The Road Without You Read online

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  Epilogue

  Connect

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by H.M. Sholander

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by H.M. Sholander

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.hmsholander.com

  Cover Designer: RBA Designs: Romantic Book Affairs

  Photography: K Keeton Designs

  Models: Kayla Ann and Eric Jacob

  Editor: Chelsea Kuhel

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  For Heather.

  I couldn’t have done it without you. ♥

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  Epilogue

  Connect

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by H.M. Sholander

  About the Author

  Raegan

  What an asshole! Oh, wait, that doesn’t even begin to explain it.

  Fucking Travis.

  My mouth falls open as I stand in the doorway of my bedroom. Frozen, I watch with wide eyes as my boyfriend screws the naked chick wrapped around his waist. His arms are rigid, cupping the woman’s ass, as he swivels his hips, meeting hers. The sound of their slapping bodies and the moans escaping her mouth turn into a soundtrack I never want to remember.

  “Are you kidding me?” I scream, fist clenched at my side and every muscle in my body coiled tight. I should be in a puddle on the ground, crying my eyes out for the man I love, but I’m not. I’m livid.

  Their heads whip in my direction, and Travis’s face goes pale at the sound of my voice. The unknown woman has the decency to push Travis away, causing him to drop her to her feet.

  “Who is she?” the woman hisses.

  I’m the girl who sleeps in this bedroom every night.

  She shoves Travis out of her way and grabs the sheet from the bed. She scrambles to cover her naked body with my thousand-thread-count sheet. Travis snatches a pair of gym shorts off the floor, stepping into them to cover his naked form.

  He closes the gap between us, reaching out to me, but I don’t make a move toward him. “Rae, baby, it…it was a mistake. This doesn’t mean anything. You mean—”

  “Please”—I throw my hands out in front of me—“by all means, finish,” I say, pointing to the blonde bimbo wearing my sheet like a dress. I’d like to watch it burn up in flames, disintegrating into nothing, much like my relationship with Travis.

  I flee the bedroom, storming down the hallway to the front door, needing to leave before I do something stupid, like take him back. I pass pictures of us hanging on the wall, and I fight the urge to throw them on the ground and stomp on them. We’re smiling, appearing to be the perfect couple—blissful and in love. It’s all a lie.

  I step on a chew toy in the middle of the floor, losing my balance before righting myself and turning toward the living room with the front door in my sights. Footsteps sound behind, and my heartrate picks up. I move faster, wanting to escape the suffocating feeling gnawing at my throat.

  I thought Travis was perfect when I met him my senior year of high school. His crazy red hair and captivating smile sucked me in and never let go.

  My eyes burn and chest aches, but I push it down, not wanting to fall apart.

  I was taken with the first guy who ever showed interest in me. I thought he was the sun, and I had been made to orbit around him. What an idiot I was to believe that.

  My shaking hand lands on the doorknob, ready to walk out on him for good.

  I never should have moved in with him a year ago, and I shouldn’t have wasted four years of my life with him.

  My heart wanted him to be the one, but my heart was a fool.

  Trust your gut, not your heart. Your heart gets you in trouble every time.

  Lesson learned.

  I turn the knob and open the door, but Travis’s hand slams on the door, trapping me inside.

  He flips me around with one hand, and says, “It was an accident. It won’t ever happen again. I promise.” He takes a step closer, eliminating the space between us. With his hand on the small of my back, he holds me against his body. “Please, let’s talk about this. You’re my everything.”

  For a second, I think about giving in to him, letting him sweet talk his way out of this mess.

  My eyes appraise every inch of his face, searching for the guy I used to love.

  His normally perfect red hair is in disarray from Blondie’s hands running through it, tugging it as he fucked her against the wall.

  He isn’t the guy I used to love—he hasn’t been in a long time. This is a version of Travis I don’t recognize.

  His green eyes swim with anxiety and fear as he wonders if I’ll have the guts to walk away from him.

  I feel my bravado slipping away with each passing second my body is pressed against his. He’s familiar, and I hate how much I want to cling to him—even in this moment—because I’m scared of change, of living without him. I’m such an idiot.

  “Who is this girl?” the bimbo asks from somewhere in the room, and my body goes rigid. I scan the area until my eyes land on the blonde. She hovers next to the couch, clinging to my sheet.

  My eyes narrow, and I clinch my jaw, anger seeping into my veins the longer I stare at her.

  Blondie.

  He certainly has a type; that’s for sure. The girl’s hair is platinum blonde, meaning fake as hell, falling to the middle of her back. I can tell she fake-’n’-bakes at least three times a week, her leathery orange skin clashing with her dark blue eyes.

  Me, on the other hand? My hair is naturally blonde, resting at my shoulders in soft waves. Pale skin complements my crystal-blue eyes with a few freckles dotting my face.

  “Rae, baby,” Travis pleads, and I grind my teeth at the words he spoke. “It was an accident.”

  Jerking my attention back to him, I throw daggers at him with my eyes as I push away from him, his hand falling from my back.

  “First,” I say, raising my
hand, stabbing him in the chest, “how did your penis accidentally fall into Blondie over there while you were both naked? Hmm? Did your clothes have anthrax on them? Was her uterus about to fall out of her body, and you had to stick your dick inside her to keep her from dying?” I shove his shoulder, causing him to stumble back.

  “Secondly, don’t call me Rae.” I scowl, my eyebrows pulled together and lips pursed. “You know how much I hate that stupid nickname.”

  “It won’t ever happen again,” he promises.

  To his credit, I can see the anguish written across his face. His mouth is pulled into a frown, and his anxious eyes move quickly across my face, as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve in case this is the last time he’ll ever see me.

  If he really cared about me, he wouldn’t have been screwing a no-name girl against our bedroom wall. I hope her back is sore from hitting the wall when he pounded into her.

  I stare down at his bare chest, noticing the red nail marks she left behind. I grit my teeth, blood rushing to my face. If only she had clawed him harder and ripped his fucking heart out, I could forgive them both.

  “Bullshit,” I fire back, knowing full well it will happen again if I’m dumb enough to stay.

  “I promise, it won’t. I’ve been stressed at work. I needed a release, and we haven’t had sex in three months,” he explains, his eyes trying to coax me into believing him.

  “What right does that give you to screw Blondie? How selfish of me to not have sex with you. I mean, really, I was asking to be cheated on,” I say so sarcastically that my eyes roll to the back of my head.

  “We can make this work,” he says, running his hand up the length of my face.

  I smack his hand away and push him back, creating much-needed space between us. “Not a chance.”

  I attempt to remove his hand from the door, but he holds steady. I yank the door as hard as I can, but it’s no use. My small form is no match for him.

  “Let me out,” I demand as barking sounds from outside, causing my back to stiffen.

  Travis grabs the top of my arm, pushing me away from the door. “No, not until we work this out.”

  I stumble back, taken off guard, but catch myself before I land on the floor.

  “Um, hello, I’m still here,” Blondie interjects.

  He’s going to force me to work this out while Blondie stands there, covered in my sheet? I don’t think so.

  Travis pulls me into his body and holds me in a suffocating hug that I have no intention of returning.

  My skin crawls as his hands move down my back, attempting to comfort me. If he’s not going to listen, I’m going to show him exactly how I feel. I lift my knee, thrusting it into his crotch as hard as I can. He instantly lets go, falling forward on his knees, holding his precious balls that I pray will be bruised for weeks. Better yet, I hope his dick is out of commission for months.

  He deserves it.

  I stalk over to Blondie, who’s hovering next to the sofa, and rip the sheet from her body. I throw it across the room as a gasp escapes her mouth. She rushes to cover her breasts with her arms, but it’s useless because those things are so huge and fake not even an airplane could conceal them. She seeks cover from the sofa, cowering behind the armrest, as I give her a good-luck look, seeing as she’ll need it if she sticks around with Travis.

  She deserved that, too.

  I stomp toward the front door, maneuvering around Travis and avoiding the hand he outstretches toward me. I make my exit, leaving him in the past where he belongs.

  I don’t need him, and I guess it took finding him with someone else for me to come to that conclusion. Go figure.

  Jumping in my car and tossing my phone in the cup holder, I drive away from my home, away from the man I shared my life with, away from a life I thought I knew. I drive toward the one person who will make me feel light-years better without throwing it in my face that she was right all along—my best friend, Arya.

  With the windows down, I blare rock music through the car. Music that would make your ears bleed from the screaming and pounding of the drums. It fuels my adrenaline and anger as I bang on the steering wheel, yelling along with the lyrics. It makes it easier to keep driving into a new reality.

  There were so many times when I should have ended things with him.

  For instance, the time Travis left me stranded at the movies by myself. He said he had to pick up one of his buddies from his house to take him to a party. Who cares about a dumb party? And who leaves their girlfriend at the movies without a phone? And, because I didn’t have a phone, I couldn’t call anyone to pick me up.

  Does anyone memorize phone numbers anymore?

  So, there I was…stranded. One of the cashiers behind the concession stand was nice enough to lend me his phone, so I could call a cab. I made it home on my own, and Travis never bothered to apologize for abandoning me.

  I blow out a breath, dropping my head back on the headrest.

  “Rae, baby.” His words echo in my mind. I told him a thousand times how much I hated that name, but he never listened…or maybe he didn’t care.

  When I was in kindergarten, none of the other kids could say Raegan. One day, while I was coloring, a boy with a face full of freckles came up to me and called me Rae of Sunshine. He said I reminded him of the sun, but I think it was because I was holding a yellow crayon at the time. It caught on, and soon, everyone was calling me Rae of Sunshine, even my teachers. By the time I hit high school, everyone was calling me Rae of Sunshine as a joke.

  I can still hear their snickers.

  “If her name is Rae of Sunshine, how come her nose is always stuck in a book? Shouldn’t her head be stuck in the clouds?”

  That was the best they could come up with, but it annoyed me to no end.

  My phone vibrates, and I pick it up, seeing the caller ID flash Travis’s name. I swipe Ignore and toss my cell back in the cup holder, recalling the day we moved in together.

  A phone beeps in the distance as I sit at our kitchen table, but I ignore it, trying to wipe the goofy grin from my face.

  Travis and I live together. How crazy is that? Warmth fills my chest at the thought of waking up to him every morning. I’m living a dream every girl wishes for.

  I glance around the house—a clear shot to the living room, thanks to the open-floor plan I insisted we have—and grimace at the unpacked boxes surrounding our ranch-style house. I’m not looking forward to unpacking. I loathe the process, but I had no problem shoving everything I owned into boxes in less than two days. Packing gives me the chance to purge unnecessary belongings from my life. Throwing away things I haven’t used in months gives me a sense of liberation.

  Beeping sounds through the living room, chiming over and over with an incoming text. I know it’s not my phone because I religiously keep mine on vibrate. It drives everyone I know insane because they can’t ever reach me. What can I say? I hate the sound of a ringing phone.

  Travis left to turn in his apartment key fifteen minutes ago and must have forgotten his phone. I amble toward the beeping, searching around the mountain of boxes taking over every inch of the house, wanting to make the annoying noise stop.

  “Ha!” I shout in victory as I snatch his phone out of an open box.

  He must have dropped it and not realized it. It vibrates in my hand as it beeps one last time.

  Inputting his password, I unlock his phone to see what’s so important as I switch the volume off, leaving it on vibrate. Someone at his job could be trying to reach him, and I can at least tell them he left his phone behind, so they stop harassing him. But that’s not what I see.

  A string of unread texts from someone named Claire appear on the screen. I scroll through the messages, reading them one after the other.

  Claire: Where are you?

  Claire: I need you. Come see me.

  Claire: What’s taking so long?

  Claire: Travis…

  Claire: What will it take to get your attenti
on?

  The last text is a stinger. A picture of some chick in lingerie.

  Why is she sending my boyfriend a picture of herself half-naked? Tears prick at my eyes, but I don’t dare let them fall.

  The front door flies open, drawing my attention to Travis. His perfectly coiffed red hair gleams in the sun as his eyes sweep the room. Frazzled, he rushes around the living room, rummaging through boxes. “Do you know where my phone is?” he questions, not even bothering to look at me.

  “Yeah, I do.” Holding it between my fingertips, I stare at him, watching him panic. If I were him, I’d be panicking, too.

  His vile cell phone vibrates in my hand, causing a knot to form in my stomach.

  His head jerks up at the sound. “I thought I’d lost it,” he says nervously, walking over to steal it away from me, praying I didn’t see anything.

  But I did. I saw everything.

  I snap my hand closed before he snatches it away. “Who is Claire, and why is she sending you pictures of herself?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Ignoring him, I throw his phone as hard as I can, and it flies across the living room, landing with a thunk on the hardwood floor. Too bad it didn’t hit the wall, splintering into a thousand pieces.

  His head whips toward his phone, and I notice the tic of his jaw as his neck tenses against the collar of his shirt. His chest rises and falls several times before he turns back to me, face full of remorse, contradicting his body language. “Rae, it’s nothing, I promise.”

  He attempts to slide his hands around my waist, but I back away from him before he can touch me.

  “Stop calling me that,” I say. “So, who is she? Your side chick for when you get bored with me?”

  “That’s not it at all. She’s a client from work,” he argues.

  “Client. Hooker. Mistress. Homewrecker,” I tick off.

  “No, a client. Business only. I had her number because I was working on her case, and when we were finished, we celebrated with a drink. She started flirting with me, and I told her about you. I told her I had a girlfriend. I put a stop to it, but that doesn’t keep her from texting me.”

  Funny how he said he didn’t mention me until she was already flirting with him. You would think my name would have come up in a conversation sooner.