The Weight of Destiny (Misfits #1) Read online

  "The Weight of Destiny unfolds like a storm. It is dark and electric and incredibly romantic. I lost and found myself. The characters are so vivid, so alive, you'll forget anything but them exists." ~ David James author of Between the Stars and Sky

  "Whenever I read Nyrae Dawn, I am reminded that words are her art, and she wields her paintbrush with all the skill of Rembrandt. The tender romance of Ryder and Virginia is palpable on the page, and the story sings with all the complexities of the interwoven plot. I read late into the night to finish this one, and once again, Nyrae has managed a masterpiece. LOVED." ~ USA Today and New York Times Bestselling Author Courtney Cole

  "The Weight of Destiny is art at its best, Ryder and Virginia canvasses on which the good and bad of life and love unfold in brilliant, true color." ~ Author Jamie Manning

  "The Weight of Destiny is YA at its absolute finest. Nyrae Dawn flawlessly brought two seemingly broken characters to life and showed everyone deserves a second chance at love and life. This breathtaking storytelling will blow you away." ~ USA Today Bestselling Author Tiffany King

  "Nyrae Dawn has once again given us characters that are so real we can’t help but root for them. It’s not just the growing romance between Ryder and Virginia, which is sweet and tender but also their complex relationships with family and friends that gives this story depth." ~ Heather Young-Nichols author of Up for Grabs

  THE WEIGHT OF DESTINY

  A MISFITS NOVEL

  BY

  NYRAE DAWN

  Copyright © 2014 by Nyrae Dawn

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

  Published by

  Nyrae Dawn

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by X-Potion Designs

  Edited by Sirena Van Schaik

  Formatted by Angel’s Indie Formatting

  Dedication:

  To Julie Prestsater. You are the kind of friend who has the ability to make me do things I never thought I would do. You remind me that it’s okay to be silly and have fun. You make sure I reach my laugh quota every time we’re together. Thank you for luring me out of my shell every once in a while. I’m blessed to call you my friend.

  Table of Content

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  ~Ryder~

  I touch the two wires together and see the spark. The car stutters but doesn’t start so I do it again. Second time’s a fucking charm. The engine purrs to life.

  Clutch in. First gear. And then I’m out of here. My heart goes a million miles an hour as the car flies down the street. It’s not fear shooting through my veins.

  It’s pride.

  I think I hotwired that car even faster than Dad used to. He’ll be stoked when I find him and tell him. Fourteen years old, and I’m better than the old man is.

  I hardly slow down as I take a quick left.

  Adrenaline still pumps through me. Dad used to tell me about the rush he’d get from taking shit. Tell me how it was the best feeling in the world, though I never got it—not until I started doing it myself.

  My gloved thumbs drum on the steering wheel as I drive. My eyes don’t stop darting left, right, forward, backward; whatever direction they can, hoping I don’t see flashing blue and red lights. Hell, I don’t want to see any headlights. Not until I can get as far away from this place as possible.

  When I hit another intersection, I go right, heading straight for the freeway, still trying to figure out what direction I want to go in. I doubt Dad would have stayed in California. Not after all the shit he’s gotten into here. He’s from back East. Chicago. He’s got a brother out there, and I wonder if he would have gone to see him?

  Quickly, I scratch that idea. He wouldn’t go to a family member’s house. Not when he’s got a warrant out for his arrest. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t go to Chicago. He always told me how much he missed it out there. It also doesn’t mean my uncle won’t know where to find him.

  It’s my best bet, and sure as hell better than staying here with my older brother, who wants nothing to do with me. Not that I want anything to do with him, either. It’s been that way since Dad left us boys to fend for ourselves.

  I glance down at the gas gauge. There’s about half a tank, which isn’t too bad. Once I put enough distance between myself and home, I’ll find a car to syphon from.

  Never pay for anything if you don’t have to. That was one of Dad’s first lessons.

  There’s a shit ton of food in the backseat, hoses for gas, and I know I’ll have no problem getting whatever else I need.

  I drum my thumbs faster, rock a little as I go, trying to calm the excitement blowing up my insides.

  I’m good at this. I love being good at it.

  For about an hour, I’m flying. Living. Hopeful. I’m going to get out of this place. Going to find Dad, and do the things we do best. I’m going to live.

  When the car swerves to the right, I can hardly keep control of it. Jerking the wheel, I try and compensate for the momentum of the blown tire only I pull too far. It doesn’t matter when I attempt to go the opposite direction. There’s not enough time, and the front of the car slams into the guardrail.

  The airbag explodes in my face, shooting pain through my nose. Smoke billows out of the hood. “Shit!” Over and over, I slam my hands into the steering wheel. The pain in my face doesn’t matter. I screwed up. My chance at finding Dad has been blown, and if I don’t get out of here, I’ll get arrested for the second time since he’s been gone.

  Again, I’m stuck here.

  Shoving the door open, I stumble out of the car, grab my shit, and get the hell out of dodge.


  CHAPTER ONE

  ~Virginia~

  There once was a girl named Perfect with hair made of honey and a life made of dreams. No one knew it was all a lie. Perfect wasn’t perfect. Her life wasn’t either, but as long as everyone believed, she made herself think she could too.

  ~*~

  Ernest Hemingway suffered from depression. He ended his own life by shooting himself.

  Sylvia Plath was severely depressed as well. She stuck her head in the oven and poisoned herself with carbon monoxide.

  Annette Klinger committed suicide, too. Most people don’t know who she is, but she was also a writer. She was my grandmother. When Mom was thirteen, Annette left her. Three years later, Mom found out Annette hung herself a year and a half after leaving.

  Mom’s a writer too.

  When I was five, Mom told me Virginia Woolf was one of her favorite authors. She couldn’t wait until I was old enough to read about Mrs. Dalloway.

  I thought it was so cool that she named me after Virginia Woolf. Mom was this bright light: fun and exciting. Sometimes, it was as though she was a kid just like me. I couldn’t believe she named me after someone who was her favorite. It made me feel fun and exciting like her.

  When I went to bed the night, she tucked me in, pushed my hair out of my face, and then asked if I wanted to know more about Virginia Woolf. Before I could reply, she told me Virginia was sad. She’d been so sad that one day she stuffed her pockets full of rocks to weigh herself down and stepped into a river.

  It wasn't the kind of bedtime story I'd been looking for.

  That’s when I knew, as alive as Mom was, she was different as well. It’s when I first started to fear I would grow up to be different like her. No, Mom wasn’t typically depressed as so many of those greats were, but she’s always had her own demons.

  When I got older, I made a conscious decision not to let that happen to me.

  That brings me to today as I watch Mom’s arms flail while she excitedly screams at my principal so sharply it makes my head ring. All I can think is that I have a writer mom who’s never been stable. A mom who is wild, and reckless, and has other people who live inside her head. How she had a writer mom who was also wild and reckless. And how Mom chose to name me after an author who drowned herself.

  Is it just me or does that seem a little like tempting fate?

  No, not me. I will not be like this.

  “Mrs. Nichols, I’m going to need you to lower your voice,” Principal Toms tells her.

  “Ms. It’s Ms. My husband and I are separated, and I’m not yelling. Am I yelling? I just have this really great idea and I want Virginia to help me with it.”

  My face burns as whispers start behind me and people from my school witness Freak Out 101, Charity Nichols-style—the Charity Nichols, because everyone knows who she is. New York Times and USA Today bestselling author and all.

  I’ve done so well keeping the wild part of my life a secret. It’s not like Mom is this way all the time. She hasn’t been like this in years. But then it hits me…what if she’s not my mom right now?

  No. They fixed that. She’s better. She has to be.

  “It’s fine. I can go.” I step forward, willing to do anything to get out of here. To get her out of here before more people show up. Oh God, what will they think? Quickly, I scan the crowd to see if my best friends Jamie and Hailey are around.

  “Lulu, you can’t go. You’re not allowed to check out unless your dad approves it,” Mr. Toms says.

  Obviously, there’s a reason for that.

  “But I’m her mom.” She flits around, unable to stay still. I exhale a deep breath. She said she’s my mom. That means she’s still her.

  It shocks me that she didn’t freak when he called me Lulu. She sometimes does when she’s like this, even though she’s the only one who doesn’t call me by my middle name.

  “I’m her MOM!” she says again, each word getting louder.

  Mom pushes her light brown hair out of her face. It’s the same color as mine. We look almost exactly alike. More like sisters, most people say. Her mom looked like us too, and for the millionth time, I wonder if Grandma had different people living inside her. Maybe Sylvia, Ernest, or Virginia Woolf did as well.

  “Ms. Nichols, it’s the rules. I’m sorry—”

  “Mom,” I cut the principal off. She turns to me, more people filling in around us. Of course she had to come between classes. Jamie’s here now, which means Hailey must be close. My feet itch to carry me away so badly; I want to run so I don’t have to deal with this. She hasn’t had an outburst in so long. Why is she having one now?

  “Virginia, I’m so excited. I got this great idea. I was thinking we could go on a road trip. I want to paint the ocean. I want to write a story about the ocean, and you know how important it is for me to experience what I’m working on. Not around here, though. I’m thinking Oregon. We can stop by your house and grab a bag. It’ll be a blast, don’t you think?”

  She sounds younger than me, giddy excitement bouncing around inside her. It’s like she can’t control her body. Everything’s magnified. A million-watt smile, a loud, excited voice, her body a jittery mess.

  It reminds me of how she used to be at times. It wasn’t until later that I found out why.

  Oh God, don’t let this ever be me. I don’t want this to be me.

  “Lulu?” Hailey’s voice sounds from beside me, confused.

  I shake my head at her, pleading with my eyes for her to step back. For her and everyone else, to somehow unsee what’s going on.

  “I have a huge test tomorrow, Mom. I…I can’t. What about this weekend? Then Dad can arrange it so I don’t have to come to school next week. We’ll have more time that way.”

  The whispers get louder. Mom moves around like a druggie too high to keep still.

  “Charity, she can’t go today. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll plan the trip.” It’s Dad’s voice behind me, and I realize someone from school must have called him.

  Immediately, I exhale a sigh of relief. Dad’s here. Even though they’ve been separated for years now, Dad can handle her. He makes her better.

  “Dave! You’re here! Finally. I want to take Virginia to Oregon. Do you want to go with us? It can be like old times. We can get a tent and camp right there by the water.”

  “Lulu can’t today. She has a test. Why don’t we go outside and pick another day?” Dad gives me a sad smile as he wraps an arm around Mom’s shoulders, leading her out of the school's commons area.

  My heart is going wild, probably like Mom’s is doing, except it’s not because I’m excited. You can handle this. You’re Lulu Nichols. You always have things under control.

  Taking a deep breath, I look at Hailey and Jamie, then smile. “You guys ready to go to class?”

  “Umm… Lu?” Jamie pushes one of her braids behind her ear. She has a million of them in her hair. She always does. I wish I could get away with that, but it wouldn’t look as good on me as it does against her dark skin.

  “Alright everyone, get to class. Teachers will be giving detention to anyone who is late.” Thank you, I want to tell Mr. Toms as he tries to disperse the crowd.

  “We better go. We’re going to be late.” I’ve never had detention in my life and I definitely don’t plan to start now.

  Hailey grabs my arm. She has the blondest hair in the world. Sometimes we call her Halo. “Lulu… your mom…” It’s not like they’ve never met Mom before, but they’ve never seen the truth. They only know the persona I try to create.

  And I’m so totally not doing this. Not now, not ever. I worked hard for my reputation, and I don’t plan on letting it go down the drain. “Fine. If you guys want to be late, go for it. I’m not screwing up my perfect attendance for nothing.”

  Pulling out of Hailey’s grasp, I walk away. I manage to avoid them the rest of the day. It’s not so easy after school. We have a Future Business Leaders of America meeting. I usually love FBLA, but today
, I can’t focus. For the first time ever, I fake a stomach ache and cut out early. Dad’s called my cell a million times. For hours, I drive around, until it hits me what I’m doing. I’d give just about anything not to go home right now, but that’s not how I work.

  Logic. I go through life based on logic, and putting things off doesn’t change anything.

  After turning my Prius around, I drive home, determined to work with Dad on coming up with a plan so nothing like this happens again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ~Ryder~

  Like usual, my brother is fucking trippin’.

  And not the good kind, either.

  “It’s one day, Luke. It’s not that big a deal. Why do you give a shit if I go to school or not?”

  Luke rolls his eyes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that, Ry. You do realize if you screw up too much, they can take you away from me, right?”

  He’s been threatening me with that ever since Dad went into hiding when I was fourteen. I’m pretty sure it’s wishful thinking because no one seems to give a flying fuck what I do, except for Luke. (Besides the cops, but they care more about the stealing than school.) Everyone who knows Luke sees that he would rather be anywhere other than here with me.

  Luke had a plan. Luke was better than all of us. Luke’s ass got stuck with me.

  It’s not like Dad isn’t coming home, though. He’ll come back for me when I turn eighteen. He told me he’d always come back for me. It’s the only thing keeping me here. I’ve talked to him once since he bailed—after the second time I got arrested for stealing. Not the car; they were never able to nail that one on me. But when Dad got in touch, he said I needed to keep my nose clean. If I get locked up, he won’t be able to come back for me. It’s hard as hell, but I’d rather play the good boy than risk not going with him.