{"product_id":"the-next-flame-isbn-9780593952849","title":"The Next Flame","description":"\u003cb\u003eHere are \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller Penelope Douglas’s two bestselling novellas in the Fall Away Series, together in one volume for the first time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAFLAME\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll through high school, Jared Trent called the shots. He decided if Tatum Brandt would be happy or sad, fearful or free. He owned her heart, and he played with it like one of his cars. Never again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwo years ago, Jared left town, and Tate’s life is exactly where she wants it to be. Or that’s what she tells herself... \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecause two years ago, her heart also stopped beating, and no matter the success in school or the support of her friends, there’s only one time every week she can feel that same rush in her blood: Friday nights on the track.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat’s hers, not his, and to hell with anyone that gets in her way again. Especially him.\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNEXT TO NEVER\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnder the close watch of the men in her family, Quinn Caruthers has found it nearly impossible to spread her wings—or even date—without her three older brothers, Jared, Madoc, and Jaxon, jumping in to hover. And when a family friend—several years older—from her childhood still holds her heart, she knows they’re going to be a problem. Lucas Morrow is a man, and knowing her brothers, he may as well be forbidden.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut Lucas left town and shows no signs of returning. Quinn knows she shouldn’t wait for him anymore....\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUntil a package turns up on her doorstep with no return address and its contents reveal family secrets that threaten to turn her world upside down. She’s never asked about the path of her parents’ romantic history, but she soon learns their happy marriage had a very rocky and passionate start. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs she starts to see things around her with new eyes, Quinn will have to make tough choices about whether she’ll keep waiting...or finally go after what she really wants.\u003cb\u003ePenelope Douglas\u003c\/b\u003e is a \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author. Their books have been translated into twenty languages and include The Fall Away Series, The Hellbent Series, The Devil’s Night Series, and the stand-alones, \u003ci\u003eMisconduct\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003ePunk 57\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBirthday Girl\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eCredence\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eTryst Six Venom\u003c\/i\u003e. They live in New England with their husband and daughter.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJared\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePresent Day\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKids are crazy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBatshit, certifiably, without-a-brain-in-their-head crazy. If you're not explaining something to them, then you're reexplaining it, because they didn't listen the first time, and as soon as you explain it, they ask the same damn question you just spent twenty minutes explaining the answer to!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the questions. Holy fuck, the questions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome of these kids talked more in one day than I have in my entire life, and you can't get away from it, because they follow you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike, take a hint, you know?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Jared! I want the blue helmet, and Connor had it last time, and it's my turn!\" the half-pint blond kid whined from the track as all the other children climbed into their go-kart cars, two rows of six each.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tipped my chin down and inhaled an aggravated breath as I gripped the fence surrounding the track. \"It doesn't matter what color helmet you have on,\" I growled, tensing every muscle in my back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBlondie-what the hell was his name again?-scrunched up his face, getting redder by the moment. \"But . . . but it's not fair! He had it two times, and I-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Get the black helmet,\" I ordered, cutting him off. \"It's your lucky one, remember?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe pinched his eyebrows together, his freckled nose scrunching up. \"It is?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes,\" I lied, the hot California sun beating down on my black-T-shirt-clad shoulders. \"You wore it when we flipped in the buggy three weeks ago. It kept you safe.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I thought I was wearing the blue one.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Nope. The black,\" I lied again. I really had no idea what color he'd been wearing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI should feel bad about lying, but I didn't. When children got more reasonable, I could stop resorting to rocket science to get them to do what I wanted them to do. \"Hurry up,\" I shouted, hearing little go-kart motors fill the air. \"They're going to leave without you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe ran for the other side of the gate to the shelves of helmets, snatching up the black one. I watched as all the kids, ranging in age from five to eight, strapped themselves in and shot each other excited little thumbs-ups. They gripped their steering wheels, their thin arms tense, and I felt a grin pull at the corners of my mouth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis was the part that wasn't so bad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCrossing my arms over my chest, I watched with pride as they took off, each kid handling his or her car with increasing precision every week they came here. Their shiny helmets glistened in the early summer sunshine as the tiny engines zoomed around the bend and echoed in the distance as they sped off. Some kids were still pushing the pedal to the metal for the entire race, but others were learning to measure their time and assess the road ahead. Patience was hard to muster when you just wanted to be in front the entire race, but some quickly caught on that a good defense was the best offense. It wasn't just about getting ahead of that car; it was also about staying ahead of the cars already behind you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd more than just learning, they were also having fun. If only a place like this had existed when I was that age.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut even at twenty-two, I was still grateful for it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen these kids first walked through my door they knew next to nothing, and now they handled the track like it was a walk in the park. Thanks to me and the other volunteers. They were always happy to be here, full of smiles, and looking to me with anticipation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey actually wanted to be around me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat the hell for, I didn't know, but I was certain of one thing. As much as I complained or escaped to my office, struggling to scrape up just a little more patience, I absolutely, without a doubt, wanted to be around them, too. Some of them were pretty cool little shits.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen I wasn't traveling and working the circuit, racing with my own team, I was here, helping with the kids program.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf course, it wasn't just a go-kart track. There was a garage and a shop, and lots of drivers and their girlfriends hung out, working on bikes and shooting the shit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGodsmack's \"Something Different\" played over the speakers, and I looked up at the sky, seeing the sun beat down, blinding me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was probably raining back home today. June was big on summer thunderstorms in Shelburne Falls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Here,\" Pasha ordered, shoving a clipboard into my chest. \"Sign these.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grabbed it, scowling at my black-and-purple-haired assistant from under my sunglasses as the go-karts roared past.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What is it?\" I unclipped the pen and looked at what appeared to be a purchase order.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe watched the track, answering me. \"One is an order for your bike parts. I'm just having them shipped to Texas. Your crew can sort through it when you get there in August-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI dropped my arms to my sides. \"That's two months away,\" I shot out. \"How do you know that shit's still going to be there when I get there?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAustin was going to be my first stop when I went back out on the road racing after my break. I understood her logic. I didn't need the equipment until then, but it was thousands of dollars' worth of parts that someone else could get their hands on. I'd rather have it here with me in California than three states away, unprotected.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut she just shot me a glare, looking like I'd put mustard on her pancakes. \"The other two are forms faxed over from your accountant,\" she went on, ignoring my concern. \"Paperwork to do with establishing JT Racing.\" And then she peered over at me, looking inquisitive. \"Kind of vain, don't you think? Giving your business your initials?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI dropped my eyes back down to the papers and began signing. \"They're not my initials,\" I mumbled. \"And I don't pay you to have an opinion about everything, and I certainly don't pay you to get on my nerves.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI handed over the clipboard, and she took it with a smile. \"No, you pay me to remember your mom's birthday,\" she threw back. \"You also pay me to keep your iPod fresh with new music, your bills paid, your motorcycles safe, your schedule on your phone, your flights booked, your favorite foods in your refrigerator, and my personal favorite: I'm to call you thirty minutes after you've been forced to go to some function or party and give you a dire excuse as to why you need to leave said social gathering, because you hate people, right?\" Her tone dripped with cockiness, and I was suddenly glad I didn't grow up with a sister.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn't hate people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOkay, yes. I hated most people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe continued, \"I schedule your haircuts, I run this place and your Facebook page-I do love all the topless photos chicks send you, by the way-and I'm the first person you seek out when you want someone to yell at.\" She planted her hands on her hips, squinting at me. \"Now, I forget. What don't you pay me to do again?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy chest inflated with a heavy breath, and I chewed the corner of my mouth until she took the hint and left. I could practically smell her smug smile as she made her way back to the shop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe knew she was priceless, and I'd walked into that one. I might take a lot of sass from her, but she was right. She took a lot of it from me, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePasha was my age and the daughter of the man I co-owned this bike shop with. Although the old man, Drake Weingarten, was a racing legend on the motorcycle circuits, he chose to be a silent partner and enjoy his retirement in the pool hall down the street when he was in town or in his cabin near Tahoe when he wasn't.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI liked having this as a home base near the action in Pomona, and I'd found I actually took an interest in the kids program he sponsored here when I started hanging around the motorcycle shop almost two years ago. When he'd asked if I wanted to plant some roots and buy into this place, it was the perfect timing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was nothing left for me back home. My life was here now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA cool, little hand slipped into mine, and I looked down to see Gianna, a bright-faced brunette I'd grown pretty fond of. I smiled, looking for her usual cheery expression, but she squeezed my hand and brushed her lips into my arm, looking like she was ten kinds of sad instead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What's the matter, kiddo?\" I joked. \"Whose butt do I need to kick?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe wrapped both of her little arms around mine, and I could feel her shaking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sorry,\" she mumbled, \"I guess crying is such a girlie thing to do, isn't it?\" The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh, boy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChicks-even eight-year-old chicks-were complicated. Women didn't want to tell you what was wrong flat out. Oh, no. It couldn't be that easy. You had to get a shovel and dig it out of them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGianna had been coming around for more than two months, but just recently she'd started in the racing club. Out of all the kids in the class, she had the most promise. She worried about being perfect, she always looked over her shoulder, and it seemed as if she always figured out how to argue with me even before she knew what I was going to say-but she had it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe gift.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Why aren't you on the track?\" I pulled my arm out of her grasp and sat down on the picnic table to meet her eye to eye.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe stared at the ground, her bottom lip quivering. \"My dad says I can't take part in the program anymore.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Why not?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe shifted from side to side on her feet, and my heart skipped when I looked down and saw her red Chucks. Just like the ones Tate wore the first time I met her when we were ten.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLooking back up, I watched her hesitate before answering. \"My dad says it makes my brother feel bad.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLeaning my elbows down to my knees, I twisted my head to study her. \"Because you beat your brother in the race last week,\" I verified.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf course. She'd beat everyone last week, and her brother-her twin-left the track crying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He says my brother won't feel like a man if I race with him.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI snorted, but then I straightened my face when I saw her scowl. \"It's not funny,\" she whimpered. \"And it's not fair.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shook my head and grabbed the shop cloth out of my back pocket. \"Here,\" I offered, letting her dry her tears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eClearing my throat, I got closer and spoke in a low voice. \"Listen, you're not going to understand this now, but remember it for later,\" I told her. \"Your brother is going to do a lot over the years to feel like a man, but that's not your problem. You got that?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer expression remained frozen as she listened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Do you like racing?\" I asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe nodded quickly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Are you doing anything wrong?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe shook her head, her two low pigtails swinging across her shoulders.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Should you be afraid to do something you like just because you're a winner and other people can't handle that?\" I pushed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer innocent storm blue eyes finally looked up at me, and she tipped her chin up, shaking her head. \"No.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Then get your butt on the track,\" I commanded, turning to the go-karts flying by. \"You're late.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe flashed a smile that took up half her face and shot off toward the track entrance, full of excitement. But then she stopped and swung back around. \"But what about my dad?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'll handle your dad.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer smile flashed again, and I had to fight to hold back my own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, and I'm not supposed to tell you this,\" she taunted, \"but my mom thinks you're hot.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd then she twisted around and darted off toward the cars.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGreat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI let out an awkward breath before glancing over to the bleachers where the moms sat. Jax would call them cougars, and Madoc would just call them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell, before he was married, anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was always the same with these women, and I knew some of them enrolled their kids simply to get closer to the drivers and riders who hung out here. They showed up in full hair and makeup, usually in heels and tight jeans or short skirts, as if I was going to pick one and take her into the office as her kid played outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHalf of them had their phones in front of their faces to look like they weren't doing what I knew they were. Thanks to Pasha's big mouth, I knew that while some people used their sunglasses to disguise that they were staring at you, these women were zooming in with their cameras to stare at me close-up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuper. I then and there made it another part of Pasha's job description not to tell me shit I didn't need to know.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Jared!\" Pasha's bark boomed over every other sound here. \"You have a phone call on Skype!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI cocked my head to the side, peering over at her. Skype?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWondering who the hell wanted to video chat, I got up and walked through the café and into the shop\/garage, ignoring the faint whispers and sideways glances from people who recognized me. No one knew me outside of the motorcycle world, but inside it, I was starting to get a name for myself, and the attention was always going to be hard to deal with. If I could have the career without it, I would, but the crowds came with the racing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStepping into the office, I closed the door and rounded my desk, staring at my laptop screen. \"Mom?\" I said to the woman who was a female version of me in looks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThank God I didn't look like my dad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Aw,\" she cooed, \"so you do remember who I am. I was worried.\" She nodded condescendingly, and I leaned down on the desk, arching a brow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Don't be dramatic,\" I grumbled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI couldn't tell where she was from the furniture behind her. All I saw was a lot of white in the background, so I assumed it was a bedroom. Her husband-and my best friend's father, Jason Caruthers-was a successful lawyer, and their new Chicago apartment was probably the best money could buy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mother, on the other hand, was perfectly recognizable. Absolutely beautiful, and a testament to the fact that people do take advantage of the second chances they're given. She looked healthy, alert, and happy.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302894129381,"sku":"NP9780593952849","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593952849.jpg?v=1767740706","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-next-flame-isbn-9780593952849","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}