Atone, page 1
Copyright © 2019
ATONE by Cassandra Robbins
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or scanned in any manner without written permission of the author, except in the need of quotes for reviews only.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and establishments are the product of the author’s imagination or are used to provide authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Edited: Nikki Busch Editing
Cover Design: Michele Catalano Creative
Formatting: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC
Cover Photo: Michelle Lancaster
Cover Model: Tommy Pearce
The Beginning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Also by Cassandra Robbins
Connect
Acknowledgments
About the Author
FOR MY MOTHER AND BROTHER
CHARLIE
Seventeen years old–Los Angeles
Oh my God. The loud rumble of their bikes on our driveway prompts me to grab a tube of shimmery red lip gloss from my back pocket and slather it onto my lips. They’re my best feature, so I try to draw attention to them. As my breath stutters, goose bumps appear and my cheeks flood with warm heat. Stuffing the lip gloss back into my pocket, I reach for the People magazine one of the waitresses left yesterday and try to breathe. Butterflies swim in my stomach as I purse my lips and toss my hair to the side, accentuating my profile.
The doors to my parents’ diner swing open and he walks in. Maybe walk isn’t the right word: saunters, glides, struts, whatever. He’s so beautiful, so hot that it’s all I can do to keep my eyes focused on the magazine. I have no idea what it says. Geez, it could be in Spanish. Wait, is it in Spanish?
“Charlize,” my mother snaps, and I shift my gaze to hers.
“What?” I straighten, tossing the magazine on the counter. She stands and frowns, hands on hips. Her knowing eyes scan my face, which of course makes me flush even more. I look down at my chipped nail polish and wonder for the thousandth time why she’s so beautiful. I love her, she’s my best friend, but it’s hard to live in her shadow. Especially, when she’s blond and blue-eyed and I’m dark-haired with strange, yellowish eyes. My dad calls them gold; I call them weird.
“Go in the back and make sure Jessica is on. She can take care of those men.” She reaches for my arm as if I’m three rather than seventeen. Her long nails dig into me as I try to wiggle loose.
“Mom.” My eyes dart to the hot guys laughing near the “Please wait to be seated” sign. “Let go,” I hiss. Her slim frame towers over me, which is saying something. I’m not short, but with her heeled boots, she’s almost six feet.
“Seriously?” I eye her. She still holds on.
“You know Jessica isn’t on yet.” I jerk my arm free before she can say anything and squeeze past her straight toward the hostess stand.
“Jesus,” I mumble and try to catch my breath because one of these guys… well, let’s say I spend way too much time masturbating to thoughts of him. He’s my go-to guy when I need to get off fast. I pull my cropped top down and smile at them. Both of them are fucking hot. Tall and lean, they’re so ripped you can see their abs through their T-shirts. One is blond, the other auburn. The ginger has blue eyes; light freckles dust his tan skin. My guy has no freckles and smooth golden skin, a hard jaw, and piercing gray eyes. I shit you not, they’re gray, like a storm cloud. Almost silver. And full lips that I wish would kiss me. But that’s never gonna happen. This particular guy is taken. Nervously tossing the hair off my shoulder again, I concentrate on walking sexy.
“Hi.” The moment I say it, I want to die. It sounds pathetic and obvious. I grab two menus from the wooden pedestal that holds our seating chart.
“Hey.” His voice is deep with just the right amount of huskiness. God, I swallow, hearing a menu thud to the floor. Somehow, I will my gaze away from his hypnotizing eyes to process that not only am I staring like a creeper, I’m also looking like a klutz. Happy now that my hair is so long it falls over my face and hides my burning cheeks and neck, I bend down to get the plastic menu.
“Need help?”
Shit, shit, shit. He is unbelievably perfect. Even his smell is amazing… smoke and something. Maybe spice?
“No, thank you.” I pull a strand of hair that’s stuck to my glossed-up lips behind my ear.
“You sure?” He’s way too close. And my stomach flips as if I’m on a roller coaster.
Holy fuck, my eyes are aimed right at his crotch.
“Oh God.” I straighten up so that instead of staring at his junk, I’m back to his eyes. It’s so not fair. This guy is flat-out beautiful with tousled honey-wheat hair that’s altogether wild. His lean, muscled arms are covered in simple tattoos, unlike his friend who has colorful art all over his arms.
“Jesus, you two.” His buddy sneers behind me, reminding me that I’m making a complete ass out of myself.
I wave my hands and clear my throat. “So… follow me.” It comes out like a croak as I force my legs to move, one step in front of the other as I walk them to the Pulp Fiction table. Yes, my parents are actors, or used to be. My dad still is, or thinks he is. He still gets small roles here and there. I guess when he was younger, he made a living at it. At least, that’s what he tells everyone. Basically, his big claim to fame was a soap until they killed him off. Unfortunately, now his career is pretty much nonexistent, but he’s still holding on. I feel awful thinking this… but if he hasn’t made it yet, I doubt he’s gonna hit it at forty-five. Still, who am I to squash his dreams? Meanwhile, my mom did have a career and gave it all up when she got pregnant with me. She was on a popular sitcom. It’s how my parents bought our diner. But as soon as she got pregnant, my dad made sure she gave up her career, something I have to hear constantly. I mean, I love them both but wish they had made better decisions when they were younger. Maybe they would both be happier.
“Pay up, mothafucker.”
David punches his friend in the arm and nods at the movie poster of Uma Thurman. God, he makes me feel things when he talks. It’s so weird… like his voice is growly and I always feel like I need to pee when he’s near.
The guy with auburn hair snorts. I think his name is Edge. He plops his large body into the red booth. I look from one to the other. “What?”
David grins and I about die. He has the best smile and a small dimple on his right cheek. It’s barely there with his stubble, but I search for it and always seem to find it.
“We had a bet, gorgeous.” And there goes my stomach and the last of the air in my lungs.
“I had money this was the table you were going to seat us at,” he rasps near my ear, causing me to tremble. His body heat soaks right into me. Geez, he’s not even touching me.
I slap the menus hard on the table and shut my eyes at how loud it sounds. Unless I’m imagining things, I swear he dips his head to smell me as he slides himself into the booth.
Shaking my head, I can’t help but smile as I hand them each a menu. They both sit, hands crossed and grins on their faces.
“Thanks, Beautiful.”
Did his fingers purposely touch mine? I blink at his cocky smirk and those eyes of his…
“Edge put money on the Reservoir Dogs table. But I knew my girl would be doing Pulp Fiction today.”
Holy shit, he’s full-on flirting today. I wish more than anything I was his girl. But I’m not. Can’t be—he’s freaking married, I think. Whatever. He’s taken, locked up tight with an adorable baby girl with blond curls and rosy cheeks. I straighten my shoulders and snip, “So, water? Or beer? I mean, it is almost noon.”
Both of them stop grinning and stare in confusion at my sudden bitchy tone. Someone drops a dish in the back, causing me to jump and look toward the noise then back straight into his hypnotizing silver eyes.
“You okay today?” It sounds almost intimate, which aggravates me.
“Yes… just busy.” I bite my bottom lip as they move their heads to look around me. And all I want to do is run away because of course the diner is almost empty. I never feel like this around other guys.
He and his club have been coming in for as long as I can remember. Their dads and moms brought them as soon as my parents opened. And now they bring their wives, girlfriends… kids. God, life isn’t fair. I want this guy. Like, I want him and have for
His silver eyes go up and down my body. And not for the first time do I wish I had more curves. I’m skinny like my mom, but she has fake boobs, so that helps her. Mine are real and nothing special.
Slowly I cross one foot over the other.
“I’ll have the club sandwich with extra bacon and fries.” Silence fills the table as we stare at each other until a ghost of a smile appears on his face.
“Edge? You eating or you gonna bitch about Dolly while I eat?”
“Fuck you. Like you’re one to talk.” His eyes signal toward me. And my heart skips a beat. Is Edge insinuating that David talks about me?
“Give me a bacon cheeseburger cooked bloody and some onion rings.”
I nod as I frantically make my shaky hands write. Edge is looking at his phone and he doesn’t look happy.
“Seriously, you okay, Charlie?” I want so badly to stomp my foot and scream the truth, that even though I’m only seventeen I love him. Biting down on my bottom lip, I nod. He leans back, crossing his hands behind his neck as he watches me. That incredible grin and those sculpted arms make me dizzy.
“And we’ll have two Cokes. We don’t drink when we’re on our bikes.”
“O-kay.” I put the pen behind my ear and shove the napkin with their order in my back pocket. As I reach for the menus, a strong tan hand reaches for my wrist. Oh God, this guy does things inside my head and heart that confuse me. When he touches me, it’s almost like being singed. Puffing out some air, I turn to look at him. His face is inches from mine, and I breathe in his sweet cinnamon breath.
“You’re acting different today. What is it?” His eyes narrow and I notice they’re not really silver; they’re light blue. He’s not a boy—he’s a man, and I’m not thinking right around him. I need to stay away. If he asked me, I’d drop everything, even college, to be with him. Which is insane thinking… because he wouldn’t. And it would kill my parents… well, not kill them, but they would freak. They took a loan on the diner to send me to Notre Dame Catholic High School so I could get into the USC theater program. It worked, and I’ll start in two months. That means I won’t see David again, which makes me want to die.
“Jesus man… Debbie is batshit crazy right now. She’s upsetting Dolly and we have enough shit going on.” Edge leans back and slaps the table as he shoves the screen in David’s face. “Control your bitch, man.” His crude words make me blink and the fantasy of riding off into the sunset evaporates fast.
“I’ll put your order in.” I look down at David whose scowl shifts from the phone to Edge.
“Where is she?” He takes the phone. “Is that Tabatha with her?”
And that made me want to throw up. I suck. What is wrong with me? He’s fucking married! With a baby!
“So… anything else?” The table tingles with an energy I don’t understand but it’s there—alive and burning into me.
“That’s it,” David growls but gentles as he looks up at me.
With a nod, I spin and almost break into a run. Why did overhearing that small conversation upset me? These crazy delusions that he likes me or that I will ever be his have to stop. I hate Debbie, and I hate that he’s taken. Also, anything dealing with his super cute baby girl makes me uncomfortable. Guilty. I’ll probably go to hell.
“Edge, tell Dolly to ignore her.” David’s voice travels across the diner as I bolt into the kitchen and close my eyes, leaning against the door. I will not cry, I will not cry, I chant in my head.
“You okay, Charlie?”
My eyes fly open to stare at Jorge and Manuel, our day cooks. Pushing off the door, I plaster on a fake smile and look up at the vent on the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. The last thing I need is for my mom to see me like this.
“I’m fine.” I sniff and hand them my order. “Just bad allergies today.”
They both scan my face. Manuel takes the napkin and shakes his head, mumbling about how he’s happy he’s not a teenager. I sigh and wipe under my eyes, making sure my mascara hasn’t run.
“Charlize? In the office.”
I jump, almost scream at my mom who stands holding the office door open. Straightening my shoulders, I say, “In a minute. I need to get their drinks.” It sounds so obvious I cringe.
“Jessica?” My mom holds up a finger not taking her eyes off me as she yells.
“Yes, Mrs. Armstrong?” Jessica swishes over with her phone in one hand and a carrot stick in the other. Her bright pink pixie hair and the way she dresses and talks just screams slut. Today she’s wearing a plaid miniskirt with a white tuxedo shirt and knee-high socks. I guess she’s going for the porn schoolgirl look. I attend a private school and our uniform is nothing like that.
“Can you please take care of the Disciples’ table? I need a word with my daughter.”
Both our mouths drop. Jessica recovers first and smiles sweetly. “No problem. What did they want?” Her pretty brown eyes laser into mine as she arches a thin eyebrow.
“Coke and… water.” I shake my head at my mom.
“Don’t give me that look.” She snaps her finger and motions for me to enter the small office.
“God,” I mumble and roll my eyes as I pass, holding my breath as I enter. We had a flood in the kitchen that made its way into the office, which had old carpet to begin with. The mildew smell seems to get worse as time passes and neither of my parents has done anything about it. I guess my mom is waiting for my dad and vice versa. Whatever, it stinks and needs to be replaced.
She shuts the door and starts to pace. I take the pen from behind my ear and click it over and over again. If she starts lecturing, it could take a while, so the pen is a subtle hint to hurry up.
“What’s going on with you and that biker?” I blink at her. Wow, she’s not even trying to sugarcoat it. Sighing, I lower myself into the cheap aluminum chair and cross my legs.
“Ummm, nothing.”
Her eyes narrow on me, which I hate. So, I look over her shoulder at the only thing that hangs in our office: an old calendar of my mom when she was twenty.
“I need you to be honest with me.”
I lean back and put my elbow on the edge of our desk. In reality, it’s a table that wasn’t suitable for the restaurant because of a big dent in the middle.
“And I am.” I try to take a breath without gagging.
“So, you’re not hanging out with the Disciples?” I’m about to respond, but she lifts a finger. “Because they’re bad. So bad you have no idea. Those men do drugs, deal drugs.”
She paces again. “I’m sure they kill people, Charlize. They are not our type of people. I don’t want to sound like a snob but—”
“But you do.” I jump up. “You know, has it occurred to you that they happen to like riding bikes? God, Mom, just because they have tattoos and wear vests with the name Disciples on it doesn’t mean they’re the Sons of Anarchy.” I use air quotes for the Sons of Anarchy. That’s got to be where my mom is getting this shit. She watches that show all the time and actually believes it.
“You were an actress, you know. That’s all for show. It’s not real life.”
That stops her and her blond hair falls around one shoulder as she puts her hands together like she’s praying. “Sweetheart… you’re so young and naïve. You have your whole life ahead of you. Please, please stay away from David. You think he’s exciting and handsome but—”
“Mom.” I roll my eyes. “He’s got a baby.”
“Yes.” She looks me straight in the eyes. “He has a baby. He has a wife, girlfriend—” Again, I open my mouth, but she stops me. “He’s not for you. Nothing but bad things will follow that one.”
My eyes blur with tears. She’s right and I know it. I sink back into the chair.
“You don’t have anything to worry about.” I glance down at my tennis shoes. “He doesn’t even know I exist,” I whisper.
She snorts and reaches for my chin. “Charlize?” Her cool hands on my hot face almost make me shiver. “Trust me. That man wants you. You need to be with someone who is going to let you shine, not tarnish you.” I blink back the tears and nod. Her expression shows no anger, but there’s a touch of sadness in her eyes.
