AWAITED LOVE WITH YOU

  WHITNEY G.

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

  Copyright © 2025 by Whitney G.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Cover design by Qamber Designs & Media

  For 2025.

  Book number six.

  (& it’s the finale to my top favorite trilogy!)

  <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

  Author’s Note

  Dear Awesome Reader,

  Thank you so much for picking up Awaited Love, the third installment in the Wasted Love trilogy! I hope you enjoy the next part of this ride with Mister R. & Autumn!

  If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you hate or love this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)

  Sincerely,

  Whitney G.

  Synopsis

  Ryder has never needed to chase anyone.

  He tells the truth—his version of it—and lets the rest fall where it may.

  But Autumn wants more.

  More answers. More control. More of the man he keeps locked behind silence and shadows.

  She’s not asking anymore. She’s confronting.

  And she doesn’t understand the dangerous storm she’s summoning...

  Because the type of love she’s been longing for?

  It’s already here.

  But it comes at a cost...

  Contents

  Doesn’t Do Me Any Good

  Autumn

  Worst Behavior

  Ryder

  Et tu, Brute?

  Autumn

  Turnabout

  Autumn

  Looming Threats

  Ryder

  Bravissima

  Autumn

  Dissonant Notes

  Ryder

  What Could’ve Been

  Ryder

  Folie à Deux

  Autumn

  What Matters More

  Autumn

  Temporary Delay

  Autumn

  Preying Softly

  Grace Poole

  Double Reverse

  Autumn

  Undeserved Mercy

  Ryder

  How it Goes

  Autumn

  Decisions

  Ryder

  Cut to the Chase

  Autumn

  On Your Shelf

  Pretty Cruel Love

  Dr. Ethan Weiss

  —

  1

  Sadie

  —

  From me

  Other Spicy & Suspenseful Books

  Doesn’t Do Me Any Good

  EPISODE 1

  Autumn

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we will soon be approaching our destination,” the pilot’s voice filters through the cabin. “Please secure your personal belongings and buckle your seatbelts.”

  I don’t move.

  I can’t.

  Outside the window, clouds break into blinding white, then into nothing. My fingers clamp the armrest, and my cheeks are wet, but I don’t remember when the tears started.

  I’m the last person to deplane, and only because two flight attendants helped me to stand.

  I grab my bag and walk down the jetway like I’m not inside my body. My legs move, but the rest of me—whatever’s left—is still back in Seattle. Or maybe it’s frozen midair somewhere over God knows what state.

  Everything ahead of me blurs until I see her. A face I’ve known forever, torn apart just like mine.

  “Autumnnnn.” My mother rushes toward me, flinging her arms around my shoulders. Her perfume—rosewater and rain—hits me so hard I almost fall apart in sobs.

  “Oh, I’m so happy to see you. I can’t believe... I’m so sorry...”

  “Me too.” It’s barely a whisper. It’s all I’ve got.

  My dad wraps us both into a clumsy, too-tight hug. His voice drops like a stone: “We’ve been looking forward to seeing you again, Autumn.”

  Just like that, years of silence fall away. Or pretend to.

  When we finally break apart, a desk agent wordlessly hands us a box of Kleenex and we head for the exit.

  Outside, Buffalo slaps me in the face with its special flavor of winter: wind sharp enough to slit skin, diesel and street salt soaking the air, and a sky the color of poured concrete.

  My mom slides into the backseat beside me as my dad starts the car. Her hand folds over mine, and her grip tightens with every mile, like I might shatter if she lets go.

  Still on edge, I stare into the rearview mirror every time my dad makes a turn.

  I’m waiting to catch a glimpse of black SUVs, suspicious shadows, or men in suits with secrets in their eyes.

  There’s nothing.

  Only slush-streaked roads and a deafening quiet.

  Still, something crawls under my skin, and I can’t help but feel like I brought ghosts home with me.

  When we pull into the driveway, I can’t help but notice that the house hasn’t changed.

  It’s still a weathered colonial with chipped shutters and a porch that creaks when stepped on too hard. It sits on a quiet street lined with bare maple trees and mailbox flags that never quite latch. Everything is exactly as I remember it—stubborn in the way only childhood places can be.

  My mom gets out first and opens my door.

  “Dare I ask,” she says, brushing snow off my shoulder, “are you crying because of ending things with Nate?”

  “No.” I pause. “I ended things with him a while ago. We’re divorced.”

  “What?” Her eyes sharpen.

  “Divorced.” I say it again. Flat. Final. “It was finalized a while ago.”

  They exchange a look I’ve seen before. One I don’t want to decode right now.

  I don’t ask. I don’t care.

  “I can’t pretend to be upright another second.” I’m on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s get you upstairs.” Her hand presses gently against the small of my back.

  I let her lead me.

  When we reach my former bedroom, I stop cold in the doorway.

  They’ve put it back. Everything.

  Same twin bed. Same corkboard, empty but still bleeding pinholes. Same floral curtains I once swore I’d tear down the day I turned eighteen.

  It looks like it’s been waiting for me. Like the girl I used to be is still in here, hugging a diary to her chest. Still stupid enough to think she could outrun fate on a one-way ticket.

  “We’ll be ready to listen when you’re ready,” my mom says softly.

  I nod.

  She shuts the door behind her with a gentle click.

  I fall face-first into the bed. The sheets smell like dust and detergent and time I’ll never get back.

  And then I break.

  Not out loud. Just quietly enough that the tears pool in the pillow and the sobs fold in on themselves—small, contained, like they’re afraid of being heard.

  They don’t stop. They don’t slow.

  They just keep blurring everything until sleep drags me under like an undertow.

  Later…

  A soft buzz trembles against the mattress.

  I roll over, bleary-eyed, and my heart stutters when I see who it is.

  Ryder.

  For a moment, I’m tempted to open it—to see what he could possibly have to say. But our last argument still rubs my heart raw in all the wrong places, and I can’t trust that voice anymore. Not when it’s cost me this much.

  I hit ignore and set the phone face-down on the nightstand.

  It rings again.

  Him. Again.

  It keeps ringing. Again. And again. Until silence finally settles.

  I flip the phone over and open my inbox.

  Ryder…

  Please leave me alone.

  I promise to do the same for you.

  I’m about to shut it off when one last message appears on the screen:

  Ryder

  I’ll never make a promise I can’t keep.

  End of Episode 1

  Worst Behavior

  EPISODE 2

  Ryder

  A Week Later

  Montlake Musical Academy for the Gifted…

  The gates glide open as the school’s façade rises into view—stone columns, manicured hedges, the kind of polished prestige that charges by the breath.

  Adeline presses her nose to the window, wide-eyed and humming with anticipation.

  “Thirty minutes from the estate,” I murmur as I ease into the circle drive.

  She’ll be close enough for me to protect. Far enough for her mind to believe she’s completely free.

  I’m still not sure this arrangement will hold long-term, but right now, her smile makes it worth the gamble.

  She unbuckles her seatbelt before the engine finishes its last turn.

  “Is Miss Jane coming to dinner this weekend?” she asks, t
wisting in her seat with too much hope in her eyes.

  “No.” My grip tightens around the wheel. “She decided to quit.”

  “Oh…” Her gaze drifts toward the entrance. “Why didn’t she say goodbye?”

  I hesitate, then clear my throat. “She left you a note, remember?”

  Adeline nods faintly, her fingers curling tighter around the handle. “I know, but… that’s not the same.”

  I don’t know what else to say, so I flick the hazard lights on, needing a reason to break the silence.

  “Did you remember to pack your red shoes for your introductory showcase?” I ask.

  She nods, slower this time. Her shoulders curl inward as she adjusts her violin case.

  Neither of us says anything else.

  The quiet between us feels heavier than usual.

  When she reaches for the door handle, I lean across the console.

  “One last thing before you go,” I say. “What’s your name?”

  “Adeline Ivy.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s affection in it.

  “And what else?”

  “The Rochester is silent.”

  “Very good.”

  “And your name when you perform?”

  “Miss Ivy or Miss Adeline Ivy,” she says. “Never Rochester, except for paperwork. And with you.”

  I nod, but my chest constricts the way it always does when we reach this part.

  Some fathers teach their daughters how to ride bikes. I taught mine how to disappear.

  We step out of my car and walk with her to the entrance. Her instructor is already waiting at the front door, smiling eagerly.

  “Your talent truly precedes you, Miss Ivy,” she says. “I can’t believe I get to work with one of the best young violinists in the world.”

  Flattered, Adeline blushes and steps forward, following her new teacher’s lead.

  Halfway down the hall, she turns back and waves to me.

  “See you back at home, Dad.” Her smile is wider than I’ve seen in weeks.

  “See you then, Adeline.” I wait for her to disappear around the corner before turning away.

  Three of my men stay behind—one posted near the entrance, one near the cameras, one trailing the halls just out of sight.

  She’ll be safe here if I handle things this way.

  She has to be.

  Later That Afternoon

  Blue and red lights dance across the warehouse siding, refracting off the slick asphalt and the black water curling at the edge of the pier. I roll the car to a slow stop but leave the engine running, letting the low rumble fill the silence as I take in the scene.

  EMTs flank the entrance, their gurneys untouched.

  Police are clustered near the rusted freezer I should’ve replaced years ago, their postures tense but unconvinced. One of them crouches to lift the lid. Another speaks into a radio, his voice tight with protocol.

  It doesn’t take a genius to know what they’re hoping to find.

  Someone has undoubtedly called the sour smell in—someone who thought they were doing the right thing.

  The authorities won’t find anything, though.

  Austin Blaine’s body is long gone.

  Only the faint scent of his death remains.

  I step out of my car and lean against the door, lighting a cigar as I study the scene.

  Behind me, the sound of heels begins to echo off the pavement—slow and deliberate, each step more theatrical than the last.

  I recognize the rhythm before I see her.

  Grace Poole has a tendency to strut slowly as if that’ll add to her lack of sex appeal.

  “I bet you know what’s going on out there,” she says from behind. “That’s why you’re watching, isn’t it?”

  “No, I just happened to be driving by.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” She moves closer, five feet away from me, as if she’s waiting for me to turn around and face her.

  I don’t.

  I remain where I am and take another drag of the cigar.

  “I’ll make a long story short.” There’s a smile in her voice. “We can’t prove everything, but we’ve proved something, and you’re finally mine.”

  “I told you I wasn’t interested in sleeping with you weeks ago, Miss Poole,” I say. “That fact still remains.”

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr. Rochester,” she says. “You tell me.”

  There’s a beat of silence, then the metallic snap of handcuffs unfastening.

  I don’t have to look to know she’s holding them out like an offer.

  I catch the movement just beyond her—two uniformed officers posted at a calculated distance. Close enough to witness. Far enough to suggest this arrest is hers alone.

  I know damn well she doesn’t really believe in whatever charges she’s hanging over my head. This moment—the optics, the handoff—is the win she’s been chasing.

  I’ll let her have it…

  “I didn’t take you for the bondage type,” I say, finally turning around. “Do your colleagues know you were trying to fuck me weeks ago?”

  “Edward Rochester.” She glares at me, her voice sharp enough to slice through the night. “You’re under arrest for racketeering and witness tampering. Drop the cigar and put your hands behind your back.”

  End of Episode 2

  Et tu, Brute?

  EPISODE 3

  Autumn

  My childhood bedroom is now my refuge, and my mattress is the safe place.

  My phone is tucked away in my desk drawer—powered off and trapped in a steel case so I won’t be tempted to check it.

  I readjust my blankets and roll over, hoping that today will be the day when I might feel well enough to walk outside.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this ache in my chest isn’t heartbreak but something worse—regret.

  “You’re safe now, Autumn,” a familiar voice suddenly whispers. “You’ll be alright for life now.”

  I open my eyes to see Kylie sitting on the edge of my bed.

  “What’s going on?” I slowly sit up. “How did you even know I was here?”

  “I had a feeling,” she says. “I wasn’t sure when you’d come to your senses about him, but I knew you would.”

  My heart is still aching—telling me that I’ve made a major mistake, so I can’t agree right now.

  “Want to get some breakfast?” I say instead. “I could use a loaded waffle and some coffee.”

  “Sure. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  She leaves my room, and I flip the covers off my body. Standing, I stretch, but it does little to alleviate the pain in my chest. I’m seconds away from bursting into tears.

  Keep it together, Autumn. Keep it together…

  I pull on a hoodie and head to the bathroom. I splash my face with cold water and force a smile while brushing my teeth.

  I stare at my reflection as Ryder’s words echo through me like a scratched vinyl—looping over and over, bleeding through every crack.

  “I told you exactly what this was from day one…”

  Before I dissolve any further, I hit the lights and head downstairs.

  Kylie is rummaging through my parents’ cabinets, shaking her head.

  “You don’t have any waffle mix,” she says. “Want to make a quick trip to Gayle’s?”

  I nod, zombie-walking outside and to her car.

  As she starts the engine, I notice the glint of a pink and coral keychain swaying from her ignition. The same shade she once pressed into my palm.

  “Put it on your keychain and never let it out of your sight…”

  I swallow hard.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t try to force a conversation as we ride, and by the time we arrive, I’m in a slightly better mood.

  We order the same loaded waffle, and when she’s done filling me in on celebrity gossip that I’ll never remember, I brace myself for chaos.