Give You Up (Dumas University Book 1) Read online

  Give You Up

  Ashlyn Mathews

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Syn

  Chapter 2

  Taron

  Chapter 3

  Syn

  Chapter 4

  Syn

  Chapter 5

  Taron

  Chapter 6

  Syn

  Chapter 7

  Syn

  Chapter 8

  Syn

  Chapter 9

  Syn

  Chapter 10

  Taron

  Chapter 11

  Syn

  Chapter 12

  Syn

  Chapter 13

  Taron

  Chapter 14

  Syn

  Chapter 15

  Taron

  Chapter 16

  Syn

  Chapter 17

  Taron

  Chapter 18

  Taron

  Chapter 19

  Syn

  Chapter 20

  Syn

  Chapter 21

  Syn

  Chapter 22

  Taron

  Chapter 23

  Syn

  Chapter 24

  Taron

  Chapter 25

  Syn

  Chapter 26

  Taron

  Chapter 27

  Taron

  Chapter 28

  Taron

  Chapter 29

  Syn

  Chapter 30

  Syn

  Chapter 31

  Taron

  Chapter 32

  Syn

  Chapter 33

  Taron

  Chapter 34

  Syn

  Chapter 35

  Syn

  Chapter 36

  Taron

  Chapter 37

  Syn

  Chapter 38

  Syn

  Chapter 39

  Taron

  Chapter 40

  Syn

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Note from Author

  Also by Ashlyn Mathews

  Keep in Touch

  Copyright © 2020 by Ashlyn Mathews.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Melissa Gill Design

  Edited by Courtney Umphress

  Give You Up/Ashlyn Mathews. -- 1st ed.

  Created with Vellum

  “The music is not in the notes, but in the silence between.”

  ~Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

  Syn

  Taron Vaughn. He is a guy from my past I never thought I’d see again. Star quarterback. King of the game. A cocky jerk that at one point in my life took up available space in my heart until a kiss destroyed us.

  Taron now plays ball at my college and is after more than a championship win. He wants to punish me for that kiss. Demand I serve up on a silver platter my pride, my body, and my absolute loyalty. Sorry, champ, but I didn’t spend years drama-proofing my life for you to come barging in and dismantling it piece by piece.

  Taron

  One chance, one listen, one wish. What Syn Winters promised me. I got none of those things. Instead, she ripped my heart out of my chest, then disappeared. Ghosted. She should know better than to ghost a hot-tempered bastard like me. I am here to collect what is mine, and after I punish Syn for her sins against me, I’ll walk away with my heart whole again. Except nothing with Syn is ever easy or what it seems.

  1

  Syn

  It is hotter than what I am used to for June. Sweat beads along my upper lip. My bangs stick to my skin. I fan my face, thankful for wide-brim straw hats, bikinis, and flip flops. It’s what I have been living in for the past week.

  “Doing okay, kiddo?” I tip up my hat and glance down at the little boy next to me. We are standing in line for my little brother’s newest favorite ice-cold treat, Hawaiian shaved ice.

  “Hot.”

  “I know, sweetie.” I remove my sunglasses. His cheeks are flushed. “Why don’t you wait on that bench?” I point to the spot in the shade beneath an awning.

  “Remember, blueberry.”

  “Are you sure? Your mouth and tongue will turn blue.”

  Walking backward with his hands shoved in the pockets of his khaki shorts, he sticks out his tongue. Smurf blue, leftover from yesterday. Awesome. I laugh. He smiles.

  God, I love that kid.

  The line moves, and soon I’m next. The lady behind the counter, her eyes light up. “The usual?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She rings up my order, and I hand her cash, my attention sliding to Gunner. He is sitting on the bench with his hands clasped in his lap and his legs hanging off the edge. He swings them, looking cute and carefree as can be.

  The lady looks where I’m looking. “He’s a good kid. How old is he?”

  “Five. He starts kindergarten in the fall.” She hands me my change, and I drop them in my bag.

  “Where are you two from?”

  “He lives with his dad in San Diego. I live in Washington state.”

  She starts the ice machine, and Gunner hops off the bench and runs over, the sweltering heat forgotten in his enthusiasm. He loves watching her shape the ice and then pour the flavoring, the color bleeding into the ice until there is nothing left of the white. I pick him up by the waist and prop him on the counter.

  This boy is excited for that first bite. Sweet. Cold. Cooling. Hopefully, he takes it easy. Brain freezes are not fun. The first time he had one, Gunner’s face reminded me of my friend Gwen’s bitter beer face.

  After the lady is done pouring the flavoring, she sticks a spoon in the ice and hands Gunner his treat. He runs back to the bench. Picking up on the vibe that she has more to say, I hang around but keep the conversation short. More customers show up, a man and a woman, from their shadows. He is tall with wide shoulders. She’s slender and her hair is in a topknot.

  “What part of Washington are you from? My daughter is looking at a college in Dumas.”

  “That must be Dumas University. It’s the only college in Dumas. Where I go. I’m in my last year.”

  “What a small world! Do you like it?”

  “I do.”

  “How’s the weather?”

  “Cooler.”

  “She likes cooler. It’s too hot here for her.”

  Here is Bayside, an island off the coast of Southern California. This “family trip” was my father’s idea. I normally don’t go along with Beau’s ideas, but he wanted to help me celebrate my monumental twenty-first birthday in style. The main reason I agreed, though, is having more time with my little brother. Gunner is the best thing to come out of our attempts at becoming a family since I found out four years ago Beau is my biological father.

  “So you recommend?”

  “Highly.” In the corner of my eye, a glob of blue ice slides down Gunner’s chin. I grab a napkin. “It was nice meeting you. I should go. His dad is waiting for us.”

  “Will you be back tomorrow? My daughter would love to hear more.”

  I give her an apologetic smile. “Today’s our last. I hope your daughter looks into DU more. Thanks again.”

  I move out of the line and m
ake my way to Gunner. His attention drops to the napkin in my hand. Understanding his dad well for a five-year-old, Gunner hops off the bench and tips up his face. I dab at the blue flavoring.

  “Clean. Dad will be happy.” I plant a kiss on Gunner’s forehead. His tongue and lips can be stained blue, but not his face. Beau Huntington adores his only son’s face and would rather perfection remain flawless. His words.

  “Syn?”

  “Yes, kiddo?” I mirror his whisper.

  “That guy’s giving you a mean look.”

  They’re looking at you. They’re staring. Why do they stare? Why do they look? That is what Gunner said when we made the dumb mistake of going past the shaved ice shack and into town. With as progressive as the world has become and the progress women have made with regards to their bodies, face piercings and sleeve tattoos should not be an issue.

  I was wrong. The people that live in or visit Bayside are conservative, stuffy, and snobby. They peered down their noses at me. Gave me a wide berth. Looked at Gunner with wonder and me with disdain as though I am a troublemaker undeserving of my baby brother’s angelic face.

  We didn’t go back into town after that.

  I straighten and look where Gunner is looking. It’s the couple who was behind me in line. She is beautiful, a slim, tall redhead who looks great in a strapless blue-and-yellow dress. Put that same dress on me and I would be mistaken for a teenage boy, with my straight-as-a-board body, nonexistent breasts, and short hair.

  My attention swings to the guy next to her. His eyes lock with mine, and I suck in a quiet breath, never imagining that in a million years, I would run into my ex-boyfriend in front of a frigging shaved ice shack.

  Taron Vaughn. Eyes so dark it’s like staring up at the starless night sky. Hair the shade of my favorite hour—midnight. I haven’t seen him in four years, and he is taller, more muscular, and from how he fills out his simple white T-shirt and jeans, more man than boy.

  His gaze bores into mine. Unspoken questions hang in the air between us as this palpable crackling of electricity, like lightning in a heat storm. Gunner slides his hand in mine. The woman with Taron sets her hand on his arm.

  He and I continue to look at one another. We are adversaries wondering what the hell is wrong with the universe that it put us here. Wrong place, wrong time. Or right place, wrong time? One thing I am certain of, this is not the time or the place for catching up.

  Without a word to him, I hurry Gunner out of there. From the looks of it, Taron has moved on with his life, and . . . I glance down at the boy staring up at me with questions on his cute-as-a-pie face, I’ve moved on too.

  Then why is my heart breaking all over again like it did when I kissed a boy who wasn’t Taron?

  2

  Taron

  Two months later . . .

  The bass is thumping. The drinks are flowing. The girls are decked out in short shorts and skimpy tops. They come up to us guys with flirty smiles, not being shy with their caresses or the way they lean their luscious bodies against ours, making sure to rub their tits on us as they do so.

  Man, these girls are forward, and I am expecting nothing less. Girls cruise these jock-filled parties for one reason—the chance to sink their nails into their next meal ticket. The guys come for something other than free booze. They are here for easy game.

  It’s an overgeneralization I am not proud of, but from past experience, it’s what I see happening time and time again. I scan the crowded house, and seeing one of my roommates, I raise my red Solo cup, grateful he and Jordan are throwing me a welcome party before school starts in a week.

  Andy acknowledges me with a nod. Hooking my thumb on the pocket of my jeans, I take in more of the partygoers, not seeing who I transferred from Stanford to Dumas University for. Five-foot-five, white-blonde hair, slate gray–blue eyes, inked, pierced.

  Shit, seeing Syn again after years of nothing from her, and with that kid, my hate for her grew to an unbearable level even as my curiosity shot through the roof. Since she left me standing in the hallway of our old high school, in shock at seeing her swapping spit with a dude on the baseball team, I have wanted a piece of her.

  Most of all, there are secrets of hers to unearth.

  Where’d she move to? Why did she ghost me? Why the fuck did she cheat on me with that douchebag, Grady? Was I not good enough? How could she get pregnant with Grady’s kid?

  Syn’s mom showed up at our house, claiming Syn got knocked up and could we do her a solid and help Syn financially?

  What the fuck? That’s what I had said. Mom gave me a disapproving look for the f-bomb. Dad got all paranoid, reminding me to glove up every time. The tips of my ears heated having that discussion in front of my mom. And after they dropped that proverbial bomb? I went looking for Syn, and guess what the fuck? She disappeared.

  The house she lived in with her mom? Empty. How does shit like that go down with the snap of a finger? Who scrams that fast? People with secrets. A few weeks later, Mom showed me Syn’s mother’s obituary.

  Deep in my anger, I run into a wall. Beer sloshes out of my cup and spills onto the wall, except it’s not a wall.

  The guy is my height, six foot two. Blue eyes blazing, he looks down at the stain on his crisp white shirt. I zone in on his sleeve tattoo, a mess of colors and black ink. What sticks out is the tat of a snake wrapped around the body and wings of a large butterfly, the wings blood red and royal blue.

  Why the hell does he have the same tat as Syn? I open my mouth. A hand clamps on my shoulder and squeezes. A warning.

  “Midnight, hey, man, great seeing you,” Andy addresses the human wall.

  The guy grunts. Glares. I ball my hand. Andy shoves his shoulder into mine. I get the hint and move my ass out of dickwad’s line of sight. There will be plenty of chances to smash his face to the back of his skull.

  “Remember how I said there are guys who own this town and then there are guys who run Dumas?” Andy says out the side of his mouth. “Midnight Sterling is someone you need to respect and steer clear of. He owns and runs this town. Same with his cousin, Dare.”

  I glance over my shoulder. The coeds vie for this Midnight guy’s attention. He ignores them. What gives, and what is Syn to him with their matching tats? I get my answers.

  “Steer clear of their girls too. I grew up with Dare and Midnight, and those Sterling dudes are possessive as fuck when it comes to their women. Midnight burned down a house ’cause he thought the guy living in it was poaching on his girl.”

  “What are their names in case I run into them on campus?”

  “We guys like to call them Night and Day. Night is Riley Lee. Long black hair. Light-brown eyes. Things go missing when she’s around, so be careful around that one. Day is Syn Winters. Pale. White-blonde hair. Where she is, Dare isn’t far behind.”

  “Does this Dare dude look like his cousin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Syn been with him long?”

  “Since freshman year. Dare doesn’t go to DU. Neither does Midnight. Midnight followed his girl here from Cambridge. Dare got bored in Cambridge and settled in Dumas with Midnight.”

  “What’s with the snake and butterfly tat?”

  “Marked. Claimed. All four have the same ink.”

  “What’s it mean?”

  “Stay the fuck away. The girls try to come between Midnight and Riley, between Syn and Dare, but so far, not much success. Us guys? No way will we risk life and limb and playing ball for tail that belongs to the rulers of Dumas.”

  “They hold that much influence?”

  “Yeah, man, so keep it in your pants and don’t fuck with their crew. Got it?”

  I nod. Mentally, I am shaking my head.

  Syn owes me answers, and I will get them even if I have to go through her guys.

  3

  Syn

  Three things make me happiest in the morning.

  One is cruising the aisle of my favorite used bookstore in search of my next book
boyfriend. Two is a cup of coffee, a caramel latte topped with whipped cream and drizzled with caramel sauce. And three is getting said latte made by one of my BFFs. I also can count on Riley to get the day off to an interesting start.

  “Hey, Syn, can you do something for me? If it’s too weird or out of your comfort zone, I’ll understand. Just know I won’t be so generous with the caramel sauce if you refuse me.”

  “Wow, extortion using my weakness. Not cool.” I set the book I am buying on the counter, expecting to see a smile on Riley’s face, but she is dead serious.

  “Ask away, but if this has anything to do with jocks, porn, or you’re throwing down a dare for me to eat something exotic like cow tongue, I am out.”

  “None of that. Okay, stand on the tips of your toes, bend your head over the counter, and show me your roots.”

  I roll my eyes but do as Riley asks. Small fingers part my hair and rub along my scalp.

  “Holy shit, Syn, you do have naturally white-blonde hair. Damn it, now I’m stuck pulling weeds from Gwen’s flowerpots.”

  “You made a bet with Gwen Bliss?” I straighten. “Two of her four brothers are serving time for murder.”

  “What’s that mean exactly?”

  Her amber eyes flash annoyance, drawing my attention to how dark her hair is. What is darker than black? What is lighter than white? I tuck strands of my hair behind my ears.