Over the Moon Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  I. NEW MOON

  1. SENTENCED

  2. IN GOOD HANDS

  3. BAD IMPRESSIONS

  4. UPPER HAND

  5. UNHEALTHY OBSESSION

  II. WAXING CRESCENT MOON

  6. BURIED FEARS

  7. STITCHES

  8. THE BEST MEDICINE

  9. MOON EYES

  10. THE PLAN

  III. FIRST QUARTER MOON

  11. FRIENDLY COMPETITION

  12. CHECK-UP

  13. IN THE BARN

  14. LATE NIGHT PHONE CALLS

  IV. WAXING GIBBOUS MOON

  15. A NEW HOME

  16. HUMBLE FLAMINGO

  17. A LITTLE BIT WHOLE

  18. BACK TO THE BARN

  V. FULL MOON

  19. AVOIDING THE WORLD

  20. ONE LAST HURRAH

  21. STAND STILL

  22. NO REGRETS

  23. CALL ME KING

  VI. WANING GIBBOUS MOON

  24. OVER THE MOON

  25. RIDE WITH ME

  26. TICKETS

  27. OPEN WOUNDS

  VII. THIRD QUARTER MOON

  28. ORCA SIGHTING

  29. HAMMOCKS & SEAPLANES

  30. ALL I SEE

  31. BAGGAGE

  VIII. WANING CRESCENT MOON

  32. UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

  33. THE TRUST

  34. STALEMATE

  35. SCRIMMAGE

  36. SEARCHING FOR SILVER

  37. FREE

  38. LIFELESS

  39. JUST LIKE THE MOON

  40. THE WEDDING

  EPILOGUE — ANOTHER NEW MOON

  Connect With K.K.

  Acknowledgments

  Center of Gravity Excerpt

  Novels by K.K. Allen

  About the Author

  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 events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by K.K. Allen

  Cover Design: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Photographer: Regina Wamba

  Editor: Red Adept Editing

  Proofreading: Encompassing Books

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Contact [email protected] with questions.

  To my first reading buddy and bff since we were 12, Tasha. And to her momma in heaven who used to laugh at us kids for sitting on the couch all day reading Sweet Valley High during our sleepovers. Happy Birthday, Anna. XO

  Prologue

  Sylvia

  Steam from my shower envelops me as blood washes off my skin and circles the drain. I’m not sure how long I stand there and watch the crimson swirl like an endless ball of unraveling string. I’m not even certain how much, if any, of the blood belongs to me. While my skin is welted and bruised and a permanent knot continues to tighten in my gut, I don’t see or feel a single open wound on my body.

  The desperate need to scream claws up my throat, and tears prick the backs of my eyes as they threaten to burst all over again. The anger comes in waves, pushing me toward the riptide, no matter how hard or fast I fight to swim away. It’s the darkest battle I’ve ever faced, yet somehow, I know it’s only the beginning.

  When the red finally fades, I tear my eyes from the drain and shut off the water. I reach for a folded towel, and my injured arm screams in pain at the simple motion. Still, I manage to get the stiff fabric around my body before daring a look into the mirror. Fog over the glass blocks my view, but that doesn’t matter. I can still feel the map of scars that cover my body.

  Seventy-two hours have passed since I ran away. It’s been bus stop after bus stop, evidence of my injuries cloaked under a big gray hoodie and baggy sweatpants. Now, I need to figure out my next move. While leaving was always the plan, I didn’t expect it to go down like that. Still, running away from home was easy. Settling into somewhere new… That will be the challenging part.

  After easing my aching body into a fresh set of clothes, I open the bathroom door and am instantly blasted with icy-cool air and a brightly lit hotel room. I’m alone, and everything is where I left it, save for the manila envelope that’s currently sliding through the crack at the bottom of the hotel door. I hurry over to the envelope and stuff it inside my duffel bag—there’s no need to look inside since I already know what it contains. I lift my bag over my shoulder, wincing through the pain, then head for the door, stopping only long enough to catch a glance at myself in the long mirror.

  The girl staring back at me isn’t the same one that walked into this hotel room hours ago. Not a stitch of makeup appears on her face. Her once-brown long locks are now blond and frame her chin with a sloppy cut job. The clothes that hang from her scarily thin frame consist of nothing more than light jeans and a long T-shirt. The change is simple, yet I’m unrecognizable even to myself.

  While this girl has been stripped down to the barest bones of herself, her soul shattered, her heart broken a million times over, at least she’s finally free.

  PHASE I

  NEW MOON

  “Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” — Mark Twain

  SENTENCED

  KINGSTON

  Football. Playing in the NFL has always been my number one goal. My final destination. The be all, end all of my life. It’s also the one thing I’ve always been able to control. My blessing when everything else around me seems cursed.

  Or maybe it’s me who is cursed. At least, it feels like I am at the moment. My head aches, I’m stiff from sleeping all wrong, and I can’t for the life of me peel my eyelids apart to see where I am.

  A door slams in the distance, and the fog that clouds my memory of the night before begins to clear. Images slowly filter through the haze, my grin growing with each visual of my night at one of my favorite bars in downtown Seattle.

  Long red hair wrapped around my fist. A fair, freckled cheek pressed into the bathroom sink counter. Skirt pulled up around a trim waist. Me, pumping into the beautiful stranger from behind.

  I’m not surprised I don’t remember the woman’s name. What does surprise me is the memory that pummels me next.

  A bathroom door bursting open. A furious bouncer planting his body at the entrance. My head hitting tile as I’m thrown against a bathroom stall. A fist connecting with my jaw.

  Then…

  My grin fades, and an ugly pit grows in my gut. Shit. I look around to find myself in a loaded jail cell with a dozen others. The aftermath of my bad decisions slams me in the chest. The woman who’d lured me into the bathroom without an ounce of resistance from me was the bouncer’s wife. Apparently, he doesn’t like to share. After he tossed me to the curb outside the club, I was arrested for public intoxication. Now, here I am. My home away from home. It’s only a matter of time before one of my teammates I was with last night bails me out of this shithole.

  Just then, the familiar sound of steel sliding across a track gets my attention before the sound of my name does. “Kingston Scott, you’re free to go.”

  A laugh muddled with relief shakes through me. I stand from the bench, taking one sweeping glance around the cell, and the corners of my mouth curl back into a smile. “See ya later, suckers.”

  Angry curse words of my cellmates fly at me as I strut toward the exit, completely unfazed. Another night in the drunk tank isn’t going to be enough to al
ter my future. The memory of last night will be gone before I even step foot outside this place. I’m confident in that knowledge… until I spot Coach Reynolds standing at the counter with a look on his face that no fellow Seattle football player wants to see.

  Disappointment.

  Most other men on the team would grovel in shame at his feet, but not me. After three years playing football under the man, I know he has a soft spot for thugs like me. There has always been a silent understanding between us. I help him win football games, and he stays off my back when it comes to my personal life. But I can’t help but wonder if this time is different. While I know he isn’t blind to my previous misdemeanors, he’s never been the one to bail me out of one. And by the look on his face as he waits for me to collect my belongings, he sure as hell doesn’t look like someone who wants to do me any favors.

  “Nance rat me out?” I practically spit my sour words while tearing my eyes from Coach and pushing toward the exit. “Or was it Balko? That son of a bitch.” I shake my head, fuming at their betrayal. Nance, Balko, and I have always been like the three amigos, bailing each other out of whatever shit we stir up for ourselves. Apparently, whatever loyalty I thought we had died somewhere between my bathroom romp and my night behind bars.

  “Does it matter?” Coach quirks a brow as his dry tone grates against my ego. “You’re free to walk. Your record is clean. You get another chance to fuck it all up. Congratulations, Kingston.”

  Instinct kicks in, and I want to gloat. That growing pit in my stomach has already shrunk back down to nothing, and a rush of adrenaline takes its place at the thought of avoiding yet another lawful consequence for my actions.

  “Are you smiling?”

  Coach’s enraged voice breaks through my thoughts, and my lips flatten back down as I meet his deadly gaze. I swallow my glee as he slams a hand against the glass door and swings it open, allowing me to walk out first.

  I step outside, squinting and raising a hand to shield my eyes from the sun. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “Noon.”

  I detect annoyance in his tone, and I flip him a gaze and quirk a brow. “It was just past midnight when they threw me in here. You’re just getting me now?”

  “Yeah, I know. Shitty of me, right?” Coach glares. “Figured I’d let you sleep it off first.” He jabs a finger toward his shiny red Range Rover. “Get in.”

  Balko drove last night, but my guess is Coach already knows that since he’s headed in the direction of my home. That asshole was probably the one who ratted me out. Annoyance stirs through me. Payback will be a bitch.

  I try to ignore Coach’s cool silent treatment as he drives us through the city streets toward the 520 bridge. I know the man well enough to understand just how serious his silence is. This isn’t an after-the-game-we-lost kind of fury where he rips us a new one in the locker room. This isn’t a screaming match on the football field when we run a drill that fails to match his expectations. This could mean something much, much worse.

  I shift away as if the physical movement will erase my thoughts. Facing the outdoors, I roll down the window to feel the wind smack my face, providing alertness I should have felt last night before it all went sideways. I seem to always find myself in this dark place. Not here, physically, not even with Coach. He rarely interferes with his players’ behavior off the field. But that doesn’t erase my list of bad decisions. They’re stacking up so high that I can’t even see over the top anymore. Something tells me this last stunt might just be the one that makes the whole stack topple over.

  Guilt isn’t something I feel often, but I feel a pang of it now. Why should I feel guilty when I’ve only ever been trying to survive? I came from nothing and was practically raised by wolves, and I overcame it all to lead a life most others would die to have. Sure, I go off the rails sometimes, but that has nothing to do with my game. I shake my head, clearing the guilt and replacing it with my most lethal weapon. Determination.

  “Tell me something, Kingston. Why do you want to play ball?”

  I’m so focused on my own thoughts that I almost miss Coach’s question. When I register what he asked, I turn to face him, my brows knitting in the center. “Same as everyone on the team. I love the game. And I’m the best at what I do. I’ve worked damn hard to get here.”

  Coach nods. “No one can argue any of those things. But why did you work so hard to get here? I want to know what drives you.”

  For some reason, his question throws me off guard. I stumble over my thoughts for a few seconds, coming up empty by the time Coach speaks again.

  “C’mon, King. It’s not a hard question. Is it the money? Is it the celebrity status? Is it the women? Pick one.”

  My gut reaction is to tell Coach that none of those answers are my reason, but any answer I spit out will be a lie. The truth is, I’ve never had to think that hard about it before. I just know I love football. Isn’t that enough?

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Coach. You’re asking me this for a reason, and I’m not sure I can give you the answer you want to hear. I play ball because I’m good at it. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. The adrenaline rush is a great feeling, the money is spectacular, and the women are a sweet bonus, but I’m not sure any of that is what drove me to start playing the game.”

  Coach nods again. “Figured as much.”

  That’s all he says until he parks in the driveway of my Lake Washington home. An awkward silence follows as my hand slowly reaches for the door handle. I’ve never been one for formalities, and the tension billowing through the air only makes me want to exit the vehicle as fast as possible. Before I can make a move to exit, the engine shuts off completely.

  Shit.

  Coach shifts, turning to face me. “I think it’s time you figured out why you want to play ball.”

  After getting my drunk ass kicked and getting thrown in jail, I thought the last thing Coach would be concerned about was my desire to play football. “Um, sure. Okay.” I don’t know what else to say.

  Coach rolls his eyes and settles his stern gaze back on me. “Let me say it this way. I will never again do what I did for you today. Do you understand me? It’s not my job to bail you out of jail. Nor is it my job to take advantage of my connections to clear you of your misdemeanor. While the crime may be minor, the publicity you managed to avoid should be considered yet another blessing in your life. If you’re not careful, you’re going to run out of those blessings, Kingston. No one will be there to clean up after your messes, and you won’t have a home on the field to come back to.”

  Something twists inside me as anger and fear swarm my mind. “It will never happen again, Coach. I swear to you.” I shake my head, feeling suddenly desperate to forget the events of last night.

  Coach nods. “I believe that you mean that. I also expect that you can understand that I’ll need to take some steps into ensuring the reputation of our team. We start practices in a little over a month, and I hope you can be there with us.”

  I hope you can be there with us. Never have words haunted me so much. Heat blasts my chest while I temper my tone. “What does that mean?”

  “What do you think it means?” he fires back.

  There’s a fiery ball in my chest that threatens to explode. The only way I know how to diffuse it is to walk away, but I can’t walk away from this. This is my life. My livelihood. The only fucking thing in my life that has ever felt right. Still, I want to do anything but continue this conversation. Suddenly, the only thing I love in this life feels threatened, and no amount of confidence I have in my career can help me. I’ve never felt the weight of my future so heavy on my shoulders.

  “I don’t know, Coach. I fucked up last night. What’s new? But what does it matter? Last night has nothing to do with football.”

  “Last night has everything to do with football, King. That’s where you seem to be lost, and it’s time we set things straight.”

  Coach doesn’t have to yell for me to f
eel his wrath. It’s a smack in the face, and I hear him loud and clear. “What do you want from me? Some kind of agreement that I won’t fuck up again? I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”

  Coach tilts his head. “I had a different idea. Well, it’s Zach’s idea, actually.”

  I frown as confusion makes its way through me. Zachary Ryan is Seattle’s team captain, and he’s extremely close with Coach. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that they talked, but the question slips past my lips anyway. “Zach knows about this?”

  “He does, and I’m going to leave you in his hands with what comes next.”

  “Huh?” My eyes dart between his. “What comes next?”

  “You’ll find out tomorrow at five a.m. when Zach picks you up. Just have a duffel packed with some stuff to hold you over for a while. Workout gear, mostly.”

  “A while? How long is that, exactly?”

  “Not sure yet. Let’s start with one month and see how it goes from there.”