It would have been you, p.1
It Would Have Been You, page 1
It Would Have Been You
Nikki Belgrave
Contents
Copyrights
DEDICATION
CONTENT WARNINGS
1. FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH
2. A GIRL WHO WAS CURSED AT BIRTH
3. THE BUTCHER ON THE BUS
4. WE NEED TO BE EXTRA VIGILANT
5. OVER TO THE DARK SIDE
6. HEADSTONE
7. CUTS LIKE A KNIFE
8. SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY
9. DANGEROUS
10. EXPOSURE THERAPY
11. PANIC MODE
12. SILVER LINING
13. PLAY NICE
14. CRAZY PLAN
15. MORE FORCE THAN NECESSARY
16. TO DIE FOR
17. JUST IN CASE
18. CALM DESPITE THE CHAOS
19. I’M DEALING WITH IT
20. LUCKY HAS NEVER BEEN IN MY VOCABULARY
21. CITRUS BOMBS OF DEATH
22. SHARP OBJECTS
23. I TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY
24. MASTER PLAN
25. COMPLETE DARKNESS
26. RIGHT BEHIND YOU
27. SOS
28. I’LL BE RIGHT BACK
29. ASSIGNING MYSELF THE BLAME
30. BLOOD ON MY HANDS
31. TRAUMA BOND
32. UNRAVEL
33. LIKE A MOTH TO A FLAME
34. UNABLE TO STOP
35. I DON’T LIKE THIS ONE BIT
36. ON MY OWN
37. YOU ALMOST HAD ME
38. I WASN’T THERE
39. PERSON OF INTEREST
40. VESTED INTEREST
41. TELL ME MORE
42. WHENEVER YOU’RE READY
43. DANGEROUSLY CLOSE
44. SCARED OUT OF MY MIND
45. TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE
46. MOTIVATED
47. HERE WE GO
48. ENOUGH
49. MY WEAKNESS
50. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN YOU
51. PURE INSTINCT
52. FREE-FALL
53. GUARDIAN ANGEL
54. THE IN-BETWEEN
EPILOGUE
THANK YOU
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright © 2026 by Nikki Belgrave Published by September Pines Press
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact nikkibelgrave@gmail.com.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Brianne Ritchie Cordova at Pink Ginkgo Media
Edited by Heather Hudec of Simply Spellbound Edits
First edition 2026
ISBN: 979-8-218-90542-2
To all the aunts and uncles out there who love their sibling’s kids as if they were their own, and for all the non-biological ones who come by way of lifelong friendships, you are a gift beyond measure.
Lindsay and Katie, this one’s for you.
CONTENT WARNINGS
Dear readers,
While It Would Have Been You is romantic, thrilling, and silly at times, it also details themes that may be sensitive to some readers, including loss of parents, pregnancy loss, grief, and anxiety. Please proceed with care.
Chapter one
FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH
Just once, I’d like to go an entire day without having to watch my back. To breathe normally, unclench my jaw, and not have to peek around every corner for threats.
Today will not be that day, though, and if I’m being honest with myself, tomorrow probably won’t be any good either. Still, my shoulders drop at least three inches as I lock the door behind the sweet family that were my last customers of the day at the Book & Barrel. I let out a sigh of relief that they made it out just in time to avoid the downpour.
The sunset isn’t due for another hour, but the clouds that have hovered above the parking lot all day just recently condensed into a dark, angry gray, as if they were biding their time for just the right moment, or the right person, to unleash upon. What should be an idyllic scene, as the kids skip down the sidewalk swinging their bags of new books around their tiny wrists, quickly turns ominous in the rapidly declining sunlight.
Their parents trail behind, weighed down by the three cases of wine I just sold them, without any sense of urgency. They, too, are completely oblivious to the dark omen right above their heads that has been keeping an eye on me all day. Even as a few heavy raindrops splatter on the ground around them in warning and stain the wood boxes containing their spoils, they do not rush for cover. Instead, they do the opposite and tilt their smiles up towards the sky.
To them, it’s just a little rain. I’d be willing to bet they have no clue today is a Friday the thirteenth, either; why would they? They are just a normal family, having a normal day, in their normal life. If I weren’t so annoyed at their leisurely pace to get to their car, I might envy them.
With the sun hidden and the rain starting to fall, the temperature inside the bookstore drops five degrees, and I pull my cardigan tighter around my body to fight the chill that sweeps across the back of my neck. I am about to reach for the cord that turns off the neon Open sign when the youngest child, a girl, challenges her brother to a race.
Good, I think to myself. Maybe that will encourage the rest of the family to hurry up too.
My hand stops midair as the couple does not speed up, though, and instead, does the exact opposite. They choose to pause on the sidewalk and lean in for a kiss that lingers far longer than it should for being in public, while their daughter barrels towards the busy street with her brother following closely behind.
With less than a second to react, I do the first thing that comes to mind to get their attention and bang my hand on the glass. Terrible idea, because instead of them looking toward their children, both parents turn back to look at me instead.
I point frantically towards the street from behind the glass, but by the time they register what I am saying, it’s too late. Their little girl is fast, despite being so small, and is on a direct collision course with the utility truck that just came around the corner.
From there, everything happens in slow motion.
The screech of tires, the bounce of the girl’s pigtails as she launches herself off the curb, and the swing of her bag of picture books she will never get a chance to read, all under the rapidly darkening sky that gives the scene an even more nightmarish quality.
Even though I’ll never make it in time, I push against the front door as if I can race out there and stop it, completely willing to sacrifice myself if the bad luck gods would accept me in the little girl’s place, but the door just rattles defiantly, holding me back from any attempt to try to fix this.
Right, because I locked the door as fast as I could the second the family stepped over the threshold.
This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have stuck around and watched them. Not when the bad luck I harbor all year long expands around me like a five-foot force field on this specific date, tainting anyone who comes too close.
Just as the scream in my chest reaches my mouth in anticipation of being a witness to the impact, her brother steps forward like a knight in shining armor and grabs the back of her overalls. He yanks her backwards, hard, and not a second too soon, saving her from making this yet another Friday the thirteenth in my life that is marked by tragedy. The little girl may have been spared this time, but her momentum is transferred to her bag of books, making them fly through the air. They land in the street, disappearing under the screeching tires of the utility truck as a reminder of what my curse is capable of.
The parents lunge forward to wrap both kids in a protective hug, allowing air to finally rush back into my lungs. I watch for only a moment to confirm that they are all safe and hustle to the back of the store.
“Monika!” I yell as I weave through the displays of books and wine glasses to get to the children’s section.
My boss, the owner of the Book & Barrel, snaps her head up from the till. “Drew? Is everything okay?”
Monika does not typically respond well to hysterics, but my adrenaline is pumping too hard for me to temper my words. “No. That little girl almost got run over by a truck because of me.”
Monika’s eyes widen, and she discards the stack of bills she was counting to get a better look out the front of the store. While she surveys the scene, I ride the wave of adrenaline and collect the three replacement books to drop into a new bag at record speed and add a sticker of a puppy on top for good measure before shoving it all into Monika’s chest. “Will you take these out to the little girl, please?”
Monika looks down at the bag. “Are you sure you don’t want to take them to her yourself?”
I shake my head furiously and drop it into her hands, then get moving again before she has a chance to fully form her look of pity.
Once safely behind the door that separates the retail space from the back storage room, I grab my purse from my locker and fish my phone out to set a timer. Ten minutes should be enough time for Monika to give the little girl her replacement books and for the scene to clear out. My lock sc reen displays multiple missed calls and voicemails, but I swipe past them to set the timer and then tuck my phone into my pocket.
I close my eyes and lean back against the wall to wait it out but struggle to control my breathing. My brain insists on replaying the moment I was certain the girl was about to become another casualty of my curse over and over again like a punishment. It was risky enough to let myself drive today, and driving while hyperventilating will increase that danger exponentially, so I flatten my palms against the wall behind me and force myself to name how it feels out loud.
“Solid. Cool. Smooth.” I breathe between each word. It helps a little, but the distraction is short-lived as I am reminded that the glass I banged on a second ago could be described in the same way, and the vision of the girl’s parents turning back to look at me when I tried to alert them about their daughter replaces the vision I had just managed to block out.
I sink to the ground and put my head between my knees, deciding to skip all other coping strategies and just go for the one that almost always works. Within a few minutes, I am able to feel my face again, and I manage a few deep, shaky breaths.
That was close. Too close. And if her brother hadn’t intervened . . . I push away the thought before allowing it to take root.
The timer on my phone says that only one minute remains, so I wait out the last sixty seconds by leaning my head back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.
What the hell was I thinking when I let Monika talk me into working today?
I know better, because the awful truth is that wherever I go, bad luck follows. While my curse hangs around all year long like a shadow in the moonlight, today, a Friday the thirteenth, is guaranteed trouble.
The fact that it’s also Friday, March thirteenth? My own personal Armageddon, which is why I requested it off months ago, along with the Friday the thirteenth from February, and the one that will happen in November.
Monika knows about my curse; Lord knows she has witnessed more than her fair share of it firsthand, so for her to call me this morning and beg me to cover the shift meant she was really in a bind. If I weren’t forever indebted to her for taking a chance on me in the first place, I wouldn’t have even answered her phone call.
My bad luck is cruel. It often hurts others to hurt me, but I am also tormented by it. Hoping for the best but expecting the worst has become the tagline of my life as a result, because no matter how hard I try to get ahead of it, misfortune always manages to find me.
Case in point, I was audited last February when I decided to submit my taxes early, despite making barely above minimum wage.
I was summoned for jury duty the week after I graduated high school and was chosen as juror number one for what turned out to be a three-month-long trial. I missed out on my entire summer with my friends before we went our separate ways to college.
When I was little, I couldn’t care less about candy or treats. All I wanted were those cute clementine oranges. I would eat them morning, noon, and night. I even had a clementine-themed tenth birthday party, only to find out after becoming violently ill, and having to leave my own birthday party to go to the emergency room, that I had spontaneously developed a citrus allergy.
Straighten my wavy hair? It’ll rain that day.
Going on vacation? Well. Let’s just say I stopped going on vacation a long time ago.
Forget the superstition of the black cat; people should fear me crossing their path.
So the fact that I was called into work on the day that I requested off months ago because none of the eleven other employees were available to work the shift? Not unexpected. It’s just my luck. My mistake was agreeing to come, and the poor little girl and her family almost had to pay the price.
The timer finally goes off, and I push off the floor to gather the rest of my belongings and loop my cross-body bag over my head. Although if someone decided to steal my purse on my way out the door, I’d probably just give it to them at this point. With how today is going, if I tried to stop them from taking it, I’d end up in jail for causing them unintentional bodily harm.
The front of the store is almost completely dark when I reemerge, with the storm clouds holding their worst for my exit. Monika must have finished my closing tasks, too, because all the lamps and flameless candles are turned off.
I tiptoe along the wall opposite the register in the shadows and peek over to see my boss’s face illuminated by the vintage green bank light she uses to count the money by. If I stay quiet enough, she might not notice my exit, and I can avoid the lecture I am sure she already has ready to go about the little girl.
I make it farther than I expect, but when I duck behind the romantasy section, I trip on a rogue bat-boy-scented candle, and it collides with the wooden shelves with a loud thud.
I hold my breath, praying that the events of the day will be enough to quench my curse’s thirst, but when I take the last few steps to the door, Monika calls out from the back of the store.
“Drew. Come back here, please.”
Chapter two
A GIRL WHO WAS CURSED AT BIRTH
I tap my foot on the hardwood floor as I wait for Monika to finish counting a stack of ones.
I already know what she called me over to say, so the way she is taking her time, turning the bills so they all face the same direction, particularly grates on my already-frayed nerves. I’ve about exhausted all my patience when she finally pushes her curtain of black hair over her shoulder and makes a tally on the closing sheet.
“We got an email this morning from an author requesting that we confirm her shipment of books, but I couldn’t find the boxes in the back,” she says, then looks up to meet my waiting eyes. “Have you seen them?”
I blink, bewildered. Normally, when something goes awry in the store on my watch, Monika gives me a what you focus on is what you attract lecture. Is it possible that I am somehow getting out of that today of all days? “Which author?”
She shuffles through a stack of papers next to the till to find the printed-out email and then hands it over to me. I scan the page and then hand it right back.
“These are in the upcoming release section. I put them there myself, yesterday.”
She frowns. “I looked but couldn’t find them.”
Unless the boxes spontaneously grew legs and walked away, I would be willing to bet my life that they are exactly where I am telling her that they are. Monika is meticulous, though. Almost as meticulous as I am, so her claiming that they aren’t there is enough to give me pause.
I glance at the door longingly as I consider how much time it will take for me to show her where they are, but I decide that the risk is just not worth the reward. There is no telling what other dangers my curse may have queued up, just waiting for me to walk past a sharp corner or under a heavy object to crash on top of my head, even though I follow all the safety regulations to a T. No, it’s definitely safer for everyone if we put this day to rest and look tomorrow instead.
“That author’s signing isn’t until next weekend, so do you mind if I find the boxes in the morning? I’m anxious to get on the road.”
“Of course,” Monika says, and before she can add a but, I tell her good night and make long, purposeful steps towards the exit. It’s only when I am more than halfway to freedom that she adds, “I’ll check again after I put this deposit in the safe. Maybe they got moved or something.”
I pause, a mere five steps from the door, because the only thing worse than me getting knocked unconscious by a rogue candlestick or impaled by a metal shelving bracket is those things happening to Monika. After all, if I hadn’t rushed that family out of the store in an attempt to get home before anything bad happened, the utility truck might have already passed before they even stepped outside.
“No,” I say, and double back. “You stay right there. I’ll go check.”
I can’t be certain because I am moving so fast, but it almost seems like Monika is struggling to contain a smile as I race past her, as if this was her plan all along. Or maybe she has just decided to switch from lectures to exposure therapy. Either way, I pull the door that separates the front from the back closed tightly behind me and head straight for the new release section.
