Genre: New Adult
I had it all: an adoring husband, supportive friends, thriving career, a homey condo in the city.
Amend that. I had it all except for love from my family. But life was good because I had him. Max was everything I dreamed a husband could be and somehow he loved me just as wildly as I loved him. Until one cruel night he was stolen from me. Then I had nothing but a vicious battle ahead of me. It’s a struggle so treacherous, I’m not sure if I’ll make it out with my heart in tact. But on the other side of that brutal war waits the most wondrous prize. Will I allow myself to move forward?
When my husband works overnights at the fire station, I sleep on his side of the bed. Max doesn’t know that. Even though he spends more nights in our bed than out of it, I miss him enough to burrow in the sheets that emanate the remnants of his aftershave. I feel cocooned in his arms even when he’s not around. Sleep comes easier over here.
That’s where I am, tucked underneath the down cover, safe in a dreamless slumber, when a pounding rouses me. My heart leaps in surprise and I launch into a seated position, hand hovering over my chest. With a blind hand, I feel along the bedside table to find my glasses and jam them onto my nose. Knuckle pounding against wood doesn’t cease when I capture the time.
Nothing good can come of someone knocking on your door at one in the morning.
I scoot off the bed and shrug into the lightweight robe that lies on my husband’s suit valet.
He hates it when I leave my things there, I think numbly. Somehow, my body’s moving forward, even though every nerve ending screams for me to crawl back into bed and pretend this is a dream. It’s almost as if I know the Grim Reaper lurks on the other side of that door. I imagine a black hooded robe and bony skeletal fingers clutching a scythe waiting for me.
If there were enough time, I’d bargain with him. Beg to replace my life for his. Give up everything I have on God’s green earth for the man who gave me the gift of a full, flourishing life.
A knock on the door means it’s too late for brokering. If a ringing phone yanked me from sleep, it wouldn’t be this daunting. The fear wouldn’t be overpowering all of my other senses.
With a quivering hand, I flip on a light switch and unlatch the lock on our front door.
Their faces are grim, solemn. Hot tears blur my vision before I can identify who has come to deliver the news. Even before they speak, a strangled cry rips from my throat and my knees buckle. Like a puppet cut from its strings, I collapse to the floor. Strong arms catch me, encircling my waist, squeezing me tight.
The pressure of this man’s arms around me is the only thing reminding me that I’m still alive and not thrust into the depths of hell.
“Don’t say it,” I shriek. A feral cat stole my voice box, the howls ripping from my body completely unlike any other sound I’ve ever made.
“Violet.” This time the stern voice fights through the tornado of emotion and I blink hazily upward.
“Felix,” I whisper through a dry, cracked throat. Soot and ash still mar his cheeks, hair disheveled in every which way. Weariness seeps off him—from the slump in his shoulders to the exhaustion in his eyes.
“We lost him. I’m so sorry. We lost him.”
I don’t remember much of anything after that.
In the Series
New Point (Book 1)
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Pressure Point (book 2)
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Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1QDtksU