There is nothing here for me. I know it. I’ve already destroyed it all. I destroy everything I touch.

Still I can do nothing but press on.



ONE


Aleena



I was propped up on my bed with my sketch pad balanced on my bent knees. Megan was doing her best not to laugh from where she sat cross-legged at the end of my bed, bouncing.

“Hold still,” I commanded, biting my bottom lip as I attempted to get her mouth just right. The shading was difficult, and I wanted it perfect. Megan had the most genuine smile of any person I’d ever met. I refused to mess it up.

“But I have to pee,” she whined. She bounced a little harder. She couldn’t hold it in any longer, and she released this hysterical laugh as she rolled off the edge of my bed. “I’ll be right back.”



With a groan, I tossed my sketch pad to the bed. “You’re such a pain in my ass, Megan,” I called after her as she ran out my door and across the hall to the bathroom. She’d gotten up to pee at least three times in the last hour. The girl could not sit still to save her life.

“That’s why you love me so much,” she yelled back.

The bathroom door slammed behind her, and I picked the pad back up to study it.

Megan’s striking face stared back at me, smiling, her normally long blond hair traced in shades of charcoal, her normally blue eyes wide and black.

She’d been my best friend since she’d moved here from Rhode Island during our sophomore year of high school almost five years ago. I loved drawing her because she was so different than the typical model who offered herself up. She was short, just shy of the five-two mark, wore her curves well, and had a unique face. It was somehow both sweet and curious, this constant expression that made me think of innocence trying to work itself out.