Here With Me: An Adair Family Novel Read online

  Here With Me

  An Adair Family Novel

  Samantha Young

  Contents

  Also by Samantha Young

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1. Robyn

  2. Robyn

  3. Lachlan

  4. Robyn

  5. Lachlan

  6. Robyn

  7. Lachlan

  8. Robyn

  9. Robyn

  10. Lachlan

  11. Robyn

  12. Lachlan

  13. Robyn

  14. Robyn

  15. Lachlan

  16. Lachlan

  17. Robyn

  18. Robyn

  19. Lachlan

  20. Robyn

  21. Lachlan

  22. Robyn

  23. Lachlan

  24. Robyn

  25. Robyn

  26. Robyn

  27. Lachlan

  28. Robyn

  29. Lachlan

  30. Lachlan

  31. Robyn

  32. Lachlan

  33. Robyn

  34. Lachlan

  35. Robyn

  36. Robyn

  37. Lachlan

  38. Robyn

  39. Lachlan

  40. Robyn

  41. Robyn

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Here With Me

  An Adair Family Novel

  By Samantha Young

  Copyright © 2021 Samantha Young

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This 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 events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This work is registered with and protected by Copyright House.

  Edited by Jennifer Sommersby Young

  Cover Design By Hang Le

  Also by Samantha Young

  Other Adult Contemporary Novels by Samantha Young

  Play On

  As Dust Dances

  Black Tangled Heart

  Hold On: A Play On Novella

  Into the Deep

  Out of the Shallows

  Hero

  Villain: A Hero Novella

  One Day: A Valentine Novella

  Fight or Flight

  Much Ado About You

  On Dublin Street Series:

  On Dublin Street

  Down London Road

  Before Jamaica Lane

  Fall From India Place

  Echoes of Scotland Street

  Moonlight on Nightingale Way

  Until Fountain Bridge (a novella)

  Castle Hill (a novella)

  Valentine (a novella)

  One King’s Way (a novella)

  On Hart’s Boardwalk (a novella)

  Hart’s Boardwalk Series:

  The One Real Thing

  Every Little Thing

  Things We Never Said

  The Truest Thing

  Young Adult contemporary titles by Samantha Young

  The Impossible Vastness of Us

  The Fragile Ordinary

  Young Adult Urban Fantasy titles by Samantha Young

  War of the Covens:

  Hunted

  Destined

  Ascended

  Warriors of Ankh Trilogy:

  Blood Will Tell

  Blood Past

  Shades of Blood

  Fire Spirits Series:

  Smokeless Fire

  Scorched Skies

  Borrowed Ember

  Darkness, Kindled

  Other Titles by Samantha Young

  Drip Drop Teardrop, a novella

  Titles Co-written with Kristen Callihan

  Outmatched

  Titles Written Under S. Young

  Fear of Fire and Shadow

  True Immortality Series:

  War of Hearts

  Kiss of Vengeance

  Kiss of Eternity: A True Immortality Short Story

  Bound by Forever

  About the Author

  Samantha Young is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author from Stirlingshire, Scotland. She's been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Author and Best Romance for her international bestseller On Dublin Street. On Dublin Street is Samantha's first adult contemporary romance series and has sold in 31 countries.

  Visit Samantha Young online at http://authorsamanthayoung.com

  Twitter @AuthorSamYoung

  Instagram @AuthorSamanthaYoung

  Facebook http://www.facebook.com/authorsamanthayoung

  Acknowledgments

  Here With Me has been several years in the making. The Adair siblings came to me not long after the On Dublin Street series finished, but it seemed it wasn’t our time back then. However, the Adairs never left me, demanding that I introduce them to my readers. When the time finally came, I can say with utmost honesty that Lachlan Adair and Robyn Penhaligon swept me into their fictional lives and didn’t let go long after I wrote the last word of their book. Living in Ardnoch with them has been a beautiful escape from a difficult year, and I hope it provides a wonderful escape for my readers too.

  For the most part, writing is a solitary endeavor, but publishing most certainly is not. I have to thank my wonderful editor Jennifer Sommersby Young for always, always being there to help make me a better writer and storyteller.

  And thank you to my bestie and PA extraordinaire Ashleen Walker for handling all the little things and supporting me through everything. I appreciate you so much. Love you lots!

  The life of a writer doesn’t stop with the book. Our job expands beyond the written word to marketing, advertising, graphic design, social media management, and more. Help from those in the know goes a long way. A huge thank-you to Nina Grinstead at Valentine PR for brainstorming with me, for your encouragement, your insight, and for going above and beyond. You’re amazing, and I’m so grateful for you.

  Thank you to every single blogger, Instagrammer, and book lover who has helped spread the word about my books. You all are appreciated so much! On that note, a massive thank-you to all the fantastic readers in my private Facebook group, Sam’s Clan McBookish. You’re truly special and the loveliest readers a girl could ask for!
  A massive thank-you to Hang Le for once again creating a stunning cover that establishes the perfect visual atmosphere for this story.

  As always, thank you to my agent Lauren Abramo for making it possible for readers all over the world to find my words. You’re phenomenal, and I’m truly grateful for all you do.

  A huge thank-you to my family and friends for always supporting and encouraging me. In particular, a heartfelt thank-you to my dad. Writing Robyn’s emotional story with her father reminded me how lucky I am to have a dad who always prioritizes me, is always there for me, and is one of the most honorable, trustworthy people I know. I’m so grateful you’re my dad.

  Finally, to you, thank you for reading. It means the world.

  For Dad,

  Not a day goes by that I don’t feel proud and grateful to be your daughter.

  I love you to the moon and back.

  Prologue

  ROBYN

  One year ago

  Boston, Massachusetts

  The rain lashed our patrol car as we sipped our coffees,
waiting for a crackle on the radio.

  I was enjoying the peaceful lull created by the sounds of raindrops on metal when a pop of color in the overwhelming gray beyond my window caught my attention.

  On the sidewalk, a woman in a navy coat, one hand holding a black umbrella, the other a leash, was halted by the dog on the end of it. From here, it looked like a Lab. The dog wore a bright red raincoat. And he’d sat his ass down on the sidewalk as if to say, “I’m done with this shit. Make it stop.”

  I laughed under my breath as the woman gesticulated wildly, as if to reply, “What the hell do you want me to do about it?”

  Her arms thrown wide, head bent toward the dog staring back up at her, became a snapshot in my head. I wished I had my camera. I’d use a wide aperture and my 150mm lens to blur out the gray, movement-filled background and focus on the woman and her stubborn dog.

  “Jaz thinks you should dump Mark.” My partner, Autry Davis, yanked me out of the mental photography processing in my head.

  Smirking at the comment, I ignored the uneasiness that accompanied it. “Oh, Jaz thinks that?”

  Jasmine “Jaz” Davis was pretty outspoken, but Autry had made it clear he didn’t like my boyfriend Mark from the moment he’d met him.

  “Sure does.” Autry stared out the window at the passing traffic. We were parked on Maverick Square in East Boston, near a bakery we both liked. They did good coffees. And Boston creams. Not that we were trying to live up to the cop cliché. We allowed ourselves a Boston cream once a week. It was our treat. “She thinks he thinks what he does is more important than what you do and that he never prioritizes you.”

  That did sound like something Jaz would say.

  Mark was a prosecutor and very good at his job. His success was appealing because I found hardworking guys sexy. But lately he’d been pushing me to make a change. He thought I should work my way up, apply to become a sergeant detective and then move up to lieutenant.

  He didn’t understand I didn’t want that because he was the most driven son of a bitch I’d ever met. Like I said, that was hot until he tried to make me into someone I wasn’t.

  “Well, you can tell Jaz I’m breaking up with him.”

  Autry tried not to look too happy about that and failed. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. He’s too much like hard work.”

  “Not that I want to talk you out of dumping the guy, but you do realize relationships are hard work. Right?”

  I snorted. “Says the man with the wife and kids he adores.”

  “Doesn’t mean it isn’t hard work.”

  “I know that. But you’ve got to want to work hard at it, and I don’t want to with Mark. Last weekend, he blew up at me for buying a fish-eye lens for my camera. Told me an expensive ‘hobby’ was a waste of my mediocre income, and he wasn’t about to indulge me in a pastime.” My skin flushed hot with anger at the reminder. I’d emotionally and verbally shut him out ever since.

  “He said what?” Autry frowned. “Yeah, you need to dump his ass, pronto. Shit, can you imagine Jaz if I tried to condescend to her like that? He’s lucky he’s dealing with you and not my woman. He wouldn’t have come out of it alive. And I’m not telling her what you just told me, ’cause he still might not. Damn, Penhaligon. Life is too short for that bullshit.”

  “The sex is pretty good, though.” I said it mostly to be funny. No sex was worth being with a guy who made me feel small and unimportant.

  Autry cut me a warning look. “Don’t want to hear it.”

  I laughed under my breath and sipped my coffee.

  Straight out of the academy at twenty-one, I was introduced to Autry Davis, my beat partner. A tall, good-looking man seven years my senior with a quick sense of humor and a warmth that could melt even the coldest soul. I’d developed a crush on the man. A crush that soon faded into friendship and trust. Especially when I met his wife Jaz and their two young daughters, Asia and Jada. In the last six years, the Davises had welcomed me into their family. Autry now was like an older brother. Like any brother, he didn’t want to hear about his little sister’s sex life.

  And like any little sister, I deliberately ignored his pleas to stop torturing him with the details.

  “I mean, there’s room for improvement, but he’s definitely better at it than Axel.” Axel was the guy before Mark. A musician. Self-involved. Selfish in bed. And out of it. When I was sick with a bad head cold, he didn’t opt to check in on me or offer to buy me groceries so I could stay in bed. Nope. He disappeared and said he wouldn’t be back until I was well again. Jaz and Autry took care of me. Axel didn’t come back when I was well again because I told him not to. Mark wasn’t that giving in bed either, to be fair, but at least with him, I reached climax.

  “I can’t hear you.” Autry scowled out the window. “I am no longer in the car. I am someplace where the world is good and right and the Celtics are winning the season.”

  “So the land of make-believe, then?”

  “Don’t you come at the Celtics.”

  I chuckled, opening my mouth to continue teasing him when the radio crackled.

  “Domestic disturbance. Lexington Street, apartment 302B. Neighbor called it in.”

  Autry reached for the radio. “Gold 1-67. Three minutes out.”

  “Roger that.”

  I’d already started the engine and was swinging the car into traffic.

  “What do you think it is this time?” I asked.

  “Affair.”

  “You always guess that.”

  “Because I’m nearly always right.”

  “Last time you were wrong.”

  “What was last time?”

  “Oh, Davis, you’re getting old,” I teased. “Girlfriend found out boyfriend had gambled all her savings. She beat the shit out of him.”

  “Oh yeah. That was a nasty one. That man will never be able to have children after what she did to him.”

  Unfortunately, probably true. I winced at the memory.

  Only a few minutes later, we pulled up to the apartment building on the corner of Lexington. It had the same architecture as all the buildings in this part of Boston—narrow with wooden shingle siding. This one was painted white years ago and was in dire need of a repaint. It had two entrances, one for the downstairs apartment and the other for the upstairs. A woman in bright yellow pajamas, her hair covered with a matching bandana, stood outside the first-floor apartment door. She approached us as we got out of the car.

  “They’ve been yelling up there for the last thirty minutes, and then I heard things crashing and she started screaming and crying.” The neighbor looked shaken. “He’s shiesty as fuck, that one. Think he’s into drugs. Thought I better call it in.”

  I gave her a reassuring smile and was about to speak when a terrified shriek sounded from above. Autry hurried to the door. Turning back to the neighbor, I ordered, “Please return to your apartment, ma’am.”

  As I watched her do this, Autry banged on the door to the upstairs apartment. “Boston PD, open up!”

  An angry male voice could be heard yelling obscenities upstairs. I caught “fucking bitch” in among the rambling, followed by loud sobbing broken by intermittent, garbled screaming.

  Autry looked at me, face grim, and my hand went to my holster.

  I nodded.

  He turned the handle on the front door and it opened.

  As we moved into the cramped hall, to the stairs leading steeply up to the next floor, I followed Autry and took out my gun. The occupants of the apartment no doubt couldn’t hear us over their argument. As we climbed the stairs, it became apparent, from what I could make out, that this altercation was about drugs. He seemed to think she was skimming money off the top while selling his product. Not an average domestic disturbance call after all.

  I steeled myself.

  The stairs led to a hallway with two doorways opposite each other. We peeked in one and saw it was the bedroom; it appeared empty. Then we moved just beyond the door into the other,
which took us into a small kitchen/living space. The place was trashed. Coffee table on its side, TV smashed, photographs falling out of broken frames and glass littered in their midst. A stool at the mini breakfast bar lay on its side.

  A young woman huddled on the sofa, face streaked with mascara, fear in her liquid eyes as she stared up at a tall, skinny guy who held a handgun in her face.

  We raised our guns.

  “Boston PD. Lower your weapon,” Autry demanded.

  The man looked at us without doing as warned. He scowled. “What the fuck are you fuckin’ bastards doing here? This ain’t your business. Did that nosy cunt downstairs call the cops?”

  His pupils were dilated, his speech slurred.

  The guy was high.

  This situation just got better and better.

  I repeated, “Sir, lower your weapon.”