by M. Leighton
I sit up, each grate of the park bench digging into my back as I move. They’re familiar to me, too. I wake here often. More often than not, actually. I think the cops stopped patrolling this park at night, so as long as I’m gone by an hour or so after daylight, they don’t give me trouble. But I always come back. After the sun goes down, I come back and I watch. I watch the family across the street, in the brownstone that is as foreign to me as my name or my childhood. It’s never in my dreams, only in my reality. Or, rather, someone else’s reality.
My memory extends five hundred and eight days. I woke on a riverbank with blood streaming into my eyes. I was freezing and had a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder and four cracked ribs. I remember every day since then–the hospitalization, the psychiatry, the search for a missing man or a wrecked car. But there was nothing. For months, there was nothing. And I couldn’t take it any more, so I ran. I took to the streets because I couldn’t stand the constant feeling that I’d lost something so dear to me that I didn’t want to live without it.
Only I have no idea what–or who–that might’ve been. It’s enough to drive a man crazy, though, so I left. I abandoned polite society to hide. Here. Where I can see that brownstone.
Today, the sun is streaming through the single tree that dots the landscape out in front of it. It dapples the front door and the walk with moving drops of black and white, a kaleidoscope in constant motion. The wind carries the scent of fresh cut grass from yesterday, along with something else.
It’s baby powder and the soft perfume of the woman from my dreams. The woman across the street. Or at least how I imagine she might smell.
I dream of them almost every night–the woman and her daughter. I know now that they can’t mean anything to me, or I to them. Eden and Emmy aren’t even their names. I heard the man who lives there, the husband most likely, call them Jovie and Serah. I wish they were mine, but they’re not. I wish they had answers, but they don’t. I know that now. But still I come. Because the dreams of them, the near-memories of them give me comfort in a comfortless world.
As the sun creeps higher in the sky, it begins to shine on the side of my face, a welcome heat to what skin isn’t covered with hair and scar tissue. I know I have to leave. Before they make me leave and I can never come back. I don’t know much, but I know that I have to come here. I have to come back here to watch them. And dream about them. If not, I’ll go crazy. I don’t know how I know that; I only know that I do.
I watch the man leave, another face familiar to me only through my dreams. He leans back in and kisses the woman, drawing her into his arms. I can see his passion for her. What I don’t see is her passion for him. Or is it only that I wish there was no passion for him? I can’t be sure, but it hits me in the chest like a metal slug when he leans away and she smiles at him. That smile is meant for me. I can feel it.
And yet it’s not. It’s very obviously not.
She closes the door as he jogs lightly down the steps. He’s all but whistling, he’s so happy. Actually, the closer he gets, the more clearly I can see his face. His lips are pursed. He actually is whistling. I just can’t hear the sound. I don’t hear all that well anymore, truth be told.
When he’s out of sight, I drag my eyes back to the house, hoping for one more glimpse of the woman before I retreat into the shadows of a nearby bridge. That’s when I hear an explosion. It shakes the ground under my feet.
Then I see the smoke. And I hear the scream. And the brownstone bursts into flame.
TO BE CONTINUED
Note from the author
Have you ever awakened from a dream and been able to trace many of the various elements to something you heard or read or saw in real life? I have. Many times. And so has Cole. Everything in his dream points to something based in reality. He’s not as far from Eden as it seems. He just has to find his way back to her.
Join me in Handful of Tears as Cole traces his dream back to his soulmate. Reality can only keep them apart until destiny brings them back together again.
I would LOVE and APPRECIATE if you would leave a review, but please omit any spoilers about what each ending holds so that every reader can enjoy the choice and the surprise for themselves. And if you loved it, please tell your friends. Your words, your recommendations are more powerful than you knowJ Thank you so very much in advance!
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READ ON
For an extended excerpt from Strong Enough
book one in the Tall, Dark and Dangerous trilogy
coming August 4, 2015 from Berkley
A FINAL WORD
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review and recommending it to a friend. You are more powerful than you know. YOU–the words from your mouth, the thoughts from your heart, shared with others, can move mountains. You make a huge difference in the life of an author. You have in mine. You do every day, which brings me to my gratitude, my overwhelming, heartfelt gratitude.
A few times in life, I’ve found myself in a position of such love and appreciation that saying THANK YOU seems trite, like it’s just not enough. That is the position that I find myself in now when it comes to you, my readers. You are the sole reason that my dream of being a writer has come true and your encouragement keeps me going. It brings me unimaginable pleasure to hear that you love my work, that it has touched you in some way, that it has made life seem a little bit better for having read it. So it is from the depths of my soul, from the very bottom of my heart that I say I simply cannot THANK YOU enough, which I say a lot of in this post.
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Other books by M. Leighton on Amazon
All the Pretty Lies ** All the Pretty Poses
All Things Pretty ** All Things Pretty (part two)
Down to You ** Up to Me
Everything for Us
Pocketful of Sand
Strong Enough ** Tough Enough
Brave Enough
The Wild Ones ** Wild Child
Some Like It Wild ** There’s Wild, Then There’s You
YA and PARANORMAL
Fragile
Madly ** Madly & Wolfhardt
Madly & the Jackal ** Madly Boxed Set
Blood Like Poison: For the Love of a Vampire
Blood Like Poison: Destined for a Vampire
Blood Like Poison: To Kill an Angel
Blood Like Poison Boxed Set
The Reaping ** The Reckoning
Gravity
Caterpillar
Wiccan
Beginnings: An M. Leighton Anthology
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, M. Leighton, is a native of Ohio. She relocated to the warmer climates of the South, where she can be near the water all summer and miss the snow all winter. Possessed of an overactive imagination from early in her childhood, Michelle finally found an acceptable outlet for her fantastical visions: literary fiction. Having written over a dozen novels, these days Michelle enjoys letting her mind wander to more romantic settings with sexy Southern guys, much like the one she married and the ones you'll find in her latest books. When her thoughts aren't roaming in that dir
ection, she'll be riding wild horses, skiing the slopes of Aspen or scuba diving with a hot rock star, all without leaving the cozy comfort of her office.
About Michelle: I love coffee and chocolate, even more so when they are combined. I'm convinced that one day they could be the basis for world peace. I also love the color red and am seriously considering dying my hair.
STRONG ENOUGH
Is she strong enough to trust the most dangerous man she’s ever met?
And is he strong enough to let her?
How would I describe myself? Well, I’m Muse Harper. I’m a twenty-something painter who loves red wine, quirky movies and men with a fatal flaw. But that was before I met Jasper King. He became my fatal flaw.
Eight months ago, I had a choice to make– abandon everything I’ve ever known to protect my family, or stay and risk someone getting hurt. I chose the former. My plan was working just fine until I found out my father had gone missing.
That’s when I met Jasper. A bounty hunter with the eyes of a tiger and the nose of a bloodhound, he was supposed to help me find my father. What I didn’t know was that meeting him was no accident. Hunting people isn’t all that Jasper does. And helping me was only part of his plan. I just wish I’d found out sooner, before my heart got involved. But even then, I don’t know if I’d have done things differently.
Now, I have another choice to make– trust the man that I’m falling in love with and hope that he’ll do the right thing, or run as far away from him as I can get.
PROLOGUE
Jasper, seventeen years ago
“WHAT’S HE GONNA do, Mom?” I try to wriggle away from her, but she holds me too tight. I feel like something bad’s gonna happen, but I don’t know why. “Maybe I can make him not be mad. Let me go!”
“Shhh, baby. It’ll be okay. You have to stay here with me or he’ll take you, too.”
My heart’s beating so hard it hurts, like it did that time when Mikey Jennings punched me in the chest. Not even my mother’s arms around me make the pain go away, and her hugs usually make everything better.
My eyes water as I stare out the window. I can’t blink. I’m afraid to. I don’t want to see what Dad’s going to do to my older brother, Jeremy, but I can’t look away either.
The longer I watch, the less I can move, like my feet are glued to the floor and my arms are strapped to my sides. It feels like I can’t even breathe. I can only stare at the cold, gray water and the two shapes moving closer to it.
I see Jeremy’s fingers clawing at my dad’s hand where it pulls him by his hair. It’s not doing him any good, though. Dad isn’t letting go. Jeremy’s feet sometimes drag along the ground, his ratty tennis shoes kicking up mud and grass, but my father never slows down. I can tell by the way his other fist is balled up that he’s mad. Madder than usual, maybe.
Jeremy got in trouble at school again today. They called Dad at work instead of Mom, so she didn’t even know until Dad brought Jeremy home. By then it was too late.
“No kid of mine’s gonna act like a monster. There’s something wrong with you, boy,” Dad was saying when they walked through the door. Jeremy was in front of him. Dad pushed him so hard, my brother fell and slid across the kitchen floor.
There really is something wrong with Jeremy. The doctor said so. He said Jeremy needed medicine, but Dad doesn’t care. It just makes him mad, makes him lose his temper with Jeremy even more.
I was standing at Mom’s side when Dad stopped in front of her. He put his finger in her face until it almost touched her nose. His eyes were that red color all around the edges like they are when he’s getting ready to whip Jeremy. “You’d better hope this little shit doesn’t turn out the same way.” He slapped me in the side of the head when he said it. It made my ear sting like a bee got me, but I didn’t even say “ouch.” I didn’t say anything. I knew better than to open my mouth. “One’s enough.”
Dad went and grabbed Jeremy by the back of his shirt, pulled him up to his feet and threw him out the kitchen door. Jeremy fell again, but that didn’t stop Dad. He followed him into the yard.
“Get up, you worthless little asshole,” he yelled. There was something not good in Jeremy’s eyes when he looked up. Then I saw him spit on Dad’s work boots. I knew he shouldn’t have done that. I knew it even more when Dad kicked him in the ribs. Now we’re watching my older brother get dragged away for punishment.
Rather than stopping at the old stump that he bends Jeremy over to whip him, Dad keeps walking right out into the lake. He doesn’t even stop at the edge.
My eyes hurt while I watch, but I can’t close them. Something about this time looks different. Feels different. Something about the hot tears streaming down my face tells me that this time is different.
Dad’s boots splash through the shallow water. He drags my brother behind him like he does a bag of trash when he’s loading up the truck to go to the dump. Jeremy falls and gets back up, falls and gets back up. He’s fighting for real now. He’s kicking and hitting. I see his mouth open wide like he’s screaming, but I can’t hear it. The only thing I can hear is my heart beat. It’s like drums in my ears, it’s so loud.
Dad stops when the water is up to his waist. He pulls Jeremy to him. I see his face from the side, my father’s. It’s so red it looks purple. Veins are standing out all down his neck. My brother’s face is almost white, like he’s wearing ghost Halloween makeup. His eyes are dry, though. He stopped crying over the stuff Dad does to him a long time ago.
Dad yells something at Jeremy, his mouth stretching so wide it looks like he could eat him. Like a snake, just swallow him whole. Jeremy just stares up at him with his pale face. Dad shakes my brother hard enough to make his head snap back, and then he dunks him under the water.
I suck in a breath. I’ve never seen Dad do this before, no matter how mad he gets at Jeremy. Something in my chest burns while I watch Dad hold him under, like I can’t breathe either. Like air is stuck in there, burning. Just like I’m stuck in here. Hurting.
I taste salt from my tears. I lick them away, ashamed to be crying. Something starts pecking the top of my head. A wet trail, like snail slime, slides down the side of my face. I wipe it away and look at my hand. It’s just water. Warm water.
Tears. But not my tears. They’re Mom’s.
I count. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. I wonder how long Jeremy can hold his breath. My head feels like it might explode.
Four Mississippi, five Mississippi, six Mississippi.
Air and sound push past my tight throat to make a weird garbled scream. It lands in the quiet room like a crack of thunder. It’s the only noise I make. It’s the only noise I can make.
I watch Jeremy’s hands, beating against my dad’s wrist. Dad never budges, though, never lets up. His arm is straight and ruthless, holding my only brother under the water.
Mom’s arms squeeze me tighter. It’s getting even harder to breathe.
Seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi, nine Mississippi.
I count, even though time stopped moving. When I get to twenty Mississippi, I start over at one, start over for Jeremy, to give him more breath. To give him another chance. But he doesn’t use it. He can’t. His time already ran out. Like his breath did. I know it when I see his hands drop away. They fall into the water and float, like there’s nobody attached to them. Like my brother just… left.
Dad lets him go. Sort of pushes him out into the deeper water. Jeremy just drifts there, like he’s playing dead. Like he used to do when Mom took us swimming on summer afternoons when our father was at work.
I don’t watch Dad walk out of the lake. I don’t watch him walk across the yard. I don’t even look up when he walks through the back door. I just watch Jeremy, waiting for him to move, waiting for him to wake up.
“Get your purse. We’re going out to eat. The boys can have a sandwich here.”
Boys? Does that mean Jeremy’s okay?
I start toward the door, but Mom grabs me.
“Jasper, be a good boy and get my purse for me, sweetie. It’s beside the front door.”
Her eyes are different. They look scared and they make me scared, so I just go get her purse and bring it to her like she asked. When I hand it to her, she takes it and pulls me against her. I feel her arms shaking and when she lets me go, she’s crying. But she’s smiling, too, like she’s not supposed to cry. None of us are supposed to cry.
“You sit right there in front of the television, okay? Don’t you move a muscle.” Her voice is warning me about something. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m afraid. She’s afraid, too.
“Okay.”
I turn on cartoons and sit on the couch until I hear Dad’s truck start. When I do, I get up and run as fast as I can, through the kitchen, out the back door and across the yard toward the lake.