A Hue of Blu

by Marie-France Leger

Genres: Coming of Age; New Adult Romance

Synopsis

How much pain are you willing to endure for someone you love?

Bold, charismatic, and charming Blu Henderson wears a fake smile every day, pushing through life because she has to - not because she wants to.

Quiet, introverted, and mysterious Jace Boland catches her eye the second she sees him. After that, it's game over - not just for Blu, but for Jace as well.

Drawn together by inexplicable attraction, a whirlwind connection forms that persists and torments, mends and breaks, and forces both Blu and Jace to confront the traumas of their past while trying to make their relationship work.

A Hue of Blu explores how two broken hearts can find comfort in tragic losses, how two broken souls can find peace in pain, and how loving yourself may be the only way to love another...

No matter the consequence.

Release date: July 18, 2024

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 70000

Sample

Year Four/Week One – Present

“Reservation’s at eight, right Carter?”

I gripped my phone tightly, following the path of a fellow York student. Her hair was in a gelled, long braid, swaying back and forth like a boomerang.

And then it hit me in the face.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.

She didn’t notice. I’m sure she had slapped a thousand and one people just today alone with that death whip.

“What about Christ, Blu?”

I rolled my eyes, entering the communications building of my college. Only this time, I kept a significant distance from everyone around me. Like always.

“Someone hit me in the face.”

“No one hit you in the face,” Carter stated. As if he knew me. As if he saw through my exaggerations.

Not many people did.

Not many people cared to.

“But yes, eight tonight. Cuisine Mercanti.”

I nodded as if he could see, fully knowing he was sitting on his work laptop scrolling through a Tinder list of girls.

“See you later.” I hung up the phone before he could say his goodbyes and scoped out the class numbers.

My pop culture seminar was in room two-twelve and this building already disgusted me. Cobwebs, exposed brick with gum stitched to the crevices of broken corners – Eight months until graduation, I repeated to myself. Eight months until I run away.

I had this professor last year, but the class was online so showing up was a bother. Mind you, I heard her voice, I knew what she looked like, but everyone else was a mystery.

A mystery I didn’t care to solve.

“ . . . And that is what Stuart Hall cited in the readings for next week, which I know all of you are dying to read.”

Quiet laughter emanated through the cinder block encasing around twenty students in uncomfortable seats and miniscule desks.

“Hi there,” my professor said. She had kind eyes – alert, but sweet. “Nice to see you. Take a seat.”

My fingers wiggled into a wave as I flashed a rehearsed smile. “Plan on it.”

A few people chuckled at that. I was good at eliciting reactions.

My bare legs hit the plastic chair before I could readjust the length of my black mini skirt. It was hot for early September, meaning fools just like the dirtbag in the corner were on the prowl to look up flowy dresses.

I matched this creep’s eye-contact until he looked away, shuffling a deck of Pokémon cards underneath baggy sleeves. Perv.

That’s when my eyes caught on something else, rather, someone else. His gaze held mine too, at least for a brief moment. A moment I picked up.

A moment I wouldn’t forget.

Light brown hair, long enough to peek out underneath a baseball cap, but not messy. Blue eyes, laced with a hint of green. Chiseled face, angular like a model – no facial hair.

I was observant, a trait I possessed and loved to gloat about. Carter knew that about me; nothing slipped by Blu Henderson.

When someone interested me, there was no going back. For them, I mean.

I was untouchable, unattainable, charismatic and charming. I held my pride like a sword.

This man would be mine, whether he knew it or not.

For the rest of class, I watched him. He sat in the front row and I jotted down assumptions:

1.   Two earrings. One dangly cross, one pearl. Hipster, maybe. Edgy? Social media star?

2.   White t-shirt. Navy blue pants. Nike blazers. Silver bracelet. Knows how to dress? A tad suspicious.

3.   Art major. Tattoos. Michelangelo’s “Creation of Adam” below his elbow - a rose next to it. Definitely art major.

“What are your thoughts, miss blue hair in row three?”

4.   He’s staring at me. His eyes are definitely blue. He has pretty privilege, he must. There is no way that -

A girl tapped my shoulder, poked it rather. “Yes?”

“The professor asked you something,” she whispered. Her voice was nasally.

Ah, so that’s why he was looking at me. My eyes rolled around the room, meeting just about everyone’s until they landed on his. I felt my professor staring, but that could wait. Just a second longer; I needed to know what it felt like to be in his sights.

“What was that, Professor?” I finally ripped away my gaze, a subtle smile playing on my lips.

Maybe she thought I was smiling at her. Maybe that was for the best.

“I asked for your thoughts on the Adorno reading,” she started. “You were writing things down.”

Yeah, I was. Not like it was any of her business. I quickly fanned my assumptions paper, then placed it down on its backside.

“Grocery list,” I said, tapping my pen against the wooden desk.

Her face went cross. “I don’t think right now is the time to –”

“– but if you’re asking my thoughts on Adorno, I’d say his morals were skewed. His concepts on high and low culture are non-progressive.” My eyes never left hers as I continued.

“By identifying jazz music as low culture, he’s placing people into categories depending on their likes and dislikes, judging them, even.” I turned to Nasal-Nelly beside me. “Do you like jazz music?”

God, I could’ve halted traffic with the red in her cheeks.

“I, um –” she swallowed. “It’s nice. I – I do enjoy it sometimes.”

“She enjoys it sometimes.” I stated, flipping my attention back to the front. “And who am I to judge her partial enjoyment of jazz music? Adorno would. For that, I disagree with his beliefs. Thoughts concluded, Professor.”

Someone in the back laughed loudly and I turned around to soak in the reign. A beast of a man wearing a fishing hat, plaid overcoat and dark denim was eyeing me with praise.

I saw it in everyone.

They saw it in me.

“Thank you for sharing . . . ”

She wanted my name. “Blu, Professor. Blu Henderson.”

Given any other circumstance, I would’ve shaken her hand. Seemed a bit inappropriate but I extended it anyway.

Like most people, she had the manners to receive the gesture, though it wasn’t sincere. I just wanted to keep his attention a little longer. I knew I had it. I felt him looking.

Ten minutes later, class had finally come to a close with no substantial contribution from anyone other than me. I knew Prof. Granger had her own list of assumptions the second she saw me walk through that door. How could you not?

Dark blue hair, light brown eyes, rockstar attire, and a personality that demanded attention because I deserved it. Attention owed me.

It fucking owed me.

He stood up, collecting his black backpack and Air Pods. My God was he ever tall. You can never really tell when they’re sitting down, but I would’ve placed him at 6′3. A full foot taller than me.

“Great to see you again, Jace,” the professor said to him.

Jace.

Jace.

Jace.

His name stamped onto me like a tattoo.

“Likewise, Professor.” That voice. The voice. Jace’s voice.

His eyes were on mine for a fraction of a second before he ducked out of class. That look, it floated in my head. It bounced. It demanded.

He would be a part of me.

I would be a part of him.

I quickly flung my purse strap over my shoulder, darting for the door when Prof. Granger called out, “You’re quite the character, Blu Henderson.”

You’re quite the character, Blu Henderson.

Of course I am, I wanted to say. Glad you recognized, I should have said.

Instead, I smiled. “See you next week, Professor.”

When I finally exited the room, Jace was standing next to the water-fountain, filling up a glass tumbler.

He looked up at me.

I glanced at him.

And I walked away.

Year Four/Week One – Present

“Can you get that?” Mom called from the living room.

I knew who it was before I answered the door. Baxter’s Chevy was parked on the side of the road.

“Hey,” I greeted, letting my brother inside.

He nodded, his tall frame filling most of the doorway. “What’s up, Jace?”

“Nothing, just got back from school.” I shut the door behind us, running my fingers through my hair. “Are we taking photos today?”

Baxter was a photographer, and the best one at that. Maybe I was a little biased because he was my older brother, but he was too talented to not get the recognition he deserved.

“Can’t.” He made his way around the hall, stepping beside the couch. “Hi Mom.”

“Hey Bax,” she smiled. She always had happy eyes around my brothers. “Nice of you to come by.”

“Yeah, I was trying to call Will. Thought he showed up here after golf but he might still be on the course.”

I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. “Will didn’t tell me he was at golf.”

“Why would he tell you, kid?” Baxter laughed, leaning down to pet Sadie. “He’s with the vets.”

Our chocolate lab returned his cuddles, embracing the warmth my brother directed towards her. The warmth he rarely gave me.

“I’m twenty-one,” I stated, as if I had something to prove. I always did. At least to my older brothers.

“Yeah, and the vets are thirty. Bit of a jump there, Jace.”

Will worked as a financial analyst downtown. A few years ago, when he’d landed that position, my brothers and I coined his coworkers as “the vets” because they pranced around the office like veterans of war. I never thought Will would turn into one of them.

I never thought a lot of things would happen.

“Say,” he started. “When are you getting a car?”

“When I can afford one.”

He laughed. It was condescending. Everything my brothers did lately seemed to be.

“Can’t afford shit if you don’t work.”

“Hey, language,” Mom warned, lowering the television volume. “He’s going to work when he graduates, aren’t you Jace?”

This was always the topic of conversation. I hated that I felt inferior to Will, Baxter and Scott. Being the youngest of four brothers, there wasn’t much room to grow even if I wanted to. In their eyes, I’d always be a kid.

In their eyes, I’d always be beneath them.

“Don’t be sad about the soccer stuff, Jace. Sometimes things don’t work out,” Baxter said, as if I mentioned the sport in a silent exchange.

“I didn’t say anything about soccer.”

“No, but you’re always thinking about it. Can’t beat yourself up over stale bread. Get out there,” he insisted, twirling his keys. “Find a new job. Find a purpose.”

Find a purpose. As if that was the easiest thing in the world. To find a purpose when everyone around you already found theirs. When it was instilled on them since birth. When the one thing you loved, the career you thought you’d be working towards, crumbled beneath your feet.

“It’s not that easy.” I adjusted my shirt, glancing down at my arms. I’d been working out. I wanted Baxter to see that I wasn’t a fucking loser.

He laughed, but it was sarcastic. “Nothing ever is. You make your own luck in this world, Jace.” He pinched Mom’s arm before heading towards the door.

“Hey!” she sniped, rubbing red skin. “You’re twenty-six, Bax. Quit doing that.”

He laughed, but it was genuine. “Old habits never die,” then turned to me and punched my shoulder. “See you, kid.”

Kid.

Kid.

Kid.

“My name’s Jace,” I mumbled, barely a whisper. Who would have heard it?

Who would have wanted to?

Two Summers Ago

“Text me when you finish up,” Fawn said as I knocked on Tyler’s door.

“Yep. I’ll recount the filthy details for you on the Uber ride home.”

“You’re sick,” she laughed, ending the call.

Just in time, Tyler opened up and immediately pulled me inside. His hands were calloused from his construction job, the back of his tee stained from sweat.

“Mm,” he kissed me, his tongue forcing into my mouth. “I needed this.”

Of course he did. I was born to satiate. I tasted like fucking vanilla cream pudding.

His fingers circled my nipple, hardening at the touch. I made sure to wear something mesh and see-through. Tyler liked it.

“Couch,” he commanded. I did as I was told and he had me bent over in seconds, the back of his hand slapping my right ass-cheek.

It hurt. It always hurt. But I smiled through the pain. Tyler liked it.

“Can you turn down the lights?” I requested. The darkness hid my imperfections. I was perfect, with minimal visibility.

But he didn’t move. He pushed my legs apart with his foot, hiking down my skirt. I felt the pouch of my stomach droop down a little. I hadn’t been eating much. Why did I have a pouch? This won’t do.

He cupped my breast as he slipped his dick inside of me.

My stomach fat was present.

The lights were on.

He could feel it.

He could see everything.

I placed one arm over my belly, using my other hand to guide his down to my clit. He didn’t do it. He wanted my tits.

“Fuck, Blu!” he moaned.

I couldn’t feel him inside of me.

I felt the pizza from two days ago.

The salad from last night.

The water. So much water. Water for breakfast. Water for lunch.

He finished quickly, thank God. I managed to escape him seeing my hanging skin. No crispy onion straws in the salad, useless carbs, I made a mental note.

While he was disposing of the condom, I quickly yanked up my skirt and fluffed my hair. One of my buttons popped off but Mom wouldn’t care. She’d be too drunk to notice.

Tyler had been my friend with benefits for a few months now. When I turned twenty-one, we’d met at a bar on Adelaide. He impressed me with his corporate position, I impressed him with my breasts. We fucked in the washroom and had been hooking up ever since.

Most nights we were both incredibly wasted. But today he insisted on seeing me sober, maybe to fully feel how amazing it was to be inside of me. But it wasn’t amazing for me.

The lights were on.

I grabbed the scattered contents of my purse and made my way to the door, sliding on my sneakers.

“I’ll head out now,” I called. Hovering in a man’s place was the worst thing you could do. How embarrassing.

“I love that about you,” Tyler once told me the third time we hooked up. “You never stay beyond your means.”

What an insult.

Why had I come back?

He emerged from the bathroom as I was about to leave, his eyes scanning my body.

“You should try going to the gym, Blu. I have a membership if you want to come as a –”

I shut the door before I could cry.

I never saw Tyler again.

Senior/High School – Four Years Ago

“Sarah asked me to prom last night,” Morris bragged, lacing up his cleats. “Her prom-posal was too good.”

I couldn’t help but feel envious. I always did. Morris got every girl he ever wanted.

No one ever wanted the skinny, lanky kid with zits that covered seventy percent of his face. How could anyone ever want that?

“A little early for a prom-posal,” I said, keeping the bitterness at bay. “How’d she ask?”

He sat in silence for a minute with the biggest smile on his face. I could tell he was thinking about it, about her. Only in my dreams could I envision feeling that way towards someone; only in my dreams would those feelings be reciprocated.

“She showed up to my house in this itty-bitty lingerie set, and she –”

“Wait what?” Connor piped up, throwing on his jersey. “How’d your parents not freak out?”

“They weren’t home, dumbass,” Morris said, throwing a sock at his face.

“How the hell was I supposed to know? Got pictures of her in it?”

“Watch your fucking mouth McCook,” Danny interjected, curling a barbell with his right arm.

My eyes hovered longer on Danny’s build. I looked down at my own. I let out a sigh.

“Sarah’s Cumberland’s woman, Danny. Why you so worked up?” Connor jested. “Got a crush?”

“Want me to throw this at you?” Danny waved the weight like it was a feather.

If only, I thought. If only.

“Why so glum, Boland?” Morris’ voice called out to me. “You still got the year ahead of you.”

I continued tying up my laces, looking down. I didn’t say much to anyone. Silence was the best option. Silence didn’t start arguments. Silence left no room for vocal judgement.

“I’m sure Tatiana will prom-pose to Jace,” Connor started. “They’d look great together.”

The room erupted in laughter. It was my worst nightmare.

Tatiana Orelwall was well over the average weight that any 5′1 girl should be at seventeen. She had a thing for porcelain dolls (she carried them everywhere) and her face was covered in cystic acne. We had that in common.

Danny was the only one not laughing, but he wasn’t defending me either. No one really defended me. I barely defended myself.

Coach blew the whistle and everyone was on their feet. Everyone except me. I felt the sting of tears, but I didn’t let them fall. No one should know me like that. I was already seen as weak enough.

A Gatorade bottle was tossed onto the floor in front of me. Max, I think his name was, sauntered over with a stoic expression. Max never smiled, never frowned either. He was just . . . Max.

“Pick it up, man. It’s yours,” he said.

“Pardon?”

He kicked the orange bottle to my feet. “For practice. I had an extra.”

I didn’t know what to say, I never did. So I snagged it and nodded a thanks. Thankfully, Max didn’t mind. He kept walking past me onto the field.

That was the day that solidified the value of silence, at least for me.

Max didn’t laugh at me.

Max blended in.

Max wasn’t popular. Nor was he a loser.

Max was fit, but he wasn’t jacked.

Max probably didn’t care what other people thought of him.

I wanted to be like Max.

Year Four/Week One – Present

I leaned back into the velvet cushion booth at Cuisine Mercanti.

“Have you decided on food?” the waitress asked. She was pretty. Carter was probably eating her up.

“I’ll have the Sauvignon Blanc,” I said, handing over the food menu. “Just drinks for now,” my eyes roamed over her nametag, “Ellie.”

I’ve come to learn that people enjoyed when you said their name. It was like an extra step at valuing a person’s person. It made them feel seen. I did a great job of that.

“The six or eight oz?” she asked, her face a little brighter.

“The bottle,” Carter answered for me, throwing a flirty wink.

She didn’t reciprocate. Maybe it was because she had a boyfriend. Maybe it was because she was into me.

It was probably the latter.

She carried our menus and walked away before Carter could get upset.

“Don’t be mad,” I started, sipping on water. “She’s probably taken.”

He rolled his eyes. “No one likes me.”

“I like you.”

“You don’t count.”

“I’m the only one that matters,” I chuckled, looking around the room. My eyes caught on two men in very expensive suits sitting at the bar. The hotter one was looking at me. The other was sporting clear inebriation.

“Carter, be subtle. See those two guys at the bar?” I queried. He nodded. “Which one is better looking?”

“The one on the left.”

That was the drunk fuck. “Wrong answer.”

He shrugged, rolling up his napkin. “It’s just the truth.”

I crossed my arms. “The one on the right is way better.”

“You’re only saying that because he’s checking you out.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re better than stupidity,” I replied, though I studied the two men a little longer.

The man fighting inebriation was more cut, his suit a little darker, a little cleaner. His midnight hair curled around his ears in a sexy, messy way. He was loud, his lips were plump. Yeah, he was good looking.

The one who stared at me, well, he wasn’t horrible on the eyes either. Chopped hair, a bit of a beer belly. I unconsciously felt my stomach, adjusting the waistband of my skirt to smooth out any edges.

“Maybe you’re right,” I was ashamed to admit. “But he’s not ugly.”

“He’s not.” Carter glanced over at a group of girls sitting near the two men. “What about them? Do you think I’ll have any luck?”

“Maybe. If you grow some chest hair and actually approach someone in person. Tinder’s gotten you nowhere.”

He flicked his flaccid straw condom at. . .