Fate's Dark Shadows: A stand-alone age gap small-town romance

  Copyright © 2021 by Abby Knox

  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.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Fate’s Dark Shadows

  Roadside Attractions Book Four

  Abby Knox

  Summary

  Silent Doyle

  I only wish to be left alone. Being the town recluse is my penance for what my family has done to this once-thriving town. I’ve taken a vow of silence, and it serves to keep people at a distance, as well as keep the storm that roils inside my head under tenuous control.

  Meeting new people in Fate usually means more people to keep at arm’s length, but once I lay eyes on Maya, everything changes. The clamor in my brain stops when she’s near. My hard heart begins to crack open. Worst of all, I have a new desire to no longer be alone.

  But if I claim her as mine, what then? She has her whole life ahead of her. Will I just be using her to soothe my inner demons? I couldn’t live with myself if I took advantage of a young woman with such a sweet nature.

  Still, she’s there. Everywhere I go, Maya is reaching out with a caring touch and a healing presence.

  I know in my heart there is no one else for me, but there is no way this beautiful angel will be able to stand the monster in me for long.

  Maya

  I don’t quite understand this new town I’ve stumbled into. And I definitely do not understand this man who keeps staring at me while I’m working at the diner. He lives alone in a big black mansion and doesn’t speak out loud to anyone. And yet, everyone in Fate acts like this is completely normal.

  He and his Edward Cullen-like vibe just won’t leave me alone. It’s almost as if he knows…

  Ever since I was a young teen, I’ve had urges I don’t understand. I like older men, and I’d like to be handled a certain way. I’ve never entertained these desires, and I’ve been careful not to let my guard down around the wrong person. And yet, I feel like Silent Doyle is someone who understands.

  It makes no sense for me to trust him. Yet the more I let myself fall into his gaze, I’m under his thrall. We just met, and yet all I want to do is for him to lay me bare and take what he wants.

  About the series:

  All is not lost when you break down by the side of the road, especially if you break down anywhere near the town of Fate. Who might you meet first? Will it be a grumpy tow truck driver? A bored sheriff with too much time on his hands? A bar man whose clumsy meet-cute ends with spilled beer all over your knitting project? Never fear, because high-heat, insta-love, small-town romances and happily ever afters await you! Come for the cherry pie, and stay to shake hands with the mayor (the only truly good boy in town.) Enjoy!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More by Abby Knox

  Chapter One

  Doyle

  “Sir? Sir, did you hear me? Are you ready to order?”

  Wonderful, I think. A new clueless server to break in.

  I don’t care how pretty her voice is; nobody dares ask for audible responses from me.

  I snap my eyes upward, ready to express my irritation, assuming Ruby must not have told this new young server about me.

  When I catch the look on this young face, though, two things hit me. One: this poor girl looks like she’s ready to apologize for merely existing.

  Second: the noises in my head have suddenly abated in her presence. But how?

  Who is she, and where did she come from? She’s so young. People her age tend to exacerbate my pain and misery, not lessen it.

  “Sir?”

  I read her name tag. Maya. A pretty name for a pretty young thing who doesn’t have the slightest idea what she is doing to me. The screams haven’t stopped in five long, hard years.

  Now? I can hear myself think.

  The only other times I can calm the roaring tumult in my brain is when I practice my cello.

  I may hate my dead uncle, but he kept my cello In good condition, even after I hightailed it out of Fate. Thank god he did because, until this moment, my playing has been my only peace. That repugnant textile magnate single-handedly ruined this town. I’d thought that when he finally gave up the ghost, my psychological torment would be over, but it was just beginning.

  Now?

  Maya softens the harsh world around her. Soft brown tendrils frame a kind, heart-shaped face. Long lashes and emerald irises I could get lost in. Round, youthful cheeks. A pointed chin and full peachy lips.

  She’s new here. It’s easy to spot fresh blood. Even if Fate were a town of a million people and not 500, I would have noticed Maya long before today. The devil in me has homed in on her. The darkness has sought out an angel after five years of pushing everyone away.

  I point to the badge I wear on a lanyard around my neck. The waitress Maya reads it out loud, her impeccable brow knit together in concentration: “Hi, I’m Doyle. I have taken a vow of silence.”

  Her eyes meet mine again, still curious. Still drawing me in.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, so close to me as she bends down, a delicate gold cross falling from her neck and swinging there. The symbol makes me wince inwardly as it twinkles in the morning sunlight. She covers her mouth in embarrassment.

  Don’t cover those lips, I want to say. Let me stare at them, let me stare at them until I die of hunger from longing to nibble on them.

  I should offer her a smile of understanding; of course, I’m not annoyed with her. How could a person ever feel anything but soothed in her presence? Even a soulless husk of a man like me?

  But I don’t smile. Physically, I might no longer be capable of it, not even for this glowing star that surrounds me with light and comfort, and easiness.

  Holding up the menu, I point to my order. Her eyes follow my finger; she’s close enough for me to see her gaze is not on the two eggs sunny side up with grits; she’s studying the back of my hand.

  Her lips close. Her throat bobs. I should not be staring at her neck, but I can’t help it. The smooth, graceful plane… it’s right there as she leans over me, so close that all I would have to do is move an inch, and I could take a bite. Her supple, young flesh in my mouth would be so sweet, its jasmine scent filling my lungs. The screams in my head would disappear forever if I could touch her, taste her. I know they would.

  The cross at her neck would
be barely noticeable if she weren’t fingering it self-consciously as she stands up straight again. It’s not the sort of cross one wears for decoration. It’s a subtle thing on a delicate chain, obviously very special meaning.

  You know what it means. It means she’s quietly devout. Don’t let yourself fall for her; she and that cross will burn you the second you lure her into your bed.

  She has no idea what sort of thoughts are replacing the dread and terror in my head. Fuck me.

  Every instinct I have tells me this is wrong. What would become of this cherub if I ruined her?

  I try to look away, not stare at her body, but everything about her calls to me. That kitschy gingham checked uniform hugs her child-bearing hips. My hands itch to skim slowly up the back of her bare thigh, no doubt damp from hard work, and assess what’s mine.

  She’s not yours, you fool. Pull yourself together.

  I can’t have her. I can’t just use someone simply because she makes my head feel better.

  But I can dream.

  If I could claim her, that uniform would be in shreds.

  She’d be sweaty not from waiting tables but from me flipping her over like a pancake and plowing her until the bed broke.

  She wouldn’t need to work ever again. Maya would be mine to take care of and to do as she pleased.

  That’s the kind of instant fantasy that comes from spending too much time alone.

  Still, there’s no reason I can’t help Maya out while I’m here. Looking her up and down, I assess what she might need. She doesn’t need a dirty old man ogling her. She needs grocery money and maybe a student loan payoff.

  Maya takes the menu. When her hand brushes the backs of my fingers, a jolt of electricity arcs from her to me. I am zapped straight through to my cock.

  While Maya’s gone to put my order in, I focus on my phone, filling my online grocery cart with various foods, only guesses as to what she might eat. As soon as possible, I’ll order groceries to be delivered to her house regularly. Until I know her address, the bags will be delivered to the diner. Ruby, the owner, is a good person and won’t have a problem setting them aside for Maya.

  At the next table, a couple of parents are feeding a baby who’s strapped into a highchair. I listen as the two of them chat about what the baby is eating, how much the baby is pooping, sleeping, saying words.

  I wait for the baby to fuss and cry, which will undoubtedly trigger the noise in my head.

  But it doesn’t happen.

  Maybe it’s Maya’s instant lightning strike to my soul, but I don’t find these people to be as annoying as I usually would. Or perhaps it’s just a quiet baby.

  My whole life, I’ve never felt comfortable around babies and young children. Babies smell terrible, and they’re usually leaking from the bottom. They are inconvenient and cause people to lose sleep. They’re not the best conversationalists.

  Worst of all, babies always shriek and trigger a particularly nasty bout of screaming in my head.

  When I cared for my sick uncle, I tolerated the children of Fate who dared approach the house on Halloween begging for treats. He loved to hire professionals from Gold Hill to make his ornate old mansion the most elaborately decorated place in town. And he also loved giving away pennies as treats. Like the asshole he was. When he was too sick to pass out candy himself, I switched to the good stuff. Full-size everything, even with options for food allergies. I quickly learned that word gets around when houses give good candy, and each subsequent year the crowds increased in size volume, to my chagrin.

  But I haven’t passed out candy or turned on my porch light on Halloween in five years. It’s not worth the migraine.

  Right now, a migraine seems miles away yet. And why? Something has shifted inside. It’s a feeling more than something that can be described with words. The feeling doesn’t exactly compel me to twirl and sing. Still, it’s a noticeable lessening of the dread of human interaction by a degree or two.

  But then, minutes pass. Maya’s been gone too long. The torment in my head begins to return. It’s just a faint, whirring echo at first. Then a low, sickening moan and grinding of metal against metal. It grows into distinguishable cries. Soon enough, the shouting and terrible curses and screams have returned. The thing that haunts me is back like an infestation.

  My therapist says I need to take small steps to be in public more and interact with a broader array of people while having a good day. Maybe volunteer and pull myself out of my own head. Help people with the gifts I’ve been given.

  But what’s the point?

  “It will help you let go of the misplaced guilt,” she says.

  I don’t see how. If my guilt over that mill accident, and Fate’s subsequent demise, Is misplaced, then no amount of helping Fate will make the screams go away. I should seek a new therapist. Or give up because it’s not working.

  In general, what works is staying silent. Not talking out loud doesn’t eradicate the noise, but it does make being in public more bearable. It definitely limits the amount of noise around me; people tend to default to quicker, quieter interactions when I’m around.

  It took a few months for people in Fate to catch on. When I first devised this solution, people had lots of questions. Understandably. But my silence trained them. When necessary, like at the grocery store or the department of motor vehicles, I use a small dry-erase board to communicate. With certain people, I text. My therapist has informed me that those particular people I’m comfortable texting with could be considered friends. But let’s not get carried away.

  My vow of silence is respected here, so I stick to my routine and interact with only certain people who don’t ask too many questions.

  I like walking to Ruby’s every morning for my breakfast, then taking a walk. I walk around the square before skulking back to my empty house to read, play my cello and write materials for my online investment courses And handbooks. I know I could attract more students if I actually recorded videos of myself lecturing, but I’m just not there yet.

  For now, this life works for me. It’s easy to avoid chatter when you live in the most prominent, scariest house in town.

  I like the servers at the diner not to interrupt me while they simply pour my coffee and allow me to read my morning paper in silence. I appreciate all the locals who seem to understand I need space. Most of all, no one holds a grudge about the mill accident, though I almost wish they would. My uncle settled that lawsuit with the family out of court, but it still haunts me to this day. Everyone in Fate has every right to hate me, but they simply … do not.

  Maya returns with my food, and once again, her presence is a miracle. My jaw unclenches in response to the quiet in my head. Blissful silence.

  This calming presence in Fate threatens to undo my routine. Make me crave human company. Specifically, her company.

  I typically eat quickly and leave to take my walk, but today? I feel like lingering.

  Chapter Two

  Maya

  My new boss is too kind. “Are you okay?”

  I get that a lot when I stare off into space. Usually, bosses will whip out the old saying, “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”

  Not Ruby. She’s taken a liking to me right away, though I have hardly proven myself as an adequate server yet.

  Especially right now, as I’m ruminating on things instead of working. I wear my emotions right out in the open, and I can’t hide them when the dark shadows pass over my face. I’ve tried, and I can’t. Certainly, I can’t hide from my new boss, Ruby.

  She’s been running this diner for twenty years, and if there’s one thing she knows how to do, it’s read people. Still, I try to keep my voice from trembling. I don’t quite understand what it is that’s happening to me. “That man? Why does he wear that badge that says he’s taken a vow of silence?”

  Ruby answers point-blank, “Because he’s taken a vow of silence.”

  These are the infuriating types of answers I’ve gotten all morning
about any number of oddities.

  Why is that dog allowed in the diner if he’s not a service dog? Because he’s the mayor.

  Why is he the mayor? Because we voted, and he won fair and square.

  Why is there a giant ball of yarn on the downtown square? Because the yarn was already there, and it seemed like the thing to do.

  And why the hell is a tourist attraction named the Curiosity Spot if it doesn’t sell vibrators? That’s one of the questions I keep to myself.

  After spotting the Help Wanted sign in the window last night, Ruby gave me a job on the spot when I walked into the diner. Despite me showing up tired, sweaty, and dirty with my broken-down bike, she said she could tell I was “good people.” For that, I’m super grateful.

  As a lifelong resident from Gold Hill—the town-that-must-not-be-named across the river—I’d grown up hearing about the weirdness in Fate. But I’d thought it was all exaggeration.

  Turned out, most of it is true.

  Case in point, Silent Doyle.

  “Something’s very strange about that man,” I say, catching Ruby’s eye as I dab the perspiration off my forehead with the back of my hand. “He gives me, well, not the creeps. I know creeps too well, but some other sort of heebie-jeebies.”

  Ruby nods sympathetically. “I get it, but trust me. He don’t bite. No matter the tales you might hear from the more cruel teenagers in Fate who like to pelt his house on Halloween with garlic cloves and holy water.”