Rewind to You Read online

  Until Next Time

  “Well, if you happen to be on River Street again,” Austin says, breaking the silence. “If you’re out walking around late at night and some drunk pervs jump out at you and you need someone to break your fall . . .”

  I smile.

  He smiles, too. “Stop by the River Street Sweets.”

  Laughter bursts through my lips. “You’ll be there, huh?”

  He gives me a smile that sends my stomach flying again. “Most likely.” Reaching through the open window, he presses the button to lock my doors and steps away. “Until next time?”

  I smile at his hypothetical question. With those three words Austin has glued himself in my brain . . .

  REWIND TO YOU

  LAURA JOHNSTON

  eKENSINGTON BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Until Next Time

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  Epilogue - Sienna

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  For KC

  Acknowledgments

  First, sincere thanks to Alicia Condon, my incredible editor, for loving Rewind to You and bringing it to light. Major thanks as well to Elizabeth May, Ellen Chan, and everyone at Kensington Publishing for the amazing support. You have been nothing but wonderful!

  Special thanks to Kelly Nelson, an exceptional author, writing pal, friend and sister. This journey has been far more adventurous and unforgettable with a friend such as you by my side. Oh, the memories!

  Thanks beyond measure to Kay Lynn Mangum, for endless encouragement, compliments and valuable critique. Thank you for believing in this story! Your writing inspires me, and I appreciate your friendship.

  Thanks to Jennette Green, talented author and friend, for critique, advice, and praise. To Britney Gulbrandsen for critiquing my book and cheering Rewind to You on when I needed it the most. I also want to express thanks to Tracy Anderson, my photographer, sister, and one of my early readers. And to the many other friends and family members who read my book, provided feedback, and rooted me on—Cami, Kristyn, Julie, Jenna, Kelli, Sandra, Cari, and more—thank you!

  To my ANWA writing group and online critique group—thank you for your friendship and for helping my writing shine.

  To the many bloggers who have been so supportive and helpful in promoting this novel—thank you all!

  I can’t forget Kristin B. Cherrington, my sweet mom who read and loved this novel. I’ve never been so happy to make you cry.

  To Dave and Kerri Johnston, wonderful in-laws who raised an incredible son.

  Thanks to Dr. Jason Samuelian for answering many medical-related questions. Also to Jessica Jackson for her friendship and her help on other medical details.

  To my two little buddies, Tally and Savannah, who hung out with me during much of the writing process. Hopefully you will read this someday and maybe even enjoy it!

  To the creator of all things, my Heavenly Father, for life and the opportunity to pursue my dreams. God has been good to me.

  For my dad and the moments we spent side by side in our gardens that inspired much of this novel. I miss you!

  And most of all, for KC Johnston, who sat next to me on a Georgia beach when the idea for this book first came. The rest of this novel was inspired by you. We both know I would have given up on this long ago without your support! Thank you for making me feel like I can do anything (keep fooling me!). If I could rewind to anything in life, I’d rewind to any of the many moments I’ve had with you.

  CHAPTER 1

  Sienna

  Regret washes over me when my gaze meets the photo of my dad and me. It starts with little warning, and I’m suddenly fighting to breathe. Heart pounding. Palms sweating. Vision fading. What’s happening to me? Then everything goes dark.

  But shadows surrender to light, and I wonder if I’ve died, because I see him now like I saw him one year ago. Before the accident. We stand side by side, a dad and his little girl.

  “Let’s make a pact,” Dad says, a smile touching his lips, his eyes. The scent of something sweet tempts me before I’m yanked back to reality.

  I open my eyes. Slowly, I remember where I am and what happened—and basically how much my life stinks. If only I could turn back time and relive that last day with my dad, maybe he’d still be alive.

  Let’s make a pact.

  The porch door creaks open like a cricket and snaps back.

  “You’re faking it, huh?”

  I turn to find Spencer, my eight-year-old little brother, wearing a Batman cape, boots, and all. “Faking what?”

  Spencer digs his hands into his hips and exhales. “You pretended to pass out.”

  I massage my aching forehead. “Spencer, I’m not pretending anything. And I didn’t pass out.”

  “Yes, you did! I saw you fall.”

  “Yeah, right. You, like, weren’t even here.”

  “Was too! I was on the porch.”

  His Nintendo DS rests on the picnic table outside, supporting his claim. Despite an annoying headache, I smile as I remember running out there as a kid to play badminton, sand searing my feet on a hot summer afternoon in Georgia. But now this place, the sight of those waves and the creak of that patio door, only makes me miss my dad.

  I turn back to Spencer. The sight of Batman standing with his hands on his hips, chest forward, head high, breaks my train of thought and I smile.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “Nothing,” I say, but a little chuckle escapes my lips.

  “You’re laughing at me!”

  I suppress my smile because the last thing Spencer needs is someone else laughing at him. “I’m not laughing. You’re just cute, Spencer.”

  “Cute?” The word spews from his mouth as though he can’t stand the taste of it.

  “Sienna,” my mom snaps, the tone of her voice spurring me to stand. I grab the nearest thing for balance. A vase and silk calla lilies litter the floor at my feet. The barrier in my mind crumbles then, my memory flooding back into place. My heart contracts at the sight of the photo on the coffee table, like it did when I first walked into the room.

  “Sienna, what happened?”

  I scurry to replace the vase I must have knocked over. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

  “Did you fall?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s—”

  �
�You don’t know?” she cuts in. “It’s a simple question. Why were you on the floor? Have you been dizzy?”

  Oh, man. Here it comes. “No.”

  “Trouble sleeping?”

  “No.”

  Mom gulps like the next question is impossible to swallow. “Have you been . . . drinking?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been stressed?”

  “No.”

  “Have you taken a shower in the past five days?” Spencer pipes in.

  “No,” I reply automatically and then shoot a glare at him in defeat. Got me that time.

  “Of course she’s showered!” Mom exclaims, as though skipping a shower is worse than underage drinking.

  Spencer dances out of the room with a smirk on his face. I’m not the one who has an issue with basic hygiene practices, and we all know that.

  Mom’s probing stare burns through me. I glance at the car keys, thoughts of escaping her scrutiny luring me toward the door. Maybe because, for once, she’s justified. For one reason or another, I fainted after looking at that photo of my dad and me and recalling those last days we spent as a family before our lives took a sharp turn.

  “Mom, relax. I showered. And I’m fine. I’m just exhausted after driving all day.”

  She taps a manicured finger on the granite countertop. “I suppose we did drive quite a bit today. You should lie down. Perhaps you fainted from heat exhaustion.”

  “Heat exhaustion?” Spencer returns, gliding across the wood floor in his socks while juggling a box of Legos. He rolls his eyes. “Mom, that’s so stupid! She’s sixteen, not fifty.”

  “Seventeen,” I say.

  “Seventeen. Whatever,” Spencer says. “And it was only, like, sixty-five degrees when we left Virginia.”

  “Spencer, enough!” Mom shouts, and I can tell she instantly regrets it.

  Spencer frowns at the floor, but I know he’s actually frowning at our mom without the eye-contact part. He flings the box, and a spray of Legos explodes like soda from an overshaken can. I feel my mom’s sharp intake of breath, sense her holding it in. Great. Just what we need.

  Sometimes the friction between the three of us is hardly noticeable as we go through the motions of life. But the tension is always there, filling our home like a suffocating smog. It was never like this when Dad was around, and I wonder whether Spencer will remember those days. Years down the road when he’s all grown up, will he even remember our dad?

  “Sorry I raised my voice, Spencer,” Mom says, but he’s already pretending she doesn’t exist. She throws her hands up. “He always overreacts.”

  I glance over to see calm, medicated Spencer playing with Legos, wincing at the fact that Mom speaks as though he’s too dumb to understand. Heaven knows she does her best by Spencer. Still, her expectations of me only skyrocketed after Spencer was born and we discovered his ADHD and bipolar disorder at a shockingly early age.

  “Always,” she continues. “No matter how much I work with him on—”

  “Hey, Spencer,” I call out. I don’t dare a glance at Mom, but her glare pricks me nonetheless. “Want to toss the ball around the beach tomorrow?”

  Spencer falters for a reply, anguish folding his face. “But, you can’t throw like he could.”

  “Sienna Nancy Owens!” Mom snaps.

  “Maybe you can teach me, Spencer. Please? I know I can’t throw as well as Dad, but at least I could try.”

  “Sienna!” Mom shouts again, as though simply mentioning our dad to Spencer is a sin.

  The Legos rocketing into the air shouldn’t surprise me. Nonetheless, I jump and so does my mom as Spencer flings another fistful. We duck, barely dodging them.

  “Stop it!” he yells. I sense he wants to say more, but instead he kicks the empty Lego box and runs up the stairs. Stop fighting. I know that’s what he wanted to say.

  “See?” Mom spits out. “This is what happens when you bring up your dad.”

  Something hot flashes through me. This is my fault? Oh yeah, big surprise. Everything is. “Bring up Dad? Are you kidding me?”

  Mom wrenches open the linen drawer and starts refolding—refolding! —the dinner napkins. “How inconsiderate can you be, Sienna? Football with Dad is what Spencer lived for every summer. The whole reason we came to the island this summer is to start over. As hard as it may be, we have to get our minds off of Dad and move on.”

  “Get our minds off of him?” I say. “Here? On Tybee? Mom, we came to this island every summer with Dad. How do you expect us to come here now and forget about him?”

  “I don’t expect you to forget about him!”

  “That’s what you said!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that!” Mom slams the drawer shut. “I just want you to be yourself again! You don’t even dance like you used to. For a year now, it’s like you’re on the stage but not really there.”

  Yet another thing I’m doing wrong. I nod, taking it all in. And I walk to the door.

  “Sienna?” Mom asks, starting after me. “Are you going out with Brian?”

  A happy yet wistful feeling flutters in my stomach, but it can’t be at the thought of Brian. “Maybe,” I reply as I check my pocket for my cell phone.

  “Maybe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect. You’ll be at Brian’s house then?”

  “No,” I reply and grin. This, oddly, is the wistfully happy part. “Brian and a bunch of his friends are meeting on River Street.”

  Her lips form a stern line. “You’re going into Savannah? Tonight?”

  “Yeah. Is that okay?”

  River Street—wild and spirited and adventurous—is everything I secretly love, and everything she hates. But this is Brian we’re talking about, the son of my mom’s best friend from her hometown in Georgia.

  “All right,” she says. “Stay with Brian. Don’t go walking around alone.”

  I slink out, my stomach knotting as I glimpse Mom picking up Legos. She’s right. It is my fault. Everything. I took Dad away from us all.

  I jog to the SUV and jump in. To my mom, apart from the rich history of architecture and design, downtown Savannah is a cesspool of poverty and unruly living in a deep-fat fryer. My dad, however, felt differently.

  “Anything can happen on River Street,” he said to me once with his big smile after I found a silver dollar there as a kid.

  I shove the key in the ignition, fighting the thought that if Dad were here, he’d tell me to listen to Mom. He’d tell me to move on; he was unselfish like that. The engine purrs to life when I twist the key, puncturing the silence.

  “Here’s to moving on,” I say to no one, feeling the words swell up in my throat as I throw the gearshift into drive. I can almost hear my dad’s voice now as I speed down the gravel road: Anything can happen on River Street.

  CHAPTER 2

  Austin

  When life gives you lemons, buy a Mountain Dew. That’s my motto. All right, really I’m just your average Joe, scraping by to make a little punch with the fruit life throws at my face. But not for long.

  I glance at my online bank statement. Dimes and pennies. Takes a lot of them to build a savings like this, and it wasn’t easy. You see, in many ways, my life is like a football game. Short, intense plays of grit and sweat, one after another. Inching closer to the goal. Occasionally I’m thrown a perfect wide pass, but there’s always a fierce defense, driving me back. But tonight is a water break.

  “Later,” I say as I pass Uncle Mark on my way out. His gaze is fixed on the preseason game on TV, his ears open to nothing but the cheer of the crowd and the referee’s whistle.

  “Can I toss the TV remote in the toilet for you?” I say for kicks. Couldn’t help it.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mark says. Totally fell for it. He fishes a purple sock from the laundry basket and folds it with a brown one. “Sure.”

  “Amen to that!” Aunt Deb cheers from the kitchen as she pulls a lasagna from the oven. “Austin, honey, bring one of those girls
by for Sunday dinner sometime. You hear? Your mom is gonna want to hear all about who you’re dating out here.”

  “Right,” I say, faking a smile. You see, I’ve become as much of a pain in my mom’s side as my dad was. Pretty sure she wishes I didn’t exist.

  I get a whiff of lasagna before I open the door. I hang back, stomach growling. No one cooks like my aunt. Well, besides my mom. “You’re killing me, Deb.”

  “You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

  “Gotta go,” I say. “Save some for me.”

  “Take that trash out on your way, will ya?” Deb calls out.

  I pull my baseball cap on. Snag the trash. “See ya.”

  An old sedan pulls up, heavy metal music blaring. I toss Deb’s trash into the can. My two-year-old cousin sure is cute, but dang, her diapers make this thing reek.

  The passenger window inches down. Leo slings his arm out. “Yo, ace! What up?”

  “Just throwing out the crap.”

  “What, they got you taking out the doo-doo now?”

  I laugh as I hop in.

  Reggie takes one last drag from his cigarette. Tosses it out the window. He cranks up the music and we wind through the city Reg-style. No regard to speed limit whatsoever.

  “So, spill it. What’s going down tonight that’s so great you couldn’t tell me?” I ask as we enter Savannah’s historic district.

  They exchange silent glances. Leo turns and gives me the once-over, his nose scrunching. “What you wearin’, man?” He tosses a different hat to me, ignoring my question. “Here, put this on.”

  I glance at the cap, some flat-brimmed thing with metal spikes and sparkly stuff I wouldn’t be caught dead with. “Swag, man. Real nice.”

  “You think?” Leo smiles, taking me seriously.

  I chuck it back at him. “Where are we going?”