UNconventional: The Island, #2

By Alyne Hart

Loving one meant losing the other...

I don't know how it happened.
But everything got complicated.
So complicated. 

I don't know where it all started,
all I know is that it all fell apart. 

Two men have my heart.
Loving them both made me lose one.
Now I may lose the other. 

Hearts are fragile. 
And mine still beats for two.
Can we save what we once had?
Or is it too unconventional?

This book was previously released as The Island and has been rewritten. This book cannot be read as a standalone, it is the conclusion to UNexpected. No MM action - all the attention is on her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alyne Hart
• Release date: Jan 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386037651

Alyne Hart

Alyne Hart is a contemporary romance author and wine connoisseur living in Walla Walla, WA. She's known for writing stories that pack an emotional punch and get you right in the feels.  She loves writing real, flawed characters and writing about realistic, gritty and raw romance. She's a romance junkie and happy endings addict, and if you’re a lover of deeply emotional, flawed and realistic romance reads with lots of delicious angst, her books are for you. Alyne's stories involve characters with bigger problems than just finding love. She writes stories about making peace with the past, rekindling old flames and healing old wounds. She loves small towns, men in uniform and alpha males with a heart of gold.  She began her story-telling journey first with her dolls, then it progressed to paper. She has a deep love for anything romantic, and she's a believer that in love anything is possible.  When Alyne isn’t writing, you can find her reading, hanging out with her cat, and spending time with her two children. She enjoys trips to the mountains just as much as trips to the wine cellar, live music, chick flick movie marathons and hanging out with her eclectic group of friends.  Follow Alyne: Facebook → http://bit.ly/2w89KNP Twitter → http://bit.ly/2w8kRqb Blog → http://bit.ly/2vxvmGy Goodreads → http://bit.ly/2vv8S8S Bookbub → http://bit.ly/2fyhncE Newsletter → https://mailchi.mp/a8a0de143ef8/alynehart

Book preview

UNconventional Copyright © 2019 by Alyne Hart. All Rights Reserved.

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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. 

––––––––

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

Alyne Hart

Visit my website at www.alynehart.com 

Printed in the United States of America 

First Printing: March 2019

Unconventional

The Island Duet

Alyne Hart

Contents

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

The Happily Ever After

Epilogue

"How do you know if

someone is worth

the wait?"

If they come back.

Please do.

—lanier cruz

This book is dedicated to everyone who supported me and encouraged me when I decided to rewrite this book. I always wanted so much more for Amie, Michael, and Gabe.  I wanted to tell their love story properly. Thank you for reading. You mean the world to me.

Chapter One

Michael

The air inside the bar stank of cheap bourbon and even cheaper perfume. The perfect accompaniment to the crooning country music twanging through the air. Swirling the dark amber-colored liquid I held in my hand, I downed the whole thing in one swallow with a wince before setting the glass down with a thud against the bar top.

Whiskey had never really been my thing. But for tonight, like this bar, it was perfect. It helped wash down the angry, acidic bile that filled my throat anyway.

Another? the bartender stood in front of me, a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels cocked and ready to pour in his hand. I nodded, watching the liquor fill my glass. Lady troubles? he asked.

I looked up at the man and narrowed my eyes, a dark chuckle escaping the back of my throat. Is that really a thing? I mumbled and drained the glass as quickly as the one before it. Bartender slash therapist? I thought that was only on TV.

The bartender laughed and wiped down the bar with a rag, watching me carefully. Well, he cocked his eyebrows. When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you start to notice there are certain kinds of drinking. And you, my friend, are drinking away lady problems.

Lady problems. If only it were that easy to chalk it up too. How would I even begin to describe my lady problems? The adrenaline still spiked painfully in my veins. My heart was pounding just as deafeningly loud as it had been an hour before, and my hands balled into tight fists as I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself. Just an hour ago I was standing in front of her, so angry I could barely see straight. So angry the only thing I could do was spew out a mouthful of hateful words before I ultimately left.

Maybe forever.

I’d trusted Amie. Let my guard down with her—only to have my heart torn right out of my chest, tossed into a blender and handed to me for breakfast. And Gabe?

Fuck.

Bile rose again, and I had to gulp it back. Then I noticed my hands were still shaking.

Yep, I grimaced. You got me. Lady problems.

The man nodded with appreciation. This one’s on me, bud, he filled my glass again. What’s yer name?

Michael, I mumbled.

The bartender seemed almost ironically out of place in this tiny, hole in the wall honky-tonk bar. His hair was gelled and styled to perfection, while his beard was wild and long with a short, curling mustache. With his red flannel shirt and black skinny jeans, he looked more like he should be a barista at a trendy coffee shop or something. Not slinging Budweiser and cheap, bottom-barrel whiskey looking like a skinnier version of the guy from those paper towel commercials.

But when I looked down at myself, it became obvious that I too seemed out of place here in the designer jeans, expensive sweater and white dress shirt I’d worn for the party earlier that night.

Well, Michael, the bartender cleared his throat, setting his large hands, palms down on the bar in front of himself. It’s almost the last call, need me to get you a cab?

Gulping down the whiskey I shook my head, wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. I’ll just sleep in my car, thanks.

Musta been a pretty bad one, he mused and went back to cleaning the bar top of glasses and bottles. Me and my old lady had one like that once. I didn’t go home for a few days while she cooled off enough to forgive me. Went crawling back with my tail tucked between my legs too.

Yeah well, I’m probably not going back. Ever, I shot him a smug look.

That bad huh? he breathed in heavily and nodded, pouring me another glass full of whiskey. Name’s Neil. You wanna tell me about it? I’m a good listener, though my wife might argue with me on that one.

With a brief shake of my head, I inhaled the pungent liquid before gulping it down. Trust me on this one, Neil, you don’t wanna know. Unless you can tell me how to just disappear completely from the face of the earth.

Neil let out an anxious laugh from under his breath, buddy of mine went to Alaska to do that for a couple of years. You on the lam or something?

Thanks for the drink, I pulled cash from my wallet and slapped it on the counter in front of my glass, then swung myself off the barstool, picking up the sweater I’d laid on the counter beside me. Keep the change.

Outside the bar the air was cold. I could see the fog of my breath, even in the dimly lit parking lot. Leaning against the passenger side door of my old Corolla, I ran a hand through the length of my hair, letting it fall right back into my face. Right now, I was at the base of the mountain. I could drive right back up. I could go back, get in my bed and pretend none of this ever happened.

I could do that.

But those pictures.

Those fucking pictures kept rolling through my mind like some kind of sick, twisted slide show. Part of me had known it all along. Amie loved Gabe more than she loved me. I couldn’t blame her really. I loved Gabe more than I loved me. Gabe was smart, he had a way with words, and he always knew exactly what to do and say.

And what did I have? Nothing. I’m a piece of shit, and I know it. Pretty much what I heard my whole life anyway.

I know what people see in me. What women see. What they wanted. And I gave it to them, and then eventually, they would always when they figured out it was all I had to offer.

My body.

Sex.

Everyone left.

My whole life, they left.

And now I didn’t even have Gabe. Of all people, man. Gabe. My brother, my best friend. The shit we’d been through, and he just stood there all self-righteous and protecting her.

From what? Me?

Opening the door I climbed into the backseat to lay down, propping my duffel against the door to use as a pillow. Crossing my hands over my chest, I concentrated on the white fog of my breath drifting to the roof of the car above me, collecting in a little cloud before dissolving away entirely. It wasn’t long before my eyelids grew heavy despite the emotions that roiled inside my chest, and I fell into a deep sleep.

The first thing that hit me? How fucking cold it was. The second thing that hit me? Where the fuck was I?

I sat up, startled and shivering against myself. It made the pounding in my head seem that much more amplified. With a deep breath, I rubbed at my temples with the palm of my hand and looked around for anything identifying I could see.

I was in my car—in a parking lot?

Shit, it was the parking lot outside Three Canyons Pub. With a deep groan, I settled back against the cold leather seat, letting it all come back to me.

There’d been a fight, that much I remembered. I groaned again trying to recall everything.

Jesus, my head hurt.

Amie said something? Introduced me as her friend instead of whatever I was to her. What was I anyway? A boyfriend? A lover? Soulmate, or maybe a fuck buddy? Anything would have been better than that. It made me feel so, so—small. Insignificant. When those words fell from her lips, it felt like a hot knife slicing right through my chest and going straight for my heart.

Then she didn’t say anything to me for the rest of the night. She just clung to Gabe’s side and watched me like a scared little rabbit until I finally decided to make a disappearing act to my room for the rest of the evening.

Yeah, it was all coming back to me now.

The plan was to lay in bed, drink a beer, wallow in solitude and maybe watch some videos on my laptop. But the cord was missing so I wandered into Amie’s office to use her computer instead when...

I had to gulp. Hard. Shaking my head at the angry, vicious tears threatening to spill, my hands clenched tight against my thighs.

Those pictures. Those fucking pictures.

I didn’t go looking for them. I didn’t go looking for anything other than an escape from how pissed off I was. When I hit the space bar on the keyboard to snap her computer out of sleep mode they were right there.

Hundreds of pictures of her and Gabe. Of just Gabe. Of them kissing and fucking. I wanted to throw up thinking it about it now, just like I’d felt last night. The way she looked at Gabe in those pictures, she never looked at me like that anymore. The only thing in her eyes when she looked at me lately was pity. Hell, she and Gabe had probably been glad I was gone. Maybe it would be better if I just left for good anyway?

When I’d asked Gabe to pack me a bag last night, I even wasn’t even sure I actually wanted to go. In some ways, I’d kind of hoped Gabe would come with me. Leave behind this Amie bullshit. This bullshit thing we were calling a relationship.

We were brothers, weren’t we? We were family, Gabe, and I. The only family either of us had in this world, even if it wasn’t by blood. It was a pact we’d made as kids. Gabe sliced both our palms open so we could be blood brothers with a Swiss Army knife he’d jacked from our foster dad at the time. I still had the scar, and I ran my fingers over it, feeling the ridge in the center of my hand beneath my fingertips.

"Brothers forever," Gabe told me, clasping our bloody palms together and squeezing.

I was nine then, Gabe was eleven—and Gabe was getting sent off to a new group home the following morning without me. I could still remember trying not to wince at the pain so Gabe wouldn’t think I was weak.

Fuck, I mumbled, staring at the text popping up on my cell. It was Gabe.

"Where are you? Do you need a ride? You drank a lot last night, I’m just worried. At least let me know you’re okay."

Seconds later I got another.

It was Amie.

"Michael, I am so sorry. I feel like shit. I’m really worried about you. Please come home. I love you."

Home. Ha!

Shoving the phone deep in my pocket, I exhaled a heavy sigh and scanned the road just beyond the bar.

It wasn’t too late. I could drive right up that hill, climb into my bed and sleep, wait to see what happened. Maybe Amie would say she was sorry and beg me to stay. She’d climb on top of me and kiss me and ride me until I forgot how mad I was. And maybe it would be good. For a little while anyway. Maybe Gabe would tell me he was glad I decided to come back and he would pat me on the shoulder, and things could just be normal. But the truth was, we weren’t normal. None of it was normal.

It was Gabe who’d convinced me, convinced all of us that we could do this.

This being the three of us. Me loving Amie, Gabe loving Amie, and Amie loving us both. At first, I thought I could do it. Share the heart and bed of the woman I loved. It was easier than I thought it would be. Hell, some of the sex had been pretty goddamn hot too. And my bond with Gabe was strong enough that I never really felt jealous, not until lately.

The truth was, I wanted her to myself. Maybe I always had. When my mom got sick, all I wanted to do was climb into bed with her, have her pet my hair and hold me tight the way she did. It was just about the only thing in the world I’d ever really been comforted by except the ocean. When she died, and Amie asked if I wanted her to come with me to the funeral, I said no. But deep down, I wanted her to go. I wanted to ask her to drop everything for me, and just be with me. But I didn’t.

Everything felt different when I got back. Nothing felt right. It didn’t fit the same way it had before. Amie had always been closer to Gabe in a way. They talked more, she opened up to him about stuff that she didn’t with me. Probably because I always needed her to assure me that I was okay in only the way she could. But it was even more obvious when I returned.

Ignoring it, I stuffed it down, deep into that place where everything ugly and horrible and awful got laid to rest inside of me. I knew she saw a little of it when I fucked her the night I got back from Kentucky. And I swore I saw a flicker of fear in her eyes when I was laying over her.

I was just so fucking angry. Not at her so much as I was just angry at everything.

Another text came in, snapping me out of my daze.

Gabe.

And then it clicked with me.

I didn’t fit in the equation anymore. Whether it was because of them or me, I had no place there. Digging through the duffel bag I’d used as a pillow the night before, I found a black hoodie and pulled it on in place of the white button down. Then I climbed out of the back seat and sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel in my hands.

It was time to make a choice.

I tossed the still buzzing cell phone into the glove box and slammed it shut.

Squinting against the blinding rays of the morning sun, my hand turned the key to start the engine, and I sat there for a long minute, letting it warm up while I decided where to go. The dashboard clock read seven twenty-two. Hell, if I started driving now, I could be in San Diego by two. Three at the latest.

San Diego.

Just the sound of it felt good. The sun, the palm trees, the surf. I had a full tank of gas, and a bag full of clothes. It was doable. I had a few hundred cash in my wallet I hadn’t deposited yet and a couple thousand, maybe more, in the bank after all the jobs Gabe and I did. Plus a credit card for emergencies I’d never used—I could hit up some old buddies, crash for a bit while I decided what to do.

The buzzing noise of my cell phone interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up the hill again.

If Gabe had really been worried about me or where I was, it wouldn’t have been too hard to find me. There wasn’t much open that late at night, especially around the mountain. Me and Gabe had come down here to have a beer and watch the game on a few Sunday afternoons. So, no, it wouldn’t have been too hard to find me at all.

San Diego.

After stopping for a coffee, where a pretty girl behind the counter smiled and flirted with me like crazy, I made my way to the I-8 without a second thought. With the stereo blasting my favorite playlist and drowning out the sound of my cell phone  I let the window all the way down. The wind whipped my hair around my face, and I realized I hadn’t felt this good or this free in what felt like a very long time. I was doing something for myself for once.

All the way into San Diego the freeways were tightly packed with cars. With the windows still rolled down, I was able to drink in the scent of the air, thick with moisture and sea salt. When the Pacific Beach exit sign showed up, I took it, making my way through heavy traffic and towards the ocean. Towards the one thing that always felt like home.

"The sea remains the sea..." I muttered under my breath as I pulled my car into a narrow parking space.

Staring out across the distance, I could clearly remember the first time I saw the ocean. I’d just gotten out of foster care and my mom had me again. For a little while anyway.

I was six.

My mom was so beautiful that day. I can still see her so clearly. So alive. Happy. She had on a yellow dress with little white flowers, and she bought me an ice cream cone. It was the best day of my life.

Stepping out of the Corolla, I tossed my