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Read Online Books/Novels:

The Rebound

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Winter Renshaw

Language:
English
Book Information:

The last time I saw Nevada Kane, I was seventeen and he was loading his things into the back of his truck, about to embark on a fourteen-hour drive to the only college that offered him a full ride to play basketball.

I told him I’d wait for him. He promised to do the same.

But life happened. I broke my promise long before he ever broke his. And not because I wanted to.

We never saw each other again …

Until ten years later when Nevada unexpectedly returned to our hometown after an abrupt retirement from his professional basketball career.

Suddenly he was everywhere, always staring through me with that brooding gaze, never returning my smiles or “hellos.”

Over the years, I’d heard that he’d changed. And that despite his multi-million dollar contracts and rampant success, life hadn’t been so kind to him.

He was a widower.

And a single father.

And rumor had it, he’d spent his last ten years trying to forget me, refusing to so much as breathe my name … hating me.

But just like a rebound, he’s back.

And I have to believe everything happens for a reason.

Books by Author:

Winter Renshaw Books

“We are made of all those who have built and broken us.”

Atticus, poet

Prologue

Yardley Devereaux

{Ten Years Ago}

He sent my letter back.

I re-read my words, imagining the way they must have made him feel.

Nevada,

I’m writing because you haven’t been taking my calls or answering my texts. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, so I thought you should hear it straight from me…

I’ve broken my promise.

But you should know that I never wanted to hurt you, none of this was planned, and I still love you more than anything I’ve ever loved in this world.

This is something I had to do. And I think if you’ll let me, I can explain in a way that makes sense and doesn’t completely obliterate the beauty of what we had.

Please don’t hate me, Nevada.

Please let me explain.

Please answer your phone.

I love you. So much.

Your dove,

Yardley

The paper is torn at the top, as if he was about to rip it to shreds but changed his mind, and on the back of my letter, in bold, black marker, is a message of his own.

NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN.

Part One {The Past}

Chapter One

That Beautiful Boy

Yardley Devereaux, age 16

I don’t belong here.

I realize being the new kid makes people give you a second look, but I don’t think it should give them permission to stare at you like you have a second head growing out of your nose. Or a monstrous zit on your chin. Or a period stain on your pants.

At this point, it’s all the same.

Not to mention, I don’t think anyone can prepare you for what it feels like to eat lunch alone.

The smell of burnt tater tots makes my stomach churn, and the milk on my tray expires today. I’m pretty sure the “chicken patty on a bun” they gave me is nothing more than pink slime baked to a rock-hard consistency.

I’m unwilling to risk chipping a tooth, so I refuse to try it.

Checking my watch for the millionth time, I calculate approximately 3 1/2 hours left until I can go home and tell my parents what an amazing first day I had. That’s what they want to hear anyway.

Dad moved us here from California with the promise that we were going to be richer than sin, whatever that means. But if Missouri is such a gold mine, then why doesn’t the rest of the world move here? So far, Lambs Grove looks like the kind of place you’d see in some independent film about a mother trying to solve her son’s murder with the help of a corrupt police department, starring Jake Gyllenhaal, JK Simmons, and Frances McDormand.

Okay, I’m probably being dramatic, but this place is pretty lame.

I miss the ocean.

I miss the constant sunshine and the steady stream of seventy-five degree days.

I miss the swaying palm trees.

I miss my friends.

Forcing your teenage daughter to move away from the town she’s grown up in her entire life—in the middle of her sophomore year—is cruel. I don’t care how rich Dad says we’re going to get, I’d have rather stayed in Del Mar, driven a rusting Honda, worked two jobs, and paid my own way through a technical college if it had meant we didn’t have to move.

And speaking of cruel, can we talk about my name for a second? Yardley.

Everyone here has normal, middle-America type of names. Alyssa. Monica. Taylor. Heather. Courtney. If I have to spell my name for someone one more time, I’m going to scream. My mom wanted my name to be special and different because apparently she thinks I’m special and different, but naming your daughter Yardley doesn’t make her special …

… it just makes it so she’ll never find her name on a souvenir license plate.

I’d go by my middle name if it weren’t equally as bad, but choosing between Yardley and Dove is akin to picking your own poison.

Yardley Dove Devereaux.

My parents are cruel.

I rest my case.

I pop a cold tater tot into my mouth and force myself to chew. I’ll be damned if I’m that girl sitting in third period with a stomach growling so loud it drowns out the teacher. I don’t need to give people more reasons to stare.

Pulling my notebook from my messenger bag, I pretend to focus on homework despite the fact that it’s the first day of spring semester and none of my teachers have assigned anything yet, but it’s better than sitting here staring at the block walls of the cafeteria like some awkward loser.

Pressing my pen into the paper, I begin to write:

Monday, January 7, 2008

This day sucks.

The school sucks.

This town sucks.

These people suck.

After a minute, I toss my pen aside and exhale.

“What about me? Do I suck?” A pastel peach lunch tray plops down beside me followed by a raven-haired boy with eyes like honey and a heartbreaker’s smile. My heart flutters in my chest. He’s gorgeous. And I have no idea why he’s sitting next to me. “Nevada.”


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