Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)
Madeline Sheehan
Dedication
This book is for the old-school brothers and their old ladies, to the prospects and the patch whores; to the bros, their sport bikes, and their hoes. To all my fellow 47%ers out there, to the little red-haired boys with freckles sprinkled across their cheeks, women who wear their broken hearts on their sleeves, and old men with sad stories to tell. To the holes in our T-shirts, to beaten-up jeans and favorite bandannas, to the sound of laughter, the clinking of glasses, to spontaneous sex, to the smell of exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke. To love that kills and to love that heals, to the feel of cracked leather against your cheek, the sun on your back, and the wind in your hair, to the road beneath you, to the path you’ve traveled, and the ones you’ve yet to take . . .
To true freedom.
But most of all, this book is for my club. A club comprised of people who have held my hand when I needed the support, who have told me jokes when I wanted to cry, who have walked me through all the agonizing, heart-rending processes that come with putting a book together.
Danielle, this book is for you, for standing by me no matter what.
For Christina, because you keep me on my tippy-tippy toes. And in the very best way possible. And, you know, thank you for that thing. That incredible, amazing thing. Love you scissor sista.
For Ashley, who is so vain she probably thinks this book is for her, who probably thinks this book is for her, doesn’t she? Doesn’t she? Well, it IS. Enough said.
For Nicole, for drowning your sorrows alongside me with dry humor and a whole lot of witty one-liners. Thanks, babe.
For Pam, for always looking out for me.
For Claire, who no matter what life throws her way, finds a reason to smile. You’re an inspiration.
For Gail M., who understands my brand of crazy.
For Gail H., who knows my characters almost as well as I do.
For Ellie, Virginia, Hillary, Heather, Courtney, and Toski, because without you I’d never get anything done. Or is that with you I’d never get anything done? wink
For Emmy, Cindy, Syreeta, and Karina, for being my go-to girls, for the unconditional support and unconditional friendship.
And for my husband, because without his love, my dreams would still be . . . only dreams.
And for my children, because who would I be without them?
I don’t ever want to know.
Prologue
It was misery that washed her color away, leading her off her path and astray. So she wandered through her life, unknowing and unsure, until realizing her path had always been right there in front of her from the start. Hidden in the shadows of despair, she found her path, her color, within her beating and beautifully bright red heart.
I wasn’t always broken; we are all born pure. It is our journey that burdens us and leads us astray. Our mistakes that beat us down and cover us in guilt and shame, burying us a little more with each successive hardship. It is up to us to dig ourselves out, to come to terms with our faults, to embrace not only our imperfections but those of the ones we love, and to once again find the path we strayed from.
I had been a simple girl. I grew up in a small town in Montana surrounded by down-to-earth, simple people with small, simple dreams. I loved my mom, my dad, and my big sister with all my heart. I loved books with happy endings and romantic movies, and couldn’t wait to fall in love.
Unlike my ambitious older sister, I was a born romantic. I’d been in love with the idea of love for as long as I could remember, full of flighty, fluffy notions of what happiness truly was. And to me, happiness could only be found within the arms of a man . . . a man who loved me.
I wanted butterflies, holding hands, stolen kisses in the backseat of a car, late-night phone calls, all of it. The anxiety, the desperation, that beautiful, agonizing ache called love. And so I romanticized everything.
I had no aspirations, no big dreams. There was nothing I was working toward, no great goals or accomplishments. Instead of college, I dreamed of marriage; instead of a career, I yearned for children.
Visions of traditional white weddings and babies danced in my head. I wanted three babies—one boy, two girls—a nice house with a white picket fence, a cat, and a dog. By the time I was fourteen, I had it all planned out. The cut of my bridesmaids’ dresses, my wedding reception’s seating chart, the color of my living room curtains, the decor of my children’s bedrooms . . . no detail escaped my attention. I wanted to live the fairy tale, to become someone’s everything and anything, to be his princess.
I wanted my happily-ever-after.
There was only one problem.
Instead of finding my prince, I found a whole mess of trouble. At the age of fifteen, I’d found myself pregnant; by eighteen I was married to a man I didn’t love; and by the age of twenty, I was running around on my husband with a married man.
Then, at the age of twenty-four, I gave my heart away to yet another man, a mistake that would once again drastically change the course of my life.
My weaknesses, my choices, and my decisions—the ones I made and the ones I didn’t—all took me down a rocky road filled with regret, heartbreak, and pain. And eventually, they nearly killed me.
Would I change things if I could? Would I turn back time and do things differently?
Never.
This isn’t just my story, the story of a broken woman who lost her way. It’s also the story of my children, the men I loved, and the friends who were more family to me than my own.