Love Always, Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people-living or dead, real locales is entirely coincidental and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Love Always, Copyright © 2015 by:

  Sonya Loveday and Candace Knoebel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  Cover design by Naijla Quimber Designs.

  Interior book design by Candace Knoebel.

  Edited by Cynthia Shepp.

  ISBN-13: 978-1516813841

  ISBN-10: 1516813847

  First Edition

  Published by:

  Sonya Loveday and Candace Knoebel

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  STANDING IN FRONT OF THE bathroom mirror with my left eye pried wide open, I added the thin, brown covering, blinking to set it in place.

  Just like every other day at the same time, I was showered and ready for whatever schedule had been set for me. Like clockwork. Exactly how my life had always been.

  Washcloth at the ready, I wiped the automatic tears that happened every time I stuck my finger anywhere close to my eyes… the whole time wondering why on earth it mattered so much to my mother that my eyes be perfectly brown. It was a thought that passed briefly through my mind every single time.

  But, so long as Mother was happy, I supposed that was all that really mattered.

  With the other contact settled neatly in place, I tidied up the bathroom, fixing the towel just that quarter inch to make it hang straight on the towel bar. Closed the shower curtain and then folded the washcloth, placing it neatly on the corner of the sink before leaving the bathroom.

  Flipping my wallet open, I double-checked that the keycard to my room was snuggly where I’d left it the previous day and then folded the pre-planned itinerary, putting it in my right front pocket.

  The timeframes rattled off in my head like a ticking clock. A game of tennis at eleven, lunch with Mother at twelve-thirty, and after that, oddly enough, my schedule was clear until dinner at six.

  Every so often, that would happen. Usually it was due to Mother or Father having a last-minute appointment. However, we were on vacation, so it was possible they’d intended to surprise me with a block of leisure time to roam the grounds of the resort.

  The resort was brand new, having been built over the last four years by Lyle Kennedy—a good friend of my father’s, and a multi-billionaire. While Lyle had no family connections with the world-renowned Kennedys, he was just as known, business affluently, for his diamond mines and, as of late, his newest business adventure—Diamond Isle Resort.

  After that, my father, a sound businessman himself, changed our yearly vacation from Martha’s Vineyard to the Diamond Isle Resort, located within the Hamptons, without blinking an eye or discussing it with the family.

  On the other hand, I wasn’t as thrilled to make the change in landscape. I had been looking forward to seeing the handful of friends I’d made over the years one last time before I started out for college. A summer farewell to the life I knew as I journeyed into the one I’d finally have a say over.

  But, considering it was my last summer before college, I didn’t protest. Not that I ever would. Not that it would even make a difference, for that matter. It just wasn’t to be, so it was best for me to put aside the remorse for a summer lost from seeing my friends, and try to look on the bright side.

  Freedom was weeks away.

  Moving over to the dresser mirror, I gave myself one more thorough inspection, smoothing the collar of my light, yellow polo shirt down before heading out to my eleven o’clock tennis match.

  The resort sat on a beautiful piece of property at the end of Long Island, and catered to business moguls and celebrity lifestyles. In a nutshell, it was a prime area for upturned noses and high-dollar golf bags.

  But… if you got far enough away from the scent of money… you could fill your lungs with the priceless tang of salty air and an open sense of freedom. Something I planned on doing with my window of free time later today.

  Strolling down the brick, herringbone-patterned walkway, I passed a pergola nestled in what looked like a thriving flower garden. Newly planted pink and white rose blooms bursting from each plant in all their stemmed glory gave the ladies taking tea something to talk about. Nestled in the flowerbeds were butterfly bushes of bright yellow, along with other types of flora and fauna that I had no name for, but they were certainly elegant to look at.

  Keeping to the path, I made my way past the tittering ladies with a slight wave and continued on past the country club entrance to the tennis courts. The fencing gleamed against the bright sunlight, making me wish I had thought to grab my sunglasses before heading out for my appointed game.

  The dull throb of a ball connecting with a racquet sounded off as I drew closer and, as always, it did nothing to stir the excitement in me. There weren’t many out on the court. Most had come earlier to get their game in before the heat of the day made playing uncomfortable.

  Unfortunately for me, Mother refused to schedule me in before ten AM until my game improved.

  It didn’t matter that I’d asked her to stop scheduling tennis lessons altogether, using the argument I’d taken lessons for well over five years and, over all that time, my game had never really improved.

  Time wouldn’t help it because, truth be told, tennis just wasn’t something I enjoyed.

  Of course, admitting that to her had gone over like a lead balloon, and I was firmly put in my place as she told me that gentlemen were well-versed in things such as tennis. That, should I care to stay in her good graces and her will, I would continue taking the lessons and learn how to like it.

  But I couldn’t care less about learning to like it, or her will.

  What I did care about was her. I strived to make her happy… make her proud, so I continued on with the lessons, suffering through each one until she realized no matter how much she wanted me excel at it, I would never be a tennis player. Professional or otherwise.

  With a resigned sigh, I opened the latched door and made my way over to the activities director, who was holding his clipboard loosely at his side.

  Seeing me, he smiled, asking. “Phillip?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m Travis, your instructor.”

  Shaking his hand, I returned his smile. “Nice to meet you, Travis.”

  Travis hung the clipboard up
on a hook just beside the door and gestured for me to follow him as he carried on the conversation. “Eleven o’clock, huh? A little later than normal, but less crowded, I suppose.”

  “Mother set this up,” I answered dully.

  He gave me an odd look, and it was then that I heard, for the first time in my life, just how pathetic that sounded.

  Here I was, eighteen years old, still taking orders from my mother. Still just as desperate to please her as I was as a child. But I wasn’t a child anymore, and no matter how many birthdays rolled around, she never once let go of the strings she used to keep me dancing to her carefully orchestrated plans.

  I endured all of it, hoping that one day, she’d finally look at me and love what she saw, rather than seeing the flaws she felt she needed to fix.

  “It’s easier to just go along with it since she’s so set on me learning the game,” I said, trying my best to shrug it off and make it sound like I was placating her.

  He smirked in my direction, but he kept his thoughts about that to himself. “Tennis really isn’t your thing, is it?”

  It was really a statement, not a question, but I answered him nonetheless. “No, it really isn’t.”

  “Well, let’s just go have some fun then and save us both the headache,” Travis replied as he picked up a racquet and handed it to me.

  “I’d appreciate that very much,” I answered, giving him a smile that spread across my face from ear to ear.

  Usually, when I admitted how I really felt about tennis, I ended up with a list of reasons why men are better men when they knew how to play the game and play it well. I’d endured countless lessons that way with no better understanding of why it made men better.

  It was a ball and racquet, not some sort of world takeover.

  Travis bounced the tennis ball against the court as I spun my racquet in my hands, ready to get the hour over with.

  “Take that end so the sun isn’t in your eyes and hit the ball when it gets to your side. Think you can handle that?” he asked as he stopped on his spot.

  “Sounds easy enough,” I said over my shoulder as I crossed the court.

  First serve, and I nailed the ball so hard it flew over the side of the chain link fence and bounced along the manicured lawn. From where I stood, I could see Travis turn and cup his hand over his eyes, watching the ball come to a rolling stop underneath a row of hedges planted along the walkway to the back of the country club.

  “Damn! You should have taken up baseball instead of tennis.”

  Embarrassment, a go-to emotion ingrained in me by Mother, flooded out of me on a deep sigh as the yellow ball flew past my head, almost clipping my ear.

  “Heads up!” Travis yelled a little too late.

  Jogging over, I picked up the ball and served it back with a little less power than before.

  “Fun, Phillip… you’re supposed to be having fun!” Travis called out from his side of the court as he caught the ball in his hand. “You’re staying at one of the most prestigious resorts in the area… not a prison. And besides, I haven’t had a single student leave this court without a smile on their face. I’d hate to end that streak with you.”

  With a slight shake of my head, I gripped the racquet a little tighter in my hand, hoping it wouldn’t slip out of my sweaty grip.

  “I can see you’re still not having fun,” Travis cajoled as he bounced the ball against the court. “Would it kill you to let go… even just a little bit?”

  “Let go?” I had no idea what he meant.

  “Yeah, let go. You know, have fun? Just play without worrying what you look like. How you’re hitting the ball. If your follow through will get you a point?” Travis walked up to the net and set his racquet down, and then backed up to the center of the court.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he turned sideways and held the ball like a pitcher.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? Get ready to hit this,” he said, letting the ball fly from his hand.

  Before I could think too much about it, the ball came at me, and my racquet reflexively swung.

  “Ladies and gentleman… this could… Go. All. The. Way!” he called out like a baseball announcer as we both watched the ball sail through the air, over the back of the fence, and then disappear behind the covered sitting area at the back of the tennis court.

  Back and forth we went, until I lost track of time. Until the smile on my face felt natural instead of forced.

  “Yep. Tennis lessons are over,” Travis said a little while later, both of us sweating in the midday heat “You’re a baseball player through and through,” Travis said with a chortled laugh as he picked up his racquet and gestured me to follow him to the covered area.

  Baseball. Who knew? I thought to myself.

  Thankfully, there hadn’t been anyone else out on the court to witness whatever that was. Because it definitely hadn’t been a tennis lesson. My first thought was that Mother would be so angry if she knew what had transpired. My second was that I’d never, in my entire life, had that much fun on a tennis court.

  Travis had walked off with our racquets, gesturing for me to take a seat in the shade. When he came back, he carried two waters. He gave me one as he sat across from me at the table.

  “I don’t get it,” he said, twisting the cap off his water and taking a long sip.

  “Get what?” I asked, waiting for him to answer.

  “Why do something you don’t want to do? Seems like a waste of time to me,” he replied, quirking his brow at me.

  He wasn’t much older than I was as far as I could tell. With his embroidered polo and neatly groomed appearance, he fit in with the whole country-club look, but then again, looks could be deceiving, so I asked, “What about you? I’m sure teaching tennis lessons can’t be what you aspire to.”

  His lips twisted into a wry grin. “Nah, this only helps pay my college tuition.”

  “You work and go to college?” I asked in surprise.

  He pegged me with a hard stare. “And why wouldn’t I?”

  I’d meant no offense. I’d just never thought about how everyone else made their way in life. Working, like Travis did, to get what he wanted, was admirable in my book.

  At least he could say he’d done it on his own.

  “I’m headed there myself in a couple of weeks,” I answered, adding, “What are you going to school for?”

  “Sports medicine. I’m hoping to get picked up by the Red Sox when I get my degree.” His eyes twinkled as he continued, “But don’t tell all the Yankees’ fans that. Being a native New Yorker, it might get me stoned in the streets.”

  I laughed, unable to keep the humor neatly tucked down where outbursts of that kind belonged, and brought my hands up in mock defense. “I won’t say a word. Your secret is safe with me.”

  With our laughter dying down, he asked, “So, what about you? What are you going to college for?”

  “Business finance, with a minor in business law,” I recited as I so often had before.

  “Sounds very academic,” he answered, grinning as he tilted his water bottle at me in a mock toast. “To your college career. May it be better than your tennis game.”

  I lifted my bottle in response. “Cheers to that!”

  There was a brief pause between us, filled with the sound of chirping birds moving between trees, and then Travis looked down at his watch. “Well, my friend. It looks like our hour is up. Tomorrow? Same time, same place?” he asked, getting up from his seat.

  “Yes.” I smiled, knowing that even if I couldn’t get out of tennis lessons, at least it would be fun.

  “All righty then. See ya tomorrow, Phillip,” he told me as he turned to walk away.

  “Hey, Travis?” I called out before he got too far.

  Looking over his shoulder, he waited for me to say whatever it was I’d stopped him to say.

  “Thanks for being the only instructor who didn’t berate me or my game.”

  He smiled, dipping his head
in acknowledgement as he answered, “See ya tomorrow.”

  As I made my way back to my room, I realized it was the first time ever I hadn’t walked away from the tennis courts feeling like a complete failure.

  THE COUNTRY CLUB DINING ROOM was busy when I arrived. The hostess, a cute blonde girl with a swinging ponytail, led me to Mother’s table, gaining a sharp glare from Mother as she walked away.

  “Honestly, would it hurt the girl to wear her hair down? She’d look more presentable that way,” she huffed as she unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap.

  “Hello, Mother. How was your morning?” I asked, hoping to steer her away from a catalogued list of the hostess’ flaws.

  “Phillip, darling! I had the most wonderful massage. You really must go. Tomorrow, I’ll book it for you in the afternoon with Alyssa. She has the most wonderful hands. Make sure they give her to you, and not the other girl. Hands of a day laborer, that one. Bites her nails and everything. Why I—”

  “Thank you, Mother, but I think I’ll look into an hour at the pool later on tomorrow,” I said, interrupting her tirade over non-manicured hands.

  “That sounds absolutely refreshing!” she answered, giving me a smile only she could pull off, without moving too many muscles on her face. “Smiling gives you wrinkles,” she told me every opportunity she got.

  “Oh, and before I forget… you’ll never guess who I ran into this morning!” Mother said, smoothing her fingers over her perfectly straight, just above the shoulder, platinum blonde hair. “It really is a stroke of luck, maybe even fate, that I ran into her this morning, considering she was supposed to be spending her summer in Paris.” Her eyes moved past me. “Oh, there she is!”

  The level of excitement in Mother’s voice set my nerves on edge. She didn’t allow herself to get overly excited. Ever. But when I turned to see who was joining us, I understood why.

  Sophia Kennedy, Lyle’s daughter, was headed our way.

  My stomach dropped to somewhere under the table and rolled. I’d met Sophia a long time ago when my father and hers first became friends. We were both thirteen, and it was during a weekend social gathering my mother threw for one of my father’s business deals. They had spent the weekend at our estate in Kingston, and in that short amount of time, after watching her pull pranks on the servers and throw fits when she didn’t get her way, I realized that she was a friend I never wanted to have.