Love Is Louder Read online

  Love is Louder

  Copyright © 2015 by Antoinette Candela

  Cover by Wicked by Design, www.facebook.com/WickedByDesignRobinHarper

  Photo: Tomasz Zienkiewicz, www.zieniu.pl

  Edited by Paige Maroney

  Interior Design by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and the punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Love Is Louder is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To my babies.

  You are the reason why I breathe, why I live, why I smile, why I love.

  You inspire me every day.

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Connect with Antoinette

  “HEARTS ARE WILD CREATURES, THAT’S WHY OUR RIBS ARE CAGES.”

  My hands grasp the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are the color of freshly fallen snow, and the veins in my hands pulse with agitation. Checking the time, I calculate my journey and how long it will take me. Ten minutes if I’m lucky.

  Time is precious. Drawing a deep breath that does nothing to calm me, I hit the gas and push my way through the little bit of traffic. I swerve past a cluster of departing cars as worry plagues me. I clutch the steering wheel tighter; my bloodless fingertips tingle with tension. The hammer of my heart kicks up as the dial on the speedometer continues to rise. Adrenaline races over the fear that has settled in my bones.

  The glow of the city lights disappears and darkness encompasses me, leaving my mind free to conjure up the worst possible scenarios. Ten minutes later, I pull up to the location, and my eyes spot a dented car parked at the side of the road, hidden under the eerie silhouette of trees. The bumper is mangled, and the passenger side mirror is shattered with fragments of glass sprinkling the ground. Rockets of anxiety shoot through my limbs, and my heart pumps like a demonic thing in my chest as I glance over my shoulder for passing cars.

  After mere seconds pass, the door opens, and a silhouette emerges from the vehicle in question. My back goes rigid. What the fuck?

  Panicking, I shoot out of my car and scrutinize the drunken figure with distressed eyes about fifteen yards away. I abruptly search all around me. I smell the pungent stench of alcohol on their breath. A slight balmy July breeze touches my skin, the sounds of crickets fill my ears, and the scent of something tangy invades my nose, replacing the unpleasant odor of liquor as I walk toward the car.

  My eyes burn and my body grows numb with dread as the scene becomes clearer. An unresponsive body lies on the cold asphalt like a neglected doll, a forgotten toy. My heart crashes against my ribs, and my pulse rages, filling my ears.

  I glance over at the shadowy figure shrouded in darkness. My body is shaking with fear, and an aching coldness pierces me to my very bones. Sucking in a deep breath, I swallow, trying hard to work loose my throat.

  “What the hell happened?” I croak as quickly as I can force out. I rush past in a race against the clock. This isn’t good. “What the fuck did you do?” I ask, hearing their frantic, unsteady footsteps following close behind me.

  “I.... Oh my god...” The words are lost in the humid air, a faint echo in the distance.

  I don’t wait for the answer. I wouldn’t hear it over the loud thrumming of my heart anyway. My mind can’t comprehend it. I start rejecting this reality. I’m dreaming. This can’t be real. My mind wants me to scream, but nothing can reverse what has happened.

  Swallowing back the bile in my throat, I bend over the body and recognize the blonde hair and the heart-shaped face. I fall to my knees and cradle her in my trembling arms. “Please...please…stay with me. Please…please.... be strong...be strong,” I whisper over and over again as the tears break from my eyes.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I don’t think Meadow hears me.

  I pry my groggy eyes open, my gaze darting around my sparsely furnished bedroom. The ceiling above me turns pink, purple, and then yellow from the blazing summer sun bleeding through the open bay window. I pull myself up on my elbows and scrub my palm over my face as the sun warms my skin. Sounds of a typical summer morning in my neighborhood—the rumble of a lawnmower and a dog barking next door—carry through the air

  Today is a going to be a good day.

  That’s what I want to believe.

  I close my eyes again and fall back onto my comfortable king-sized bed. I had a dream last night. A nightmare. In it, the phone was ringing. Meadow’s number flashed across the screen, but I couldn’t answer it. I reached for it, trying to get closer. The flashing, the ringing, but I didn’t get to it in time. It died. Stopped. Just like it did four years ago. I didn’t fall back asleep after that, not for a while. Spotting the bottle of whiskey sitting next to my bed, I realize I needed assistance getting to sleep.

  I roll over, grab my cell off the bedside table, and see that it’s nine o’clock. No missed calls. I try to take all my calls now, even if I don’t recognize the number. You don’t know who it could be or what could be happening. You just have to be prepared for anything. I learned that the hard way when I lost my sister. Haunting moments from that night flash and burn fresh into my mind like it all happened yesterday.

  Jumping into my truck.

  My heart pounding inside my chest.

  A harrowing drive to the hospital that lasted much too long.

  Anxiety and guilt. So much guilt.

  The sterile hospital.

  The frantic doctors.

  My sister covered in blood.

  The baby.

  Loss. I lost so much that night.

  The front door slams, ripping me from the past and shoving me into the present. There’s only one other person who has entry to my place and is crazy enough to be up this early after a long night. I listen as Micah, my younger brother, rummages around the kitchen, closing cabinets and slamming the refrigerator door. Five minutes pass as I try to get my body to function. The smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee immediately follows, filling the house with their savory aroma and making my stomach grumble.


  “Douchebag! Do you plan on getting up?” he yells out the same time my phone vibrates with an incoming text. With a foggy brain, I try to decide what to do first—answer Micah or my phone. I roll my head back onto my bed. Seriously, whiskey is not allowed anymore, at least not in such large amounts. It’s screwing with my head. I miss the damn text. I don’t get people waking up so damn early on a Saturday morning.

  The beep of my phone alerts me that I have a message awaiting my attention. I check it just to make sure I didn’t miss an important message from Mom or Cindy. It’s Dana, a friend with benefits I’ve known since high school.

  I shoot her a quick text.

  Me: Is everything all right?

  Dana: I just miss you and that handsome face. Can I see you this week?

  Me: I think I can manage that.

  Dana: Pascal’s this Friday?

  Me: You mean I have to wait five days to see you, gorgeous?

  Dana: Oh...I love to tease and make you sweat.

  Me: Sweat we will, baby. You’re lucky work is keeping me busy...

  Dana: Just make sure you don’t push yourself too hard...I can’t have you falling asleep on me.

  Me: You know I always pull through for you...

  Dana: Yes, you never disappoint me.

  Me: Til Friday, love.

  Dana: Friday! Muah!

  I hang up, toss the phone onto the bed, prop myself on my elbow, and rub my eye with the heel of my palm. Dana always manages to put me in a better mood. The prospect of sex helps to put a smile on my face, too.

  “I’m up!” I shout, finally deciding to answer my brother as I lift my body from the soft mattress. “So nice of you to make yourself at home, shithead!”

  “Better hurry up or I’m going to eat all this chow,” he calls out, laughing.

  “Be right out.”

  After letting the shower rinse away last night’s traces of alcohol, I dress in a pair of light blue jeans and basic white T-shirt and head into the kitchen. While I pour myself a cup of black coffee, my brother plates himself a heaping amount of scrambled eggs and bacon and settles in at the kitchen table. He’s probably ready to hit the gym or play some basketball at the local Y since he’s dressed down in a T-shirt and basketball shorts.

  At six-feet-three, he played college basketball at the University of Southern California where he graduated with a degree in computer science. After graduating, he stayed, landing a great job at a technology start-up, but then with the death of Meadow, he dropped everything to come back home. Her death brought us closer together. We are all we have.

  Micah’s completely selfless and would help any of his friends or family, even to the point of hurting himself. We both got that quality from our dad. We can always count on each other when we are stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  “What’s the plan today?” he glances up from reading the sports page of the morning paper as he takes a sip of his coffee.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should pick up some grub for me, seeing that you’ve been eating all my food and thinking my fucking kitchen is IHOP,” I mumble, scratching my head. “You gonna clean up this shit?” I ask, noticing the empty eggshells, crumbs, and dirty frying pan in the sink that was already overflowing with my own dirty dishes from the past week. My place has never been this cluttered. I’m usually good about picking up after myself, but the past few days have been rough working the bar and my service business.

  My past female guests and friends have told me it’s quite the bachelor pad— leather furniture and a large plasma television with a Bose sound system—but you can’t tell by the way it looks right now.

  “Yeah...yeah, I’ll take care of it.” He waves me off dismissively. “You’ve never been a morning person.”

  “Not when I have to come out to this shit.” I fan my arm across the kitchen.

  “Whatever.” He chuckles. “Stopped by Mom’s earlier. You should swing by. You haven’t been there since last week,” he replies after he swallows a forkful of eggs.

  “I know, man. Life has been pretty crazy with work and shit. You know that.” I lean my fatigued body against the fridge.

  “Saturday, no damn work until tonight.” He sets down his fork.

  “That’s all I want to hear.”

  “Yep, I like that.” He reclines back in his chair. “Dude, I could tell you were having a rough night last night. Do you want to talk about it?” He scratches his jaw, and with his other hand, he picks up his coffee cup and eyes me from above the rim.

  “Nah, I can deal.” I catch his eye and recognize when he quirks his brow he doesn’t believe the load of shit I’m feeding him. He’s always been a pain in the ass, but then again, I’ve always been a stubborn son of a bitch. We test the limits and push each other until we cave, but I’m keeping my mouth shut. It’s my problem to address.

  “You weren’t the same after you got that phone call at the bar.” He frowns, setting down his coffee. “Don’t think I didn’t notice, man.”

  “Nothing to worry about, Bro. Everything is taken care of.” I push off the fridge and stare out the window onto my back patio where the hot tub sits empty, thinking I can use some of that right about now.

  “Is it? You almost finished a bottle of whiskey after that call.”

  “You know I don’t drink like that. Work was crazy, and I had a reason.” I glance over at him.

  “Whatever, man.” He shakes his head. “It’s all the more reason to think something isn’t right.”

  “Yeah, stop your Dr. Phil shit. Everything’s cool,” I lie. A layer of sweat shimmers to the surface of my skin because I need to worry a little bit. That was one call I wish I hadn’t picked up.

  After hitting the gym, I drive down Park Avenue, the main street in Massapequa Park, and stop by the flower shop to pick up some flowers, deciding to head over to the cemetery after having that nightmare last night. I turn up the radio as I drive through town, passing the park filled with kids running and playing in the sun as their parents look on, snapping pictures. The scene reminds me of the times when Micah, Meadow, and I used to play there. A better time, an innocent time when my whole family was here. Warmth and an ache fill my heart at the memories. I glance back every now and then in the rearview mirror as I drive out of town, watching as it gets smaller and smaller and finally disappearing from my sight.

  I pull up to Old Grace Cemetery about ten minutes later, park the truck, and lean my head back against the seat. As I inhale a deep, painful breath, my mind races. Pain. Love. Guilt. Shit, this hurts.

  The untainted lilies that rest on the front seat, filling my cab with their floral scent trigger a smile.

  Lily. What a pretty name.

  Regal. That’s what the word “lily” means. Just a little piece of information my sister shared with me from her extensive knowledge of flowers. Useless information to me then, but now means so much.

  There’s not a cloud in the sky as the sun smiles down on the headstones dotting the landscape. I hold back my tears, as sadness feels like a guillotine slicing through my heart. Coming here is bittersweet, but I feel closer to them. Grabbing the lilies, I throw on my silver aviators, jump out of the truck, and trudge across the plush green grass toward the spot under the magnolia tree where my family lies protected and in peace. There are white and red tulips here every time I come. I’m not surprised. I don’t know who leaves them, but it’s nice to know someone else is thinking about them. At times I wish I would run into whomever it is that Meadow has left a lasting impression on.

  “I miss you every day, Do Re Mi,” I whisper with a smile on my face. Do Re Mi was the nickname I gave her when she was five. She used to sing that annoying song from The Sound of Music that she must have watched over a million times in her young life. She had such a sweet, angelic voice that I miss hearing every day.

  With shaky hands, I place the flowers next to the tulips, remove my aviators, and drop to my knees, thinking about what could have been. I can’t express the grief
I feel over losing them; it’s like relentless pounding surf hitting the shore after a storm. Not only do I dream about that night, but I also replay it constantly in my mind. I wish they were here.

  It doesn’t take long for the tears to fall, and I let them. Both suppressed despair and devastation seep out of me like the air from a slashed tire, rendering me empty. I spend a few more minutes in solitude, wiping away tears and choking back sobs. Throwing on my aviators, I hide my burning eyes from the sun and return to my life, return to living without them, never knowing what could have been.

  I double park in front of the emergency room entrance with my heart thundering in my chest. I glance down at my watch as I rush inside and head to the reception area. It’s almost ten. She was working late at the florist shop and needed a ride home, but I missed her call.

  “I’m Mason Marks. I’m here for Meadow Marks.” My voice is a low roar as my eyes dart around the empty waiting area looking for someone to help me.

  “Are you her husband?” The receptionist’s apprehensive eyes search my face. I stare back at her, unable to take a breath with my heart shoved tightly in my throat.

  I understand the heavy-set, middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk, tapping away on the keyboard is only following protocol, but being in a hospital’s emergency room is never a good omen to anyone. I need answers quickly. I’m nearly jumping out of my skin, wanting to know where Meadow is and if she’s okay.

  “No, I’m her brother. Can you please tell me where she is?” I restrain myself, clutching the edge of the counter, my veins in my forearms bulging and pulsing with fury with myself for not being there for her. There’s no room to be rational in this situation. My little sister is carrying a baby. She’s twenty-six, so young.

  “Give me a minute, sir.”

  “I don’t have a minute. My sister is six-and-a-half months pregnant. I have to make sure she’s all right. That my niece is all right!” I say through clenched teeth. I grip my head between my hands, fighting to calm myself as tears start to stab my eyes.

  “Mason! Mason! Calm down!”