Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  “Now, Eli.” She shoots me a wide-eyed glance, ten minutes from the hospital. Her hand slides up her skirt. “Eliii!” She closes her eyes, holding her breath. “I feel the head. Eli!”

  “Okay, babe. We’ve got this. No big deal.” I pull over on the side of the road.

  “It burns!” She grunts, scrunching her face. “It is a big deal!”

  I call for an ambulance.

  “I’m going to move you to the backseat.” I hop out, run around the car, and lift her from the front seat to the backseat.

  “Eli!” She tucks her chin and pushes. “Oh god! Call an ambulance before this baby falls out onto its head! Eli … she has my genes. We can’t let her fall on her head too!”

  “Dorothy Mayhem …” I grab her hand, interlacing our fingers and squeezing until she gives me her eyes. “I know I’m not your favorite doctor … but I’m nonetheless a doctor. I called the ambulance. They’ll be here soon. In the meantime … we’ve got this. I’ve got you. I’ve got Violet.”

  I slide off her panties, prop up my phone with the light illuminating Violet’s crowning head. “She has a head of dark hair.”

  “H-how can you be so fucking CAAALLLMMM?” Her face contorts with another contraction as she pushes.

  I know she’s in pain. But my Dorothy has never been so beautiful. “I’m calm because I’m getting ready to deliver our baby. And you are the strongest person I know. So let’s do this. Let’s meet Violet.”

  Dorothy opens her eyes, tears running down her cheeks as she nods. “Thank you,” she whispers between contractions on a labored breath.

  “For what?”

  “For letting me be me. Letting me be enough.”

  My own emotions burn my eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  “Ouch … it’s coming … it hurts. ELI!”

  “Push, Dorothy … you’ve got this.”

  She pushes once, twice … and on the third push Violet’s head is out.

  “Stop, baby. Take some short breaths. Try not to push. The cord is around her neck.” I feel for the cord, it’s tight but not too tight. “Okay. Give me another big push.”

  Dorothy yells and Violet slides out. I unwrap the cord from her neck, and just as the ambulance’s lights illuminate behind us, Violet lets out her first cry. It’s a bit weak with a gurgle, but it’s her first breath, and nothing since Roman taking his first breath has ever sounded so beautiful.

  “My baby …” Dorothy reaches for Violet as several people crowd around the vehicle.

  I can’t even speak, I’m so fucking over the moon as I hand Dorothy our daughter.

  It’s funny how a year can change your world. And it’s amazing how a single breath can take a life, give a life, and sometimes … save a life.

  She is my breath of life.

  Dorothy

  Three weeks later…

  We brought Violet home from the hospital two days after Eli delivered her in the back of my Q5. I really should have gotten the Q7.

  Home … well it’s his house off Skyline Drive. And our weekend home is forty-five minutes away, with a huge yard, a trampoline, and two emus. Gemma travels back and forth with us. And my parents spend more time sitting together on the sofa with me not there as much.

  I’m a homebody. A creature of habit. I like the familiar. And Eli respects that. He honors every little quirky thing about my personality. My need for space. My need for expressing my emotions in emojis and sorting them in piles and piles of brightly colored journals.

  “Julie is coming over.” Eli frowns as he comes down the stairs from putting Violet down for a nap. He sets the monitor on the coffee table.

  “She’s just dropping off Roman. What’s the long face about?” I ask.

  We have a great relationship with Dr. Hathaway. And all the guilt I thought I’d feel over Eli giving up having Roman full-time was for nothing. Roman is a thriving young boy because all of us have worked hard to make sure he feels an abundance of love and sense of family.

  “She’s moving.” He shakes his head. “We agreed we wouldn’t do this until Roman is older. It’s not a written agreement, but we both voiced it. I heard she was offered a job in New York. New York, Dorothy. That’s too far. That’s too many trips. He’s supposed to start preschool this fall. How can she do this? How can she uproot him like this? There’s no way it’s going to work with every other week. I …” He runs his hands through his messy—and yes—sexy hair.

  I feel his anxiety, even if I don’t know what to say. Is he going to ask me to move to New York too, so we’re close to Roman? The idea evokes a nauseating anxiety because I know I’ll say yes. It will kill me to leave my parents, my emus, my comfort zone, but I’ll do it. I’ll do it for Roman. And Eli knows this … he knows my love for Roman is as great as my love for Violet. I don’t see Roman as anything less than my own child. My buddy … my little superhero.

  My Romeo.

  “So we go.” Yep. Here I go. Avoiding conflict at all cost. “We move to New York.”

  “My patients, babe. This isn’t just about Julie, Roman, you, Violet … our families. It’s about my patients.”

  I nod, easing out of the recliner and standing in front of him. I just … lean into him. It’s my way of offering a hug. Eli wraps his arms around me.

  “Of course … of course you’d say this. I love you so fucking much, Dorothy Mayhem.”

  The doorbell rings, and before Eli can answer it, Roman opens the door and runs inside.

  “Shh …” Eli preemptively shushes him as he picks him up for a big hug. “Violet is sleeping. How are you, buddy?” He buries his face in Roman’s neck and kisses him over and over.

  “Daddy!” He giggles.

  Dr. Hathaway—yeah, she’ll always be Dr. Hathaway, Boss Bitch to me—walks in behind Roman and grins at the display of father-son affection.

  “Go play quietly in your room while I talk to Mommy.”

  “No. Listen, Daddy! We have a surprise.”

  Eli holds his finger to his mouth to remind Roman to keep his voice down.

  “We have a surprise,” Roman repeats on a whisper, cupping his hands at his mouth.

  God … I love this kid.

  Dr. Hathaway chuckles.

  Eli gives her a hesitant smile, clearly not in the mood for surprises. Especially the ones that involve moving to New York. And I already know he’s pissed, that she’s gotten Roman excited about it.

  “Come here, Daddy. Come here now.” Roman tugs on Eli’s hand, pulling him toward the door.

  I glance at Dr. Hathaway.

  She winks. “You look great, Dorothy. How’s that beautiful little girl of yours?”

  I know we’re not supposed to let her butter us up, but I can’t help my motherly pride when she asks about Violet. My daughter is the most beautiful little girl ever. I realize every mom says it, but it’s actually true in my case.

  “She’s perfect.”

  “Grab the monitor and come with us.” Dr. Hathaway nods to the baby monitor.

  I hesitate for a few seconds before grabbing my phone. Eli uses the monitor, but I have audio and video of the nursery on my phone.

  I follow them outside just as Eli and Roman cross the street.

  “Must have sold,” I murmur, noticing the house across from ours no longer has a For Sale sign in the yard.

  “Daddy! This is Mommy’s new house! You like it?”

  Eli just … stops, even with Roman tugging on his arm. After a few seconds he turns toward Dr. Hathaway.

  She shrugs with a big smile. “It will make it easier for both of us to tuck him in at night. And for him to spend time with his sister. And for me to discuss cutting-edge medical research with Dorothy, when she’s not busy being a superhero.”

  Yeah, he’s in shock. He hasn’t even blinked yet.

  Me? I’m trying to play it cool, when really I want to ask how often she wants to get together to discuss this cutting-edge medical research. But I don’t take this from Eli. It’s his moment. />
  It’s his world coming full circle.

  “Are you okay, Eli?” she asks on a slight chuckle.

  Roman continues to pull on one of his hands while he nods slowly. Something along the lines of the happiest emoji ever takes over his expression as he reaches his other hand to take mine.

  “Yeah.” He exhales a long breath. “Everything is definitely okay.”

  The End

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  Thank you for reading! 100% of the profits from this anthology will be given to the Live A Thousand Lives charity.

  This charity donates audio players - equipped with hundreds of hours of classic stories - to low-to-no mobility patients in nursing facilities and hospitals.

  The Live A Thousand Lives Project has been fueled by prolific Romance writers and unabashed book lovers who appreciate that audiobooks boost mental health, improve memory and stimulate the brain in ways that mirror reading printed text.

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  Also by Jewel E Ann

  One

  Idle Bloom

  Undeniably You

  Naked Love

  Only Trick

  Perfectly Adequate

  * * *

  Look The Part

  When Life Happened

  A Place Without You

  Jersey Six

  Scarlet Stone

  Jack & Jill Series

  End of Day

  Middle of Knight

  Dawn of Forever

  Out of Love (standalone)

  * * *

  Holding You Series

  Holding You

  Releasing Me

  * * *

  Transcend Series

  Transcend

  Epoch

  Fortuity

  * * *

  The Life Series

  The Life That Mattered

  The Life You Stole

  Acknowledgments

  This story is a labor of love. Thank you for reading it. Out of everything I’ve written so far, this one feels the most personal to me.

  I have to start by thanking Shauna and Marley for so many inspiring, true stories that helped bring Dorothy Mayhem to life.

  Thank you to Asher, my own little version of Dorothy, for reminding me every single day that the spectrum is human. It’s not autism. I will always be in awe of your imagination and kindness.

  My editing team … I cannot say enough about the special humans who rake through my words, sort out the shit, and polish the rough spots. Max, Monique, Leslie, Kambra, Sian, Bethany, Sherri, Jyl, and Allison … thank you!

  Jennifer Beach, thank you for keeping me from falling apart on a daily basis and working your ass off to make Jewel E Ann look social, or ridiculous, in the case of newsletter face swaps. But more than anything, thanks for sharing your activity rings with me, and for letting me “win” on certain days to boost my aging ego.

  Thank you to every contestant who participated in my cover design contest. There were so many good ones, but Sign.Yra nailed the essence of Dorothy Mayhem.

  My wonderful Jonesies, you are my safe place. Thank you for your daily love and encouragement. More than anything, thank you for supporting my chaotic style of writing—the whiplash from dark suspense, to romantic comedy. Your willingness to “go there” with me has made me a very happy writer.

  Thank you, Kate Stewart, for being a sounding board when I’m on the edge of a cliff. You always pull me back to reality and remind me how incredibly lucky we are to have this opportunity to tell stories.

  Jenn, Sarah, and Brooke with Social Butterfly PR, thank you for giving my stories visibility, for getting my book out there for the world to see.

  To all my author friends … Yes, I’m excited to announce that I officially have friends. Thank you for letting me into your lives, cheering me on, sharing my stories, and inspiring me with your talent. You are too great in number to list by name, but I just want all five of you to know how much you mean to me.

  Finally, to my family, thank you for loving me as Dorothy and as Julie. I am blessed beyond words.

  About the Author

  Jewel is a free-spirited romance junkie with a quirky sense of humor.

  With 10 years of flossing lectures under her belt, she took early retirement from her dental hygiene career to stay home with her three awesome boys and manage the family business.

  After her best friend of nearly 30 years suggested a few books from the Contemporary Romance genre, Jewel was hooked. Devouring two and three books a week but still craving more, she decided to practice sustainable reading, AKA writing.

  When she’s not donning her cape and saving the planet one tree at a time, she enjoys yoga with friends, good food with family, rock climbing with her kids, watching How I Met Your Mother reruns, and of course…heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, panty-scorching novels.

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  Black Tangled Heart

  By Samantha Young

  When you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.

  —Confucius

  Part I

  The Past

  Chapter 1

  JANE

  Thirteen years old

  * * *

  The smog was a pain. Willa sometimes let me go with her when she drove into the city, but it was a bad smog day, which meant we were staying at our apartment in the nice complex in Glendale. I was bored. Willa was too busy with my younger foster siblings to care about my boredom. Flo was eighteen months old and fascinated by sockets and switches. Tarin was three and interested in destroying everything in sight.

  His screaming and Flo’s yelling was not fun.

  “Can I help?” I asked from the hallway.

  Willa waved me away as she lifted Flo up into her high chair. “It’s the summer, kid. Go be with your friends.”

  Willa and Nicholas Green were the nicest foster parents I’d had. I’d been with them for over two years, and I hoped I’d get to stay with them until I was eighteen. That was five years away, so I knew I should get used to the constant nerves in my belly, waiting for my social worker to turn up and tell me I was being moved again.

  Hoping Willa and Nick would keep me around, I tried to be as helpful as possible.

  They were kind of busy with the younger kids, which was why Willa still hadn’t realized I didn’t have any friends. But they didn’t drink, they didn’t cuss at me, and they’d never hit me.

  “Are you sure?”

  My foster mom shot me a flustered smile. “You’re not hired help, Jane. It’s summer vacation. Go be a kid.”

  Nodding, I turned toward the small bedroom at the back of the apartment. Nicholas worked as a production manager for one of the big film studios, which was why we lived in a nice apartment. It was one of the bigger three-bedroom units. The little ones shared a room and I had the smallest room.

  Willa and Nick might not give me a lot of their time, but they buy me books and art supplies. Grabbing my sketch pad and a tin of charcoals, I swiped a bottle of water from the refrigerator and stepped outside. It was like walking into a bubble of heat, the air sticking to my skin as I wandered along the balcony. It overlooked the pool, and I saw a few neighbors on loungers while some kids from school splashed around in the water.

  Those kids weren’t my friends. I’d never been very good at making friends.

  As I passed my neighbors’ apartments, I could hear loud voices coming from the last unit by the stairc
ase. They had interesting accents, like they might be from Boston, and they were shouting to be heard over their music playing.

  I noted their door was wide open.

  “Lorna, we haven’t finished unpacking. Get up, Lor. I want this finished by dinner. You can park your butt on the couch for the rest of the evening once it’s all done.”

  I slowed. She said “park” like “pahk,” which was definitely Bostonian, right?

  “I’m bored unpacking,” a girl replied in the same accent. “Can we take a break?”

  “But once it’s done, it’s done. Your brother has already unpacked all his stuff.”

  They continued to argue while I sat down on the first step and opened my sketch pad. Their conversation became background noise as I sketched my neighbors at the pool.

  Like always, I zoned out. Sketching made everything else go away. The loneliness. My fears. The separation I felt from almost everyone else. Drawing was my way to connect, but from a safe distance. I liked the rasp of the charcoal against the vellum, the way it smudged my hands. The freedom of using the smudge to create interesting shadows and curves. It gave life to the kids splashing around in the pool. Movement. Energy. Made me feel as if I were a part of them.

  So lost in creating, I didn’t hear her approach until she was sitting down beside me on the step.

  “You’re wicked talented.”

  I jumped, startled, and a charcoal line scored through my drawing.

  “Sorry about that.”

  I looked at the girl, who wore an apologetic wince. She had eyes the color of the ocean and short, light brown hair.