The Same Time (Time Series book 2) Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Brona Mills

  Edited by Theo Fenraven

  Edited and Proofread by Emily A. Lawrence of Lawrence Editing

  Cover design by Murphy Rae of Indie Solutions

  Formatted by Elaine York of Allusion Graphics

  Permission obtained from Arthur Aron to reproduce parts of his work: The Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings by Arthur Aron, Edward Melinat, Elaine N. Aron, Robert Darrin Vallone and Renee J. Bator (April 1st 1997) Sage Journals 1997 Vol 23, Issue 4 Page(s) 363-377

  http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0146167297234003

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  First Published 2018

  Warning: Due to some mature subject matters, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Author's Note

  Book two of The Time Series, The Same Time.

  This book can be read as a standalone, although it will contain spoilers if you haven’t read book one, A Time for Everything.

  This book is heavily intertwined with book one, and is recommended to be read in order. You can purchase book one here:

  www.amazon.com/Time-Everything-book-ebook/dp/B071N9Y7MT/

  www.amazon.co.uk/Time-Everything-book-ebook/dp/B071N9Y7MT/

  So much thanks needs to go out there, not only for the continued support while writing this book, but for the support after the release of book one, from people that I’ve never even met. Thank you for reading. Thank you for loving the book. Thank you for sending me such lovely words of support.

  To my husband and family, for continuing to support me with all the spare time that is needed to take on such a huge task – thanks for giving me all the hours ☺

  As always the friends and beta readers from my workshop helped make this what it is, and helped calm me down when things felt like they were never working. Thank you ☺

  To my ARCs and typo party participants! This was invaluable. To have so many people on hand willing to give their time and feedback at an early stage was what managed to fine tune the final piece.

  A special thanks to Arthur Aron for giving his permission to include word for word his research questions featured in The Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings. It was important to me, and to the story that these questions be used word for word, as the study is intended to be used. Full citation and links are on the copyright page, or you can click here. http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0146167297234003

  The work Arthur and the co-authors did was so fascinating that I had to include it in my novel. The first draft of this novel did have the entire 36 questions and answers included throughout, but through editing to fit with the story it had to be cut. You, the reader can view the full, unedited first draft of the scene by following the link at the end of the book, as it will contain spoilers.

  Monday, February 29, 2016

  Cedars-Sinai Medical Center

  Los Angeles, California.

  When my dad was in his coffin, I could see his soul had already gone. All that remained was a body. David looks like that now. Lying in bed, hooked up to machines, a nurse bent over him. ‘He got here ten minutes ago,’ I tell Mike. ‘They can’t wake him up.’

  Twenty-two years ago

  Saturday, June 11, 1994

  Cedars-Sinai Medical Center

  Los Angeles, California.

  Pain runs through my core, and I grab my stomach.

  ‘This insurance card has expired,’ the receptionist says.

  I steady my breathing and nod. ‘My new employer, Cici’s Boutique, picked up the payments. Maternity is on it. Call and check.’

  She studies the card and smiles like she feels sorry for me. ‘Take a seat, and I’ll get you when the paperwork is sorted.’

  Hell, even I feel sorry for me. I thought I’d be resting in a private hospital with nurses to pass me crushed ice and a husband to hold my hand.

  Leaning on the reception counter, I breathe through the contraction, trying not to draw the attention of the only other person in the waiting room. The pain passes, and I waddle to a seat in my too tight jeans, which have been unbuttoned for the last two months.

  The man attempts to make eye contact with me, so I keep my gaze on the swirly-yellow linoleum floor and fiddle with my T-shirt.

  ‘You in labour?’

  His British accent instantly makes him sound trustworthy. Ha, a trustworthy man. I bite back a smile and nod but don’t raise my head. He leans toward me. He’s older than me, well over the age of thirty, perhaps approaching forty. Heck, everyone in a labour and delivery ward feels older than me, but lots of people have kids at twenty-one. I just hope he won’t look down on me. I would have judged me.

  People with money hide their age well. His brown chequered shirt and jeans are designer. They might even be next season, but I don’t recognise who. I’ve fallen behind on keeping up with the European designers these past few months.

  An expensive watch catches the light as he rests his arms on his knees. I check out his shoes. Must be next season’s. Despite being a little ragged around the eyes and sporting a few days of stubble—which of course he manages to make attractive—he’s totally hot for an older man. He’s the type to have a hot wife who only gained ten pounds during her pregnancy and is probably off labouring in a glamorous way.

  ‘You alone?’ he asks.

  One loud sob bursts from my throat, and the tears follow. I throw my hand over my mouth to stop any more weeping from escaping and calm my breathing before the next contraction comes. The man rises from his seat and timidly sits next to me. It takes two attempts for him to one-handedly pull a stubborn tissue free from the box on the magazine table.

  ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I meant while you waited on someone.
Not alone in the bigger-world sense of things.’ He hands me the tissue and leans back.

  ‘I can’t reach my mom,’ I confess. ‘Someone’s trying to find her for me. She’s probably been thrown out of her favourite martini bar.’ I check my watch and tuck the faded leather strap back under the clasp. ‘Pamela should be en route to a much cheaper and more tolerant-of-drunk-people place by now.’

  He nods.

  There’s not much you can say to that. I twist in the plastic, screwed down seat and give him my full attention. How is it people who have everything in life seem to have a sparkle in their eyes? I used to have that shine, until Nathan knocked it out of me. Literally. ‘Sorry for the tears. Must be the hormones.’ Or fear of the enormous task ahead of me.

  Another contraction rips through me. I bite my tongue and hold my breath to stop from screaming. I throw my hand out and he catches it, allowing me to squeeze his fingers until they turn white.

  ‘Don’t hold your breath. You’ll pass out.’

  I hiss between puckered lips and count. Twenty seconds later, I’m coming back down to normality. He relaxes with me as I loosen my grip on his hand and finally let go.

  ‘Are you here with your wife?’

  ‘No.’ He chuckles. ‘I’m a little out of sorts right now.’

  I raise my eyebrow, waiting for more information.

  ‘Car crash.’ His face falls. ‘I was driving.’

  ‘You look okay.’ I check him over, head to toe. He’s not holding himself or moving like he’s in pain. Perfect face doesn’t have a scratch on it. Arms and shoulders, all good–I always notice the strength in a man’s upper body, right down to their hands and fingers, which I was squeezing the life out of. Chest, good. Long legs. Heat fills my cheeks. Shit, I just checked him out. I close my eyes momentarily. Hopefully he’ll think it’s being in labour that has me blushing.

  ‘I am. I think.’ He shakes his head. ‘We were chasing my friend’s wife.’

  I stop breathing and lean away from him.

  He turns to me, holding his hands up defensively. ‘Completely in a non-stalker kind of way. She was in trouble, and we were trying to help her. Turns out we made things worse.’ He drops his head and stares at his hands. ‘I made things worse.’

  Dread rolls around my stomach. ‘Is she dead?’ I whisper.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he rushes. ‘But nearly. A few other people too. I just want the people I care about to live, you know.’

  ‘That’s normal,’ I say with the least amount of sarcasm I can muster. ‘Why are you in the waiting room of the labour and delivery ward?’

  ‘I sort of ended up here.’

  ‘Sometimes I subconsciously end up at Chanel of Beverly Hills.’ I snort and rub a hand over the non-designer, cotton shirt that covers my belly. ‘It’s embarrassing when I remember I can no longer afford to be there.’ I smile.

  He snorts out a laugh and walks to the water fountain. Even that thing looks older than me.

  ‘The places we visit often are in our subconscious. We don’t remember getting there, as things we do out of habit are stored in a different part of the brain from our memories.’ He frowns, passing me a cup of water. ‘I guess people are the same. If we think about them enough, spend most of our lives with them, when we get lost, we navigate towards them, like a homing beacon of sorts.’

  I raise my eyebrow at his bland definition of my shopping blunders. ‘You come to maternity wards often? Just sort of navigate to them now and then? How many kids do you have?’

  ‘None.’ He smiles tightly. ‘I have a stepson, though. My wife letting me be a father to him is the best thing that ever happened, even after the divorce.’

  He swallows thickly, and I gulp my water, the plastic cup crackling and shrinking in my grip.

  ‘I think I was meant to be there—to make a difference in their lives.’

  The receptionist interrupts us and tells me I can move to a semi-private room. The man stands and picks up my backpack. ‘Let me help you get settled in until your mom gets here.’

  Another contraction hits me. I grab hold of his arm to steady myself. The pain passes twenty-seven seconds later. ‘I’m Stella.’ I offer my hand for shaking. The Brits are into all that formal stuff. I remember from when I used to work for my dad.

  He takes my hand and shakes it firmly. His smile is forced. ‘David.’

  Nine hours into my labour, I’m grateful to the universe for sending me this complete stranger. David passes crushed ice and helps me aimlessly wander around the sterile looking room between contractions. He talks about everything and nothing—from how easy it is to drive on the left hand side of the road to how he predicts that TV shows will be attracting mainstream Hollywood actors in the future. It’s mostly his voice distracting me from the pain that’s intensifying as the hours pass. Every time the door opens I expect to see my mom.

  ‘Pamela’s still not here.’ I rock from side to side on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Why do you call her Pamela?’

  ‘Everyone needs a nickname.’ I take the opportunity to change the subject. ‘Even you. David’s such a formal, English name. No one ever try to Americanise you? Shorten it to Dave, Davey? Hot Dave?’ I snicker.

  ‘No.’ He scrunches his nose.

  Shit, I just got shot down flirting with a guy while I was in labour. A married guy—divorced, whatever. Divorced David. That’s what I should call him. ‘Can I call you DD?’ Totally hot DD? ‘All the cool kids use initials.’ I pull my hair back with a tie, and he hands me a cold washcloth for my neck.

  He shrugs, like he knows there’s something more I’m not telling him, or maybe he’s run out of things to say to me.

  I groan and answer the question I’d avoided. ‘I only call her Pamela when she’s frustrating me.’ I push off the starched white sheets and busy myself with the buttons that adjust the top half of the bed. ‘We’ve had a few tough months, that’s all. Once the baby gets here, she’ll be back. I know she will.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Sometime in the future everyone will have built-in GPS and social media on their phones. You’ll be able to track her down much easier.’ He winks.

  ‘Sometime in the future, I just hope she’s sober.’ I drop the control panel on the pillow.

  ‘She will be. You have to give her time to deal with whatever this is.’

  ‘This is history repeating itself.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘She was pregnant young too. Had to depend on my dad, even when she wished she didn’t have to.’

  ‘I don’t see you depending on the dad here.’

  ‘Only ’cause Pamela knew how bad things got. She gave up everything we had to get rid of him.’ I grimace but not from pain. ‘My mom lost our home to get me out of this mess.’ I run my hand over my belly. ‘Do you know the best part? It actually worked.’ I smile. ‘Sorry, I know this is a bit much, sharing life details and labour pains with someone you’ve only met. Although I’ve been doing most of the oversharing.’

  ‘The lifeboat scenario.’

  ‘The what now?’

  ‘When you spend a concentrated amount of time with someone you don’t know in a high stress situation. You end up sharing personal information you normally wouldn’t.’

  ‘Well, sorry you’re in my lifeboat.’ I force a grin as I manoeuvre around the bed, trying to ease the back pain.

  ‘Any time, Stel’.’ He smirks.

  ‘Oh, you think you’re funny, do you?’

  ‘Come on, all the cool kids are doing it.’ He grins.

  That smile is going to do some damage one day. DD stretches out his back. ‘We should get the midwife to bring you one of those birthing balls. It’s supposed to ease the pressure.’

  ‘How the hell do you know that? Pick up women in labour often, do you?’

  His smile fades. ‘My wife was pregnant once.’

  I stop at the foot of the bed, shooting him a look.

  ‘I always wanted kids. Even though we we
re raising my stepson, I wanted to be there from the beginning too.’ DD takes time undoing his cuffs and rolling the sleeves back. ‘I always felt bad she was alone the first few years with him.’ He brings another cup of crushed ice to me. ‘I wished I could’ve been there to help her when she needed it.’ He pauses. ‘I read everything on pregnancy and birth and the crucial first year. I wanted to be prepared, so she’d know I wasn’t going to leave her to do everything on her own.’

  I feel sick asking, but I need to know. I crunch the ice chips, preparing to speak. I’ve heard too many stories about last minute emergencies, cords being wrapped around the baby’s neck, unforeseen complications, still births. I’m standing on the edge of the cliff, waiting to see if everything is going to be okay in my child’s birth. What else do I need to add to the list of worries? ‘What happened?’ The cool trail of water soothes my throat.

  ‘She had an abortion. It eventually ended our marriage.’

  I rub my belly, like my unborn child could be harmed by the word.

  He glances at my hand. ‘In the beginning of the pregnancy she was happy. Something changed, and she didn’t tell me until after she did it. The worst part was she seemed a little sad too.’

  ‘You couldn’t forgive her?’

  ‘She shut down and wouldn’t let me help her. She said she didn’t want any more kids. That she didn’t want to rely on anyone anymore. I knew she was lying. I think that’s what drove me away in the end, the fact she wouldn’t be honest with me.’ He places his hand on my lower back and rubs out a knot that’s formed. ‘Everything I came up with to justify her actions was so much worse than the truth.’

  ‘You got the truth from her?’

  ‘A few months ago. About fifteen years too late.’

  ‘Fifteen years ago? How old are you?’

  He chuckles. ‘We were married young.’

  ‘Why did she do it?’

  ‘Because she trusted me.’ He looks at me, his eyes red with unshed tears. ‘She made the right decision, and it kills me that I hated her so much all those years.’