Meant to be, p.1
Meant to Be, page 1
About the Book
A steamy new adult romance perfect for fans of Ana Huang, Lucy Score, Tessa Bailey and Monica Murphy.
Josie Mayor fled Fern Grove after a scandal that rocked the town, turning her back on her friends and family. She disappeared with no contact, no forwarding address and abandoned the only life she knew.
Now she’s back and has to confront what she left behind. When Josie runs into her ex-boyfriend, Nick, and Harley, the boy who stole her heart, she is faced with the pain and heartache of a past she’s desperate to forget. Josie must make a choice in doing what’s best for her, or risk repeating history once more.
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Content Warning
Playlist
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Thank You
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Let’s Be Social!
Also by Lauren Jackson
Imprint
Read More at Penguin Books Australia
To everyone who’s ever struggled with choosing what their heart wants, over what others tell them to do.
CONTENT WARNING
Meant to Be is a fun contemporary enemies-to-lovers romance with (spoilers!) a happily ever after, but it does contain elements that might not be suitable for some readers, including themes/scenes of domestic violence. Readers who are sensitive to this topic, please take note.
PLAYLIST
‘Step Ahead’ – DSARDY, Son Little
‘I hate u, I love u’ – Garrett Nash, Olivia O’Brien
‘Look After You’ – The Fray
‘Love Me or Leave Me’ – Little Mix
‘Mad Love’ – Mabel
‘Everything I Wanted’ – Billie Eilish
‘Moonlight’ – Gaullin
‘Numb (Dubstep Remix)’ – DJ RusLan
‘Phases’ – PRETTYMUCH
‘Someone You Loved’ – Lewis Capaldi
‘I’m Yours’ – Alessia Cara
‘There For You’ – Troye Sivan
‘Breathe’ – Lauv
‘YOUTH’ – Troye Sivan
‘Without Me’ – Halsey
‘I Love You’s’ – Hailee Steinfeld
‘Unsteady’ – X Ambassador
‘Somebody to You’ – The Vamp, Demi Lovato
‘Happier Than Ever (edit)’ – Billie Eilish
‘Colors’ – Halsey
‘Hurts Like Hell’ – Madison Beer, Offset
‘Apologize’ – Timbaland, OneRepublic
‘Bad Guy’ – Billie Eilish
‘Bad Liar’ – Imagine Dragons
‘Breakeven’ – The Script
‘Bruises’ – Lewis Capaldi
‘Don’t Give Up On Me’ – Andy Grammar
‘Go F*ck Yourself’ – Two Feet
‘Hate Me’ – Ellie Goulding, Juice WRLD
‘Middle of the Night’ – Elley Duhe
Listen to the playlist here.
1
JOSIE
Fern Grove. A place I longed to escape. A place I wish I had never come back to.
I pull my car over near the Welcome to Fern Grove sign and spray my windows with windshield wiper fluid. The dust smears across them, making it harder to see out than before. Giving up, I continue on my way.
Peering out of the non-smudged section, I pass the sugar mill, the old petrol station, and the café that my mother used to take me to every Sunday morning. Everything looks the same. I follow the familiar route – one I couldn’t forget, no matter how hard I tried – ending up at a long gravel road.
Dad’s rust-spotted truck is parked where it always is, my mum’s SUV and my brother’s Subaru beside it. Sam’s car is the only one to have changed in the four years I’ve been gone. He wrapped his last one around a telegraph pole – or so I read on Facebook.
It’s only a moment after I cut the engine that humid air fills the car, causing my shirt to feel damp. I exhale, staring at the old, peeling house. If I’d taken a picture the day I left, not one thing in that picture would be different in the one I’d take now.
I really hate that.
My reflection in the side mirror catches my attention as I step outside the car. I flinch at the sight of it. I don’t recognise myself. The roundness I used to get teased about at school is gone, replaced with a sharp jawline and gaunt cheeks.
Birds cry from the trees, and I hear Mum’s radio blaring as I approach the front screen door, hanging on its final hinges, already partially open. I look at the gap between the door and the porch, thinking it would be far too easy for snakes to enter. Many times, I woke up to find one slithering across our lounge room floor or hiding in my bookshelves.
I knock once, then twice, before entering. The weathered floorboards groan under my weight. There was once a time I had memorised which ones squeaked and which didn’t, in my attempts to sneak out uncaught . . .
I barely take a breath as I tiptoe down the stairs, dancing over the floorboards as I reach the front door. Slowly, I swing it open. The warm night air washes over my skin before strong arms wrap around me, dragging me close.
He smells like cigarettes and whisky. Two scents a teenage boy shouldn’t smell like, but it’s a scent that’s become familiar to me. A comforting smell that lingers on my hoodies and stains my pillow after we spend hours together.
‘Did you wear that for me?’ he asks.
A shiver rolls down my spine. My eyes dart down to the spaghetti-strap white dress that hugs my waist and shows off my legs. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.
His lips curve. He leans in close, his breath warm against my earlobe. ‘Good.’
The smell of baked goods guides me to the kitchen, and I mentally shake off the memories that are threatening to take over. I eye the walls, the faded wallpaper, the hanging photo frames. Everything feels too familiar, too small, too cluttered.
I pause. It looks like one thing has changed after all. My photographs on the walls. They’re gone. I trail my finger down one of the dusty frames, seeing my mum, dad, and brother smiling back at me. My finger drifts to the empty spot beside them, where I should have been.
Sweat drips down the side of my face and I wipe it away. The heat is almost unbearable. I begged for years for air-conditioning or even ceiling fans. I glance to the ceilings, seeing nothing but accumulated dust and cobwebs.
Mum is humming under her breath, bent at the knees, inspecting something inside the oven. She slams the door shut and spins on her heels.
Our eyes lock.
The glass of water in her hand slips, shattering on the floor. ‘Josephine,’ she whispers. She blinks. Her eyes dart over me.
I’m much thinner than I used to be. My skin washed out, hair flat on my shoulders.
Mum creeps closer to me as if scared to make any sudden movements. ‘Is this real?’
My eyes feel watery as I nod.
Her gaze roams my face, focusing on my black eye. ‘Oh, honey,’ she whispers. ‘You’re okay. You’re safe now.’
I fall into her arms and cry all the tears I’ve held in for so long.
2
HARLEY
The hammer slams one, two, three times before the nail is all the way in. The sun is unrelenting as it beats down on my back. I drag the back of my hand over my forehead and stand, my legs protesting from being in one position too long.
‘Kid,’ my supervisor George roars over the sound of whirring machinery. ‘Take a break.’
Kid. I’ve worked for his construction company for almost four years, only a few months shy of finishing my apprenticeship. I work the longest hours, carry the most weight, and climb the highest cranes. And he still calls me kid.
Cupping my hand in a half-moon shape over my eyes, my gaze settles on a familiar ute parked in the lot. My father’s car. He must be inside the break room. Exhaling, I shake my head and throw a sloppy wave towards George, i
‘Suit yourself!’ he shouts, shaking his head before disappearing inside.
My throat screams for water, but I’d rather pass out from dehydration than be in close proximity to my father. It’s been hard enough earning respect from these guys just from sharing his last name, let alone if they overheard the way he speaks to me.
It’s not like they don’t know. Everyone knows. But I’d rather not have one of our fights happen with a front-row audience.
Turning my back to the shed they’ve established as the break room, I continue working. Sweat drips into my eyes, and the sting makes me wince. I rub them heavily and sigh deeply through my nose. I glance down at my watch.
Only six hours to go.
An hour-and-a-half after my shift has ended, the sun is slowly sinking into the horizon.
Slinging my arms over the handles of my bike, I turn the lighter over in my fingers, watching the glint off the gunmetal-grey shell. I strike my thumb against it and light the end of my cigarette. Settling it between my teeth, I suck in a deep breath and tilt my head back, letting the smoke pour from my lips and fade into the breeze.
My phone beeps. Brennon, most likely. My best friend of fourteen years, roommate of three.
Brennon: Drinks tonight?
Pushing my hand through my hair, I let my head hang forward. I should want to do this. Be social. Interact. But everything is so dull here. The people. This place. Everything that is Fern Grove. Nothing interests me anymore.
It’s time to move on. But to where? To do what?
A few more months, a voice whispers. Your apprenticeship is almost finished. Just hang in there a little longer.
I’ve been telling myself this for two years now. After a few too many beers and a breakdown yesterday, I packed my bags. They’re stuffed inside my closet, hiding from Brennon’s prying eyes. I’m so close to walking away from this place. I just don’t have anywhere to go.
Harley: Working at the pub.
Brennon: Call in sick.
I shove my phone back in my pocket. Brennon’s lack of work ethic frustrates the hell out of me. He’s grown up in the safety net of wealth. He’s never had to work to survive, and it shows.
Every muscle in my body hurts. Working 6 am to 4 pm in construction, and then 6 pm to 10 pm at the pub makes my body ache like it never has before. On days like this, it doesn’t seem worth it. But it is. The more financially independent I am, the sooner I can get the hell out of here. And never come back.
The bike rumbles to life, and I ride directly to work. Shrugging out of my leather jacket, I swing it over a chair in the break room before grabbing my key tag. I swipe the tag over the sensor and punch in my code.
‘Evening,’ Graham, the owner of the bar, greets me. Crow’s feet wrinkles sit at the corners of his eyes and his beard has grown longer and scruffier in the past six months than I’ve ever seen before.
‘Hey,’ I reply.
He looks tired as he passes me, clapping me on the shoulder before going out the back to clock off. My eyes settle on the bar, near empty except for a couple of locals in the pokies room.
The pub is small and run-down, but that goes for basically all places in this town. It doesn’t make much sense to renovate when the town doesn’t get any tourists.
Robotically, I wipe down the tables, restock the fridges, and empty the dishwasher. When no more people have entered in the last hour, I rest against the bar and pull out my phone. I search for rooms to rent, making the radius a minimum of four hours from here. My thumb slides over the screen as I scroll, and I feel deflated when I see the prices of rentals.
Fern Grove is affordable, and I halve the rent with Brennon, but when I move on my own, it will all be on me. As daunting as it is, it’s a goal I’m committed to achieving. I can’t stand to be here any longer and I’m willing to make just about any sacrifice to get out. My loyalty to Brennon has been a big reason for me staying, but honestly, it’s not enough anymore.
The bell dings, indicating the arrival of customers, and I glance up to see Nick. Sighing, I slide my phone into my back pocket and move towards the register. Even after all these years, Nick and I have never comfortably met eyes.
My gaze dips over his neat button-up shirt and beige slacks. I don’t really have a valid reason for hating him, but I do.
‘Your usual?’ I ask.
‘Yeah.’
Curling my hand around the schooner glass, I place it under the tap and hold it. I push it across the counter. He slides his card into the machine – which doesn’t have payWave because Graham refuses to modernise, even in the most basic form – and it takes several moments to flash approval. Without a word, Nick slinks over to the table furthest from the bar, where his father is already seated.
My gaze drifts towards the wet floor sign, and I’m half tempted to race past it, so I fall and bang my head hard enough to enter a coma for a few days. Or a year.
3
JOSIE
I sleep soundlessly for the first night in what feels like months, and when I wake the next morning, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. Heavy limbs, swollen eyes, hair sticking to my skin.
Slithers of sunlight beam through the blinds and I wince, flinging my arm over my face. Birds outside the window shriek. I haven’t heard those sounds since I left for the city. The mattress is hard and lumpy, the blankets are itchy and the room is stuffy – but it’s home.
The walls groan and sigh. Every movement of my family carries into my room. Voices. Footsteps. Pipes humming. Pots banging. The sounds are so foreign and yet so familiar.
When I was here last, I was a completely different person. It hurts to think about it all now – all the choices I made.
Rolling over, I curl into a ball. My eyes roam over the walls. My chest tightens as my gaze skims across the photographs. Handwritten song lyrics, poems, and quotes are draped unevenly across the walls.
My head hurts. So many thoughts and memories I’ve refused to let creep in are washing over me in tidal waves.
My gaze drifts to my bedside table. Reaching over, I open the drawer. I rummage through it until I get to a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper with a bow on it. Holding my breath, I unravel it. The necklace has rusted a little over the years. Pressing my thumb over the patterns, I flick open the locket. I stare down at the photograph of myself and the boy smiling next to me. My heart squeezes and I snap the locket shut and throw it back into the drawer as if it burned me.
It was all a lie.
I fling myself back across the mattress and wince. The pain in my face is worse than yesterday.
I turn my phone on. It takes a few moments to start back up, and for a second, I think it’s dead. The screen eventually lights up, and when the vibrating starts, I place it down and wait it out.
Twenty-four missed calls from Elliot, twelve voice messages, nine texts.
I get through one text before I’m rushing to the bathroom, where I empty my stomach into the toilet bowl. Sitting back on my haunches, my arms tremble.
The door bangs open, and a foot kicks my leg. A manly scream fills the room, and I scamper to my feet, wiping my mouth.
My younger brother stands before me, open-mouthed, eyes wide.
