Revive Me: Part One: The New Haven Series (Book #2)

  REVIVE ME

  PART ONE: THE ACT

  J.L. SEEGARS

  Copyright © 2022 by J.L. Seegars

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Fiction

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Moral Rights

  Janil Seegars asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  External Content

  Janil Seegars has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  Created with Vellum

  To the survivors who hid their wounds and built something beautiful out of the destruction

  “In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.”

  MAYA ANGELOU

  AUTHOR NOTE

  Please be aware that this story involves sensitive topics such as rape (off-page, no graphic description and not between the couple), maternal mortality, grief, nightmares, emotional and reproductive abuse (not between the couple) and a brief mention of suicide ideation. Although many of these situations are referenced in the work, and happen off-page, I still advise you to consider your own health and well-being before diving into the first part of Mallory and Chris’ story.

  I also want to take a moment to remind you that this is only the beginning of Mallory and Chris. There won’t be a happy ending for them in this book, but I promise you it’s coming.

  THE PLAYLIST

  01./ Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis

  02./ When I See U by Fantasia

  03./ Diary by Alicia Keys

  04./ Make You Feel My Love by Adele

  05./ Complicated by Nivea

  06./ Smash into You by Beyoncé

  07./ There Goes My Baby by Usher

  08./ And I by Ciara

  09./ teachme by Musiq Soulchild

  10./ Impossible by Shontelle

  11./ Take a Bow by Rihanna

  CONTENTS

  1. Mallory

  2. Mallory

  3. Mallory

  4. Chris

  5. Mallory

  6. Mallory

  7. Chris

  8. Mallory

  9. Mallory

  10. Chris

  11. Mallory

  12. Chris

  13. Mallory

  14. Chris

  15. Mallory

  16. Chris

  17. Mallory

  18. Chris

  19. Mallory

  20. Chris

  21. Mallory

  22. Mallory

  23. Chris

  24. Mallory

  25. Chris

  26. Mallory

  27. Mallory

  28. Chris

  29. Mallory

  30. Chris

  31. Mallory

  32. Chris

  33. Mallory

  34. Chris

  35. Mallory

  36. Chris

  37. Mallory

  38. Chris

  39. Mallory

  40. Mallory

  41. Chris

  42. Mallory

  Part Two: The Return

  The New Haven Series

  About the Author

  Also by J.L. Seegars

  1

  MALLORY

  It was supposed to be a simple kiss.

  A brief, awkward pressing of lips together in front of a crowd of people—which unfortunately included my twin brother—that wouldn’t last for more than ten seconds. Ten seconds. That was it. Ten seconds of holding my mouth to a mouth that I’ve thought about more than I should have over the last year. A mouth I happened to be staring at when Sloane, my brother Eric’s girlfriend and my former best friend as of sixty seconds ago, called my name and asked me the most juvenile question known to man. She was a drunk and giggling mess, perched on Eric’s lap with his arm wrapped around her waist and our best friend since diaper days, Nic, frowning in her direction as she hiccuped between every word.

  Truth. Hiccup. Or. Hiccup. Dare. Hiccup. Malllll?

  I chose dare because….well I don’t exactly know why I chose dare. It was out of character for me, which is probably why every eyebrow in the room lifted in surprise when I made my choice, voice laced with confidence I wasn’t used to feeling anymore. The only person who didn’t looked surprised was Sloane. She had a mixture of pride and mischief etched into her features, and the moment I saw her eyes flick over to same face I’d just dragged my gaze away from, I knew I was in trouble.

  Her dare was a simple one—Kiss Chris, on the lips, for a least ten seconds—but from the way my heart sank into my stomach, you’d have thought she dared me to dive head first off of the apartment building we were currently partying in. It wasn’t even the worst dare that’d been issued tonight, just a few rounds ago, someone was dared to strip naked and run a lap around the building in the bitter January air, but it felt like the worst thing that I could have been asked to do, especially in front of Eric and Nic, whose groans of displeasure could be heard over the sound of my blood rushing through my skull as I watched Chris cross the room over to me.

  I was sitting in a barstool at the island in his kitchen. A chair I watched him and Eric put together just a few days ago when we helped him move into The Emerson—one of the more expensive apartment buildings close to campus. The ones that all the trust fund babies move into when they’re no longer required to live in the dorms. It’s a nice building, all glass and metal and modern finishes that make it clear not everyone can afford to live here. Despite his patented lighthearted demeanor, Chris looks like he belongs here. Among the marble tile, stainless steel appliances and immaculate hardwood floors that bespeak solemnity and wealth. Something about the aesthetic here brings out a warm air of sophistication that swirls around him, and it fits him better than the halls of any of the dorms on campus ever have.

  That’s what I was thinking of when he stopped in front of me. Chestnut eyes with flecks of honey and bourbon in them tracing my features as he placed his hand on the side of the barstool and turned me completely around to face him. Treating me to an up close view of that classic Chris smile that reminded me that I’ve never seen him take anything seriously. He’s always smiling, laughing and joking his way through life, completely oblivious to the reality the rest of the world just has to deal with, so it shouldn’t have surprised me he would approach a literal child’s game the same way.

  My knees brushed his hard thighs, and I felt every eye in the living room on us as he leaned in close, resting his palms on the edge of the island. His body stretched over mine, blocking out my view of the crowd behind me. Not that I cared that I couldn’t see them. I was too focused on th
e way his smile was fading, shifting into a complex mask devoid of humor and mirth. I’m shocked at how quickly he does it. Goes from being the capricious guy I’ve known him to be to…this.

  “Make it good for her, Chris!” Someone behind him shouted, laughing loudly, and I half expected him to turn around and say something stupid and cocky and completely on brand for a guy who, as far as I can tell, has never met a woman he doesn’t want to take to bed, but his eyes stayed on me. Soft. Serious for once in his life.

  “Nervous?” He asked, eyes on my teeth digging into my bottom lip.

  “Nope. Why would I be nervous?”

  His brows lifted, amusement slipping over whatever conflicted emotion was shining in his irises just moments ago. “Because you don’t really do this kind of thing.”

  “What kind of thing?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice wavered a little. “Play truth or dare?”

  “Get roped into kissing random people at parties.”

  He wasn’t wrong even though it felt like he was sugarcoating it a little. The truth of the matter was, I didn’t kiss anyone. Not at parties. Not anywhere. Because the worst decisions I’ve made in my life have been sealed with a kiss.

  Get ready to add this one to the list. The snarky voice in my head quipped as Chris waited for my response, completely unbothered by the restless crowd behind him begging us to get on with it already. “Are you a random person?” I arched a brow, sass coating each word.

  “No, I guess not,” he answered, letting me sidestep the point he was attempting to make.

  “Then I guess we should kiss before they start to riot.”

  “Yeah, I guess we should.” 

  I watched his face move closer, and his breath skated across my skin as I fought the very real urge to let my eyes fall shut. My lungs burned, demanding air that was laced with his earthy scent and protesting when they were denied.

  I knew I needed to breathe. I didn’t want to run the risk of passing out and giving everyone here another reason to think I was weird. It was bad enough that I didn’t date, didn’t even engage in the most casual of hook ups. Crumbling into a breathless heap the moment the most coveted pair of lips on campus met mine would only make it worse.

  Chris lifted one of his hands, bringing it up to my chin and cupping it between his index finger and thumb. With a barely discernible movement, he applied the lightest bit of pressure, forcing me to focus all of my attention on him.

  “Breathe,” he whispered, the quiet command pulling the trapped air from my lungs and giving me a glimpse of a side of him I’ve never seen before.

  Dark. Dangerous. Lethal.

  My eyes went wide, shock winding its way through my chest to mix with the mild panic being held in his gaze has sent through me. All at once, I started to doubt the wisdom of going through with this dare, of breaking one of my personal rules to appease a room full of drunk college students playing middle school games to distract them from the spring semester starting in a week, but before I could say or do anything to take it back, Chris’ lips crashed down on mine.

  Taking me by a surprise that was equal parts delight and terror as his tongue slid over my bottom lip asking for more. My chin was still in his grip, which meant I couldn’t move if I wanted to, so I gave myself over to it. Over to him.

  It was supposed to be a simple kiss, but it’s not.

  It’s an awakening.

  It’s a million bolts of electricity reviving a stalled heart.

  It’s a montage of a thousand lifetimes spent in a million reckless, beautiful ways.

  It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and, though I have no way of knowing this for sure, my biggest mistake.

  2

  MALLORY

  “When are you going to forgive me?”

  Sloane whines from behind me, her voice a playful, but frantic, plea as she runs to catch up with me. A mass of black curls whip around her face, covering her hazel eyes and light-brown skin for a second. She lets out a low growl of frustration and pushes her hair back behind her ears as she weaves through the crowd behind me. It’s the first Friday of the spring semester, and I’m still not completely over the mess she pulled last weekend at Chris’ party. I probably would have already forgiven her for exploiting her knowledge of my crush on him so publicly if I wasn’t so distracted reliving the damn thing. Reminiscing over the feel of his lips. The way his fingertips dug into my flesh as his tongue swept over mine in slow strokes that demanded things I shouldn’t want to give him. Or anyone for that matter.

  “Never.” I toss the word over my shoulder and speed up, hoping she’ll give up and let me continue to make my way to my Principles of Finance course in peace. Due to a last minute change regarding the instructor of the course, I’ve been nervous about this class all day. Every business major I know signed up for it because they were looking forward to taking it with Dr. Brennan, but now that she’s decided to take a sabbatical, we don’t know who we’ll be dealing with this semester. Jasmine, my suite mate from freshman year, texted me this morning and said she heard Dr. Richardson—an old, frumpy white guy who’s research and clothing choices haven’t made it past the seventies—took over the course, and I nearly cried because the man hates me. Well, he hates almost every female student who dares to study business. He thinks we’re all too emotional and irrational for the field, which is hilarious considering how he’s the one constantly throwing tantrums about classroom designations, course offerings and teaching assistant assignments.

  “Mal!” Sloane grabs my arm, forcing me to stop and talk to her. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

  “As many as it takes to make me forget the humiliation of kissing someone with a hundred greedy little eyes watching.” I glance at my watch, noting that I have less than five minutes to make it across campus and up two flights of stairs. “Maybe even more than that if you make me late for class.”

  “How about I buy you iced coffee every day for the rest of the semester?”

  I purse my lips to hide the smile threatening to break free. She knows how much I love my iced coffees and how much I hate being mad at her. “Throw in a pastry and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Done!” She opens her arms and pulls me into a quick hug. “Now get to class before I have to get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness for making you late.”

  Slipping out of her hug, I start to back away, heading in the direction of the lecture hall I’ll be in for the next hour. Sloane waves at me through the crowd of people moving around her to make it to their classes, looking relieved that she’s finally managed to harass me into forgiving her. Even though I could never truly be mad at her, I’m glad we’re good again too, but it doesn’t stop me from taking the opportunity to get back at her.

  “For future reference,” I call out loudly, making sure everyone on the sidewalk can hear me. “You can always stand while you beg me for forgiveness. Save that whole getting on your knees thing for Eric.”

  Her mouth dropping open and her face turning red is the last thing I see before I turn and rush towards my building, hitting what can only be called a desperate run that thankfully gets me to the classroom before all the good seats are taken. The lectern at the front of the room is still empty, which means the professor hasn’t arrived yet, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I settle into a seat on the second row, pulling out a pen and a notebook to look prepared even though I don’t necessarily feel it.

  Starting off the semester on uncertain footing for one of my major courses has me on edge, and I don’t like it. For the last few years, school has been a source of calm consistency for me. A place where I decide the variables and control the outcome. And not only have I appreciated that control, I’ve craved it. I’ve used it to soothe old wounds and memories of a time when my ability to choose, to decide was ripped from my grasp.

  I push the thought away and roll my shoulders back, putting all of my energy into slowing my heart r
ate only for it to kick right back up when the door to the classroom swings open again and two men walk in. A collective sigh moves through the room, starting at the back and weaving its way through the rows of desks until it reaches the ears of Dr. Richardson who turns his steely gaze on us. Blue-gray eyes, watery with age and hidden behind dirty glasses he’s famous for cleaning multiple times over the course of a single lecture, slide over each face in the crowd, and there’s no missing the disappointment on when they land on me. The frown lines on either side of his thin lips become even more prominent, and I would be upset about it if I wasn’t so distracted by the person standing behind him. A familiar six-foot frame, golden brown skin, angular features I’ve memorized and jet black hair with curls that are only a few inches off of his scalp.

  Chris Johnson.

  I haven’t seen him since the night of the party almost a week ago, and his presence in this room right now is threatening to send this runaway train completely off the rails. Familiar chestnut eyes sweep over the room, and I’m caught between the desire to disappear altogether and desperate need to ask him what the hell he’s doing here in my business course dressed like a fucking banker and standing beside the one professor I prayed wouldn’t walk into this room. It takes him all of two seconds to find me, and when our eyes meet I immediately want to look away because there’s no way I can hold his gaze without thinking about that kiss, but actually bringing myself to do it feels impossible.