by J Grace
Finding Hope
The Heartmates Trilogy Book One
J. Grace
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Finding Truth
To my boys:
I love you more than all the stars in the sky!
I’m so proud to be your mommy and so blessed to call you mine!
Blurb
Marjorie Long is a broken girl.
For as long as she can remember she's suffered from episodes of anxiety brought on by years of verbal and mental abuse at the hands of her mother. Her only saving graces, her brother Carson and her best and only friend Sierra, are both gone.
Life without them is just one horrible day set on repeat, but she’s determined to hold on even if it’s by the skin of her teeth, waiting for the day that she can escape her mother's hold.
On the one year anniversary of Sierra’s death, she is rocked to her core by cruelty that not even she expected. In her most desperate hour, Marjorie makes a decision that she can’t take back.
When she wakes up in the hospital after being found by her estranged brother, her life takes an even more confusing and tumultuous turn when she's sent to Brighton House for Troubled Youth.
There she meets a doctor who not only wants the best for her but gives her the motherly love and warmth she's wanted her whole life. And four people, who, like her, are struggling with demons of their own.
With the help of these unexpected allies, she comes to terms with the demons that have plagued her her whole life, while dealing with the newly found and never experienced love and desire brought on by her budding relationships forged through trials, tribulations, and trust.
But just when she thinks she's getting a grasp on life, her world is upended and she is forced to grapple with the repercussions of the familial bombshells that have been dropped on her.
Through it all, she and her chosen heartmates find their way to being who they were truly meant to be as they discover that finding hope is the first step to finding freedom.
WARNING:
Finding Hope, Book One in the Heartmates Trilogy is a Contemporary Why Choose/Reverse Harem novel meaning the FMC does not have to choose between love interests. Finding Hope features masturbatory and FF scenes. All subsequent books in the Heartmates Trilogy will contain FF/MF.
Finding Hope is not a dark or bully book but does deal with darker themes that readers may find triggering, including but not limited to suicide, death, abuse and alcoholism.
If you choose to read further I hope you enjoy Finding Hope!
Copyright © by J. Grace
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Prologue
"Where the hell have you been, girl?" my mother seethed at me as soon as I walked in the door, her brown eyes cold and dark as obsidian. I was already on edge from the emotional toll this day had brought and I wasn't sure if she was asking a rhetorical question or if she had actually wanted an answer. It was always difficult to tell and it was usually the opposite of whatever option I chose. I stood there staring at the black leather of her loafers, her feet planted a foot apart, ready and poised should she need to strike, and waited for the verbal lashing to continue. She snapped her fingers in my face, "Did you hear me or have you suddenly gone deaf? Why do I always feel like I’m talking to a brick wall with you? Where have you been? Why the hell am I getting calls about you walking on the side of the road like some common hitchhiker?"
My heart pounded in my chest and all I wanted was to make myself as small as possible. How I wished I could turn into a shifter of some kind or have the power of invisibility, but this wasn’t one of those paranormal fantasy books that I loved so much. This was my real life, my very real nightmare. I took a ragged breath and opened my mouth to speak, but the sound was as quiet as a whisper.
"I was at the cemetery to see Sierra. Today..."
"Speak up, girl! I can't stand that ridiculous mousy voice you use. It's like nails on a chalkboard," she hissed through clenched teeth mere inches from my face. I held my breath, feeling the cold sweat of fear wash over me and making me jump at her tone. I don't know why. I should be used to it by now, I should know what to expect, It was always the same. Still, I lived in fear that she would one day escalate to physical violence again, not that she needed to; her words caused far more damage than any punch could. She would grab my arm and twist or yank me along, but she had only hit me once, years ago. She slapped me so hard she split my cheek open and I sprained my wrist when I fell to the floor. I was five and I had tracked mud into the house. She blamed me of course, said I had caused her to lose her temper because I was was so stupid and never paid attention, but she made sure to stay far away from me the next few times she threw her insults at me. I was brought back to the present when she grabbed my arm and squeezed.
"Oh, no you don’t. Wake up, I’m not done with you yet. Look at you. It's one hundred degrees outside and you're in head to toe black. Only an idiot would dress like this and walk three miles in the hot Texas sun. You could have had a heatstroke and died. What would people think of your father and me if that happened? What would people say?” She threw her hands up in frustration as her voice took on that high pitched sound she used whenever she wanted to mock me. “How could they let their daughter walk in such heat when they have a perfectly good car? Why couldn’t she ask her parents for a ride? What’s going on in that house that they made her walk? We would be blamed for your stupidity. You never think of those things do you, Marjorie? You never think about how your actions affect your father and me. No, you don’t because you're a selfish, spoiled, self-centered brat,” I could feel her eyes roam over me as she looked me up and down then loosed an exasperated sigh, “Life would be so much easier if you had been in that car and died right along with that troublemaker, Sierra" My heart seized and my head snapped up, forgetting the pain in my arm. I looked at her, shocked by what she said. I had never seen that level of hate on her face before and it crushed my already irreparably damaged heart.
“You’re so pathetic, I can't even look at you; you make me sick with disappointment." She walked away leaving me there to deal with the fact that she said she wished I was dead. My own mother wanted me dead. She was vicious and vindictive, but she had never wished me dead, not to my face. A knife to the gut would have hurt less. I bent over and dry heaved, suddenly feeling every nerve ending burn. My eyes swam with unshed tears as I stumbled into the bar on my way to the stairs, knocking over my mother's vodka. I picked up the bottle from the carpeted floor and held it in my hands. The image of a flock of white geese flying over snow-capped mountains made me think of freedom. The freedom to just fly away from the coldness that threatened to consume them. A calmness fell over me as a thought that was never too far from the surface bubbled up and I let it permeate for a minute - too weak, too tired, too defeated to push it away.
If she wants me dead, fine. I don't have anything to live for anyway.
I gripped the vodka
bottle tightly in my hand and rushed to her room to swipe her sleeping pills then made my way to my room where I fell to the floor, determined to escape this nightmare that was my life. I looked around my room, my prison cell for the last seventeen years and noted that there was nothing in there that made me happy or made me even consider not going through with my plans.
The picture of Sierra that sat on my nightstand called to me and I crawled over and pulled it down, cradling it in my hands as tears splattered onto the glass. She was beautiful. Tall with long blonde hair, and brown eyes that sparkled with mischief. She was always smiling despite my gray cloud constantly hanging overhead, trying to drag us both down. I always thought she was too good for this life. I guess God did too. The ache in my heart spilled out through my eyes and I shook with uncontrollable tremors.
There had been many times throughout the last year that I had wished it had been me instead of Sierra, but I never once thought that my mom felt the same. Even with all of her hate-fueled words I still held hope that there was a sliver of love in her heart for me.
Not anymore.
I opened the pill bottle and emptied the contents into my mouth, and took two giant swigs of vodka. Laying back, I closed my eyes and envisioned two white geese flying side by side to freedom; me and Sierra. I placed her smiling face over my heart and waited for the end.
I’m coming Sierra.
Chapter 1
Dr. Banner
“Come in,” I said absentmindedly as I continued to write notes in the file of my last patient session. It was a particularly tough session for my patient and, though I always aimed to remain emotionally distant, it was hard for myself as well.
My assistant, Maddison, entered the room tentatively, and stood at the doorway until I placed my pen on the desk and turned to her, “Yes, Maddison?” She had a look of unease about her, but it was a Monday, and Maddison seemed to know what that meant, so without further prompt, she placed two files on my desk.
“We have two new patients arriving this week. One is a female, seventeen years old, attempted suicide, admitted on a voluntary basis. The other is a male, seventeen years old, manic episodes, PTSD and,” I perused the files as Maddison talked, “I had Nurse James set up rooms three and four in the tower. I’ve already had Nurse Meg prepare Malcolm, Avery, and Bodie for their new floormates.”
I looked up at Maddison, a small smile played on her full red lips.
She’s obviously pleased with herself.
I liked Maddison and worried that working here, surrounding herself with people who had experienced such turmoil at such young ages would cause her to lose her optimism and gentleness, but she had been here for almost three years and was as fresh and ebullient as the day she started. Maddison had even started to take on more duties without being asked. I gave her an appraising look as I sat back in my chair. Maddison’s smile faded as she met my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Banner if I overstepped my duties. I was just trying to help minimize your workload today. I know how difficult Mondays can be for you.” Her voice lowered to a whisper as her words tapered off. I sighed, internally acknowledging that Maddison was right.
Mondays are difficult, lately.
“Thank you, Maddison. I appreciate your effort and astuteness. Your job is to help me and that’s exactly what you did. I trust none of the staff gave you any issues?”
“Oh, no Dr. Banner, they were all very accommodating.”
“Good. I’m just going to get better acquainted with these files and then head home, so why don’t you go ahead and call it a night.”
“Ok. Thank you. Have a good evening, Dr. Banner. See you tomorrow,” Maddison was out the door before a reply could float past my lips. It was of little consequence since I was already absorbing the top file.
Patient MML17-42717
Marjorie Marie Long, 17, attempted suicide – April 23, 2017 in home by sleeping pills and vodka. Taken to St. Paul’s Presbyterian Hospital for stomach pump and monitoring. Placed on 72-hour suicide watch in the psychiatric ward under the care of Dr. Maxwell Wilson
Dr. notes:
The patient attempted suicide coinciding with the one year anniversary of her childhood best friend’s death. She swallowed 5 Ambien and half a bottle of vodka. Patient is cognizant and remorseful. Professional assessment shows that another attempt will most likely not be made. The patient seems to be suffering from severe anxiety as well. (and other possible triggers) The source is unknown. A stay of six months to a year, depending on progress and Doctor discretion, was advised to parents. Per parental instruction, the patient is scheduled to be released from care of Dr. Maxwell Wilson at St. Paul’s Presbyterian Hospital on April 27, 2017, at which time patient will be transferred to the care of Dr. Jalissa Banner at Brighton House for Troubled Youth for the term of no less than six months.
I placed the document back in the folder and laid it down on the desk. I knew that I would have my work cut out for me upon our initial meeting. I had met Dr. Wilson a few times at conferences and he was not a man who should have contact with people in any embattled state of mind, let alone young people in need of kindness and guidance. How he had remained head of Psychiatric care at St. Paul’s was a mystery to me. I reached for the second file hoping this patient had received better care.
One more and the day will be done.
Patient ZJT17-42717
Zachery John Tanner, 17, manic episodes, PTSD and night terrors brought on by witnessing the murder-suicide of his parents on October 18, 2016, in the family home. The patient was initially assessed at Santa Rosa Children’s Hospital in Richardson, TX by Dr. Amery Ruiz.
Dr. Notes:
The patient was brought in for shock and possible physical trauma. Upon initial exam, it was concluded that the patient did not suffer any physical trauma. The patient was admitted overnight for monitoring. The patient was sent to live with Maternal Grandmother, who due to age is unable to meet the needs for his care due to the patient's PTSD, night terrors and manic episodes. One session was conducted and based on assessment patient is in need of in-depth, on-site facility care. (additional notes in file) The patient has met the criteria for Pro-Bono care at Brighton House for Troubled Youth and will be admitted on April 27, 2017. He will be evaluated until his 18th birthday when at which time he will either be discharged or sent to an adult care facility.
I placed the document back in the folder laying it on top of Marjorie’s file. Lacing my fingers together I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed heavily.
I’ll read the additional notes tomorrow.
It had been a long day. My head and heart were feeling very heavy and I was already on the edge emotionally before reading their files. It was becoming increasingly harder to compartmentalize. I had been privy to every manner of stories that brought kids to Brighton House’s door, but it never got easier. I was proud of my successes and reveled in their accomplishments, just as I was equally devastated by the ones I couldn’t reach. In this case, the good never outweighed the bad. How could it when ‘the bad’ meant a life was lost?
Over the course of my fifteen years at Brighton House, twelve patients had succumbed to whatever brand of demon it was that haunted them. Three of them on-site. Out of the thousands of young adults that have come through Brighton House twelve might seem like a small number, but even one is too many for me. I feared with all my heart that Cashmere, my Monday session patient, would be the next loss. I hoped and prayed that I was wrong, but the signs were there. Over the years I had developed a sort of sixth sense about it. It was one of the things I was most conflicted about. The knowing made me focus harder, but it also broke my heart all the more when my best efforts weren’t enough. Knowing that sometimes medicine doesn’t work, that words fall flat, and that far too often, a heart just doesn’t want to beat anymore was of little consolation. After my first loss I made a promise to myself that until that day comes I will fight for them till their last breath, and then I will pray that they find the pe
ace their soul needed but could never reach in life.
I rubbed my aching eyes before I stood and grabbed my suit jacket from the back of the chair, flinging it over my forearm. I walked to the door and retrieved my purse from the coat rack that stood empty otherwise. I opened the door to my office and stepped out into the empty hall. With each action, I felt a little more of the day falling away. It had been a process of mine since day one- ticking each thing off my mental list. It was my way of keeping order in a profession that often felt disorderly.
The setting sun streamed across the wood floors through the floor to ceiling windows, casting an orange light over everything it touched and a gentle warmth hit the bare skin of my legs as my heels clacked against the floor creating an echo.
“Goodnight, Dr. Banner,” called Simon, the night time nurse, from the front desk as he pressed the button to unlock the front door. I turned to greet him, a warm smile on his face; a smile that had been my goodbye for the last ten years.
“Goodnight, Simon. I hope your night goes smoothly.”
“Me too, Dr. Banner, me too,” he chuckled as I walked out the door and into the balmy night time Texas air.
Chapter 2
Marjorie