Devotion: For Love or Honor, page 1
Devotion
For Love or Honor
by
Isabella Harron
Copyright © 2019 Isabella Harron
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a product of fiction, any similarities to persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.
May you never steal, lie, or cheat. But if you must steal, then steal away my sorrows. If you must lie, then lie with me all the nights of my life. And if you must cheat, then please cheat death, because I could never live a day without you.
-An Irish
Blessing
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Ryan
Leaving my bed this morning without any delay excited for the day; this has been my routine since the second day of Senior year. See, the first day of school I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be here any longer. I am tired of football, school drama, high school girls, and worrying about money or well the lack of funds. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if I can move up my date to join the military if I graduate from high school early, December instead of May. Or for that matter now. I turn eighteen on September fifth. Four days, four days, preventing me from beginning my life outside of high school. If my birthday had been a few short days sooner, I would have ditched this place long before now.
Then maybe things would have turned out differently. For now, I am bound to a promise I made in a moment of heartbreak as my mom took her last breaths before I lost her forever to cancer. All she dreamed of was to see me walk across the stage at graduation and to dance with me at my wedding.
No matter how hard I tried, there wasn’t enough magic in this world to make either of those happen before February of my sophomore year. My heart pounds when I remember her and what I need to do to uphold my promise, a small sacrifice for me but which means a great deal to my dad. When you are the one surviving son, all the hopes and dreams for the future are pinned heavily against your coattails as you make your way through this life, where the decisions you chose are in all reality, not yours.
So that is how I find myself walking these halls once again when I would rather be anywhere else in this world but here. I am bound by duty to fulfill another long-line of Raines’ men family tradition, pushing all self-sacrificing thoughts away instead I walk down the hall debating my options, with only a few classes plus athletics, choosing Journalism seemed to be an easy elective. You see I have no plans to hit a university after graduation, no money and no desire to rack up a shit load of debt that I spend the rest of my life paying off when there is not one degree where I would have that kind of dedication.
No, for me the youngest son of Robert Raines, my dedication will be to the Marines, three days after graduation, it is all arranged, my decision made for me.
I chose Journalism as my elective due to the fact I love photography, the only form of art I can produce. I have been snapping photos for as long as I remember. I still have the first digital camera my mom bought me before she died. She was the light of my life, made it to every football game since I started pony league at five. She drove me to countless practices, sitting on the sidelines in cold, wet or heat, never once straying from her dedication. Her support for me, unwavering up until the day she left this earth.
I promised my dad I would walk across that damn stage if it kills me with boredom, and I am feeling close to that point now. That all changed that first day, first thing in the morning, no one more surprised than, me.
That first day I walked down the hall surrounded by four cheerleaders fighting for my attention. Clueless, them, not me, a talent I developed freshmen year when I started playing varsity football and had to fight off the charms of senior girls. I quickly learned how to seem interested. I have perfected the technique; I am a master at it. I’m not a jerk or even a bad guy. I have not found a girl in this school that is capable, of holding my interest; it is as simple as that. Until that day first period Journalism, breaking away from the group as the bell rings, I made my excuses and walked into class as if I owned the place. Another technique I had developed which hid my real insecurity in this life, to the outside appearances I am calm and confident when I am in all reality, shaking like a kid.
I pulled my best one, had the smirk and smile working as I heard the collective gasps from the girls as I stroll into the class that is until I listened to her voice instantly rendering me speechless.
“Good Morning Mr. Raines. How nice of you to join us.”
#
Ryan
My eyes met hers halting me in my tracks, heart racing, mouth dry in an instant, rendering me speechless, silent. It could not have been, but a flash before I heard a clearing of a throat, only from her pointing towards a seat, but to me, it felt as if hours had passed where I was lost, caught up in her spell. I found my voice.
“Good Morning. Miss?” She points to her name across the blackboard. “Mrs. Stephenson.” I stumble over her name, the sounds feeling foreign across my lips. My heart does this strange flip-flop while my gut churns, causing some crazy motion sickness feeling as if I am rocking in rough seas. I take my seat while leaning onto the table, helping to ease the overwhelming feeling deep inside. I support my jaw in my hand while my eyes roam over every single inch of her body while she speaks.
Her shiny brown hair reminds me of the chocolate sauce my mom made, warm and addicting. Her eyes I am guessing hazel similar to mine, but when the light hits them from the large window, I swear they are green. She is tall but not too crazy tall; athletic built with very soft curves. She isn’t dressed sexy like some of the other teachers, a simple skirt molds across her hips and legs. A shirt that looks silky with short sleeves showing off her toned arms and slender wrists. I watch her every move hoping for her to bend enough for a glimpse of her creamy skin but the shirt hugs just below her collarbone.
Her breasts are big enough to fit in the palm of my hand but not squishy and bouncing when she moves, shit. I shift in my seat on the hard-plastic chair having to remove my eyes from grazing over her body; if I don’t, then I am threatening to break through my zipper.
I stay lost for most of the class, too caught up in Mrs. Stephenson while I am wondering how old she is, the class carries on without me until I hear her once again clear her throat and say. “Mr. Raines.”
“Yes.”
“Tell us about yourself.” Shit. I hear the giggles from behind me.
“I play varsity football, a senior,” I answer, the first thing coming to mind.
“Why did you choose Journalism?” Her question is soft, directed strictly towards me much different than other teachers who ask these same questions. I sense her genuine interest.
“Because of photography.”
“Oh?” She answers in surprise as if that was the very last response; she expected me to say.
“Yes. I have been taking photos since I was a kid. I never developed an attachment to other forms of art. I really enjoy photography.”
“This is exciting to have someone to discuss photography with.” Her words vibrate through my chest, leaving me feeling warm, still feeling her eyes on me when she addresses the class.
“Well, class. Here is a bit about me. This is my second-year teaching here at Williamstown. I am originally from Allentown, graduated from the University of Philadelphia with a degree in Journalism and a minor in Photography.” I absorb every word she says until reaching the point where she mentions she is indeed married, somehow learning about her marriage leaves a much different feeling deep within my gut.
The remainder of class Mrs. Stephenson breaks us up into groups based on our interests and experiences. No surprise to me when Karyn and Christie, two fellow seniors, choose photography. The class moves around the room towards the appropriate table by their assigned department. Me, I settle at the long photography table, equipped with a computer, cringing when Karyn and Christie are quick to grab a seat, one on either side.
After having spent the last three years attempting to avoid girls just like them, now I am forced to spend the next nine months surrounded by their chatter. The one on the left, brunette with bottle blond highlights, yes, it is that obvious, as she twirls a lock of her hair between her fingers while her lower lip juts out in an attempted pout. Not attractive. Shaking my head while making the mistake of then glancing towards the right, a cheerleader with bright blond hair so light I could consider it white. Sighing, I return my atten
#
Jenny
When Ryan Raines walked into my classroom during the second bell looking confident, cocky and sexy all-in-one, it took everything I had to maintain professionalism and to address him as a student and not the six-foot-tall walking sex-on-a-stick that he managed to be. He looked good enough last year, and yet the summer only added to his beauty, filling out his muscles, deepening his tan and somehow making him more manly.
My heart thumped against the internal wall of my chest when he said my name. There is not one female within this room that is unaffected by his charms. This is by far the craziest things I have ever done in my life, letting a high school student get me all worked up. Well, in my defense, the entire female group of my students is shifting in their seats with a similar problem.
I listen to each of the students learning their names, and their passions surprised the most by Ryan’s love of photography. It felt different when he was speaking as if it was us two, in a private conversation. I hand out the first assignment, which will help us get organized for the school newspaper, allowing myself a chance to find the balance I once had before the senior entered my space. My eyes dart towards the next to the last row in the room, until my gaze drifts towards Mr. Raines, to observe the appeal of half the female population. Ryan’s head is bent as he fills in the questionnaire form, his hair is dark brown, short but long enough to run your fingers through the silky-smooth length. His eyes, soulful, aged as if he has lived a lifetime in his short life. A perfectly tapered nose proportionally centered possessing deep masculinity and yet I see a tenderness lying underneath. Oh, and to top off the perfect face, he has the scruff of a two-day-old beard trailing alongside his jaw carrying over meeting the peaks of his full upper lip.
I sigh, shifting in my seat before I call time, asking for the papers. Circumventing the room, careful to avoid Mr. Raines, I break the class up into groups based on interests, it is when I move closer to Ryan without forethought; this is when I notice the perfectly sculpted muscles stretching the material of his t-shirt to its limits.
His eyes meet mine, when I speak to his group, made up of him and two senior girls I will have to pay attention to their names later, but for now, I maintain my focus and speak of expectations. Each girl, giggling, their words an attempt to impress Mr. Raines while they each speak, telling me about the camera equipment, they both have and their experience. Ryan appears uninterested, and yet he sits quietly as his eyes never leave mine, even though I do my best to break our connection to give each girl my full attention as they speak.
When I ask the same questions of Ryan, both girls manage to lower their chances considerably by first not giving him the same respect he allowed them, but interrupting several times while he was speaking, asking questions. I wait until he is done talking and the girls have lost interest before I begin to talk about the events, he will have time to photograph around his heavy football schedule.
“Oh, I will be able to do all of the football games. I am not a cheerleader, so I am free.” Kacey or something announced as I take a guess her name begins with a K. That must have irritated the other girl because I know for a fact that she is a cheerleader. I shut this conversation down quickly when I add.
“That is great. That will work. Every week we will go over the schedule of events, and each of you can let me know who will be available for each week.”
“Mrs. Stephenson. Don’t you think it will help to have two photographers at each event that way we can capture all the images working together.” The blond one. Maybe it is something with a C. I don't know.
“Not a bad idea, but it won’t be necessary. For the paper, we only need one or two of each activity unless it becomes the frontpage article. One photographer will be plenty.” I watch her huff in disappointment, ending her grand plan to spend time with Ryan. Score one for me. My eyes shift toward his. Oops. Ryan chuckles as his head bobs ever so slightly. Shit, he knows what I just did. Hopefully, he believes my reasons do not involve him. I nod and his changes to a slight shake. Oh crap, he does know.
#
Jenny
My journey to work is short enough to prevent me from dreading a long drive, but although it is not worthy of a commuter’s nightmare, it does in the short time from my house to the high school allow me a sufficient amount of time to contemplate my being. It is this drive along with the small population of Williamstown, Pennsylvania, fighting the early morning hours, coffee in hand juggling the road ahead this is where I miss my dad the most. Since my freshmen year at the university Dad and I would talk every morning while he accomplished his commute from my small hometown to the suburbs of Pittsburgh for work each day, only to retrace the hour-long trek in reverse each night. A dangerous feat while fighting the wintry mix, a fight he lost last year when a semi-truck slid across a patch of black ice; my dad never stood a chance.
Tears threaten with the familiar sting to the back of my eyes, a year later and the loss never eases. I miss his voice, his laughter and most of all his words of wisdom knowing what to say at that moment in time where all seems lost, my dad knew the words to halt my pain lifting me until the dreaded decision I faced was no longer an overwhelming end-of-the-world scenario.
Turning out of the long line into the teacher’s parking lot, before I can grab my work bag my best friend and fellow teacher Merrilee steps close to my side prepared with a warm embrace and smile.
“Should I ask?” Shaking my head, I fall into step beside her quickening my pace to keep up with her five-foot-six-inch curvy frame clicking along the pavement in her three-inch stilettos.
“This is my second year of working with you, and I still struggle to understand how you can manage to stand in those things all day, let alone walk this fast.” Giggling. A strange and foreign occasion after weeks of sadness and frustration.
Merrilee laughs, waving her hand in the air, encouraging me to liven up my step. “Come on girl there are young minds that need our warped sense of humor to assist them into this world.” Her laughter drowns out as we step among the throes of massive senior football players judging by the broad shoulders blocking our views from down the hall. Me, I attempt to weave myself through the masses to ensure my timely arrival to the classroom before the first-period bell. Merrilee on-the-other-hand is lolly-gagging, taking her sweet time while assessing the muscular backsides of the four linebackers walking in front of her. Sensing her arrival, the tallest, Shane I believe turns and with snarky grin and murmurs.
“Good morning Miss Hargreaves.” Merrilee giggles.
“Good morning Shane.” I pinch the inside of her silk blouse covered arm pulling her towards our halls, away from the beefy athletes.
Spying the time, I hurry along turning onto my hall, halting my pace when I hear.
“Good morning Mrs. Stephenson.”
His voice is as smooth as silky dark chocolate causing me to fight the trembling goosebumps that threaten to move down my spine. Ignoring my initial reaction, responding as any teacher should.
“Good morning Mr. Raines.”
He chuckles as I walk past him, ignoring his penetrating gaze and pure manliness all wrapped up in an eighteen-year-old body. I push away thoughts of the way his broad shoulders from years of playing football stretch his taut t-shirt molding over every formed muscle. The very same flesh I am sure Meaghan Tessler is now attempting to run her fingers over as she walks nearer to him as I pass. I step towards my classroom ignoring the heated stare aimed at my backside, the very same I have felt every morning this first week of school. Somehow, I have been on his radar since the first day, knowing better than to take pride in any remark or notice from any of my students.
“He is looking mighty fetching this morning.” I hear the purring, for my ears only as the lock on my classroom door gives way. I glance towards my best-friend Merrilee, rolling my eyes but not before lifting my vision to lock with his heated gaze. Brief, but it is enough to warm me through-out, setting my insides ablaze before breaking the connection to walk through the doorway with Merrilee hot on my heels.
