by Billie Dale
She chews on the corner of her lip. What starts as a slow nod turns into a full head bob. “Tell you what, I take this yoga class over at the Town Life Center. It works wonders on relaxing these tight-ass shoulders. You go to my class while I go to the plantation. Your brother needs a haircut.”
There is more to her offer than she’s saying. Call me a shitty sister, but some relaxation and breathing might be heaven. Besides, if there is one person in this town who might be a match for my brother it’s Asia DeMarco.
But theirs is a story for another day…
The End
Spice Up Your Life
Love in Seven Mile Forge #3
Copyright Billie Dale 2020
One
Music is who I am. From the first second I heard music and watched the notes dance in vibrant color before my eyes, I never wanted to live in a world it didn’t.
Six months ago, my twin sister vanished along with my best friend’s six-year-old son. Our schoolmate, Creeden Jones, had kidnapped her. Guess he’d been stalking her since the day she packed up to leave our small town of Seven Mile Forge. It was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. The second I figured out where she was, I rented a boat and took off.
We’d been doing the whole destination wedding thing for our other friends, Sammy Lee and Mazric. Creeden imprisoned Preslee in one of the many caves spread throughout the island. He wasn’t a sizeable man; I thought I could take him. For her I’d die trying.
Turns out I made it worse. Got shot in the side and thanks to rash decisions a slight cave-in turned my world silent. The major injuries healed, except for my hearing. Brain swelling and eardrum damage stole my lights. They saved Preslee and Cash, no thanks to me, but the extent of my damage is indeterminate. A whole shit ton of medical mumbo crap with no definitive cure or answers.
Will I ever hear again? The injury is tenuous and the doctors are hopeful but uncertain. I’ve become a bastard to be around. While I wouldn’t change my choice, I’d execute it differently. Preslee is safe and married to the man she loves. It’d destroy her to lose me, but I wish I’d died in that cave.
The first month home my girlfriend, Anna Beth Tucker, tried to lift my spirits. She hid her worry and sadness under layers of chipper. As an advertising executive, she’d show me her layouts and joke about crazy slogans via text message, of course, because I kicked my sign language teacher to the curb. Barton Poe hangs out daily teaching Preslee and me, in theory, how to converse with our hands. Why bother when I can write, text, or hell, my voice still works. I can’t hear it, but when I scream people react.
Months later my beast mode left beautiful Anna Beth with dark rings under her pale eyes and a permanent frown on her lips. My daily gift to her is tears.
After I chased off Barton, the physical therapists forcing me to my feet were next. More physician suggestions. Supposedly, the numbness leaving my left side hanging is for sure temporary. Determination and work will make me stand like a man again. Too bad I don’t have a fuck all left to give for any of it.
Yes, I’m a whiny bitch. Boo hoo, poor Hendrix is still breathing. Well, fuck you too.
I’ve faced multiple disappointments over the course of my twenty-six years on this earth. My parents, while great humanitarians aren’t the there kind of Mom and Dad. They sent us to live with our nona, Gayle, first thinking she’d help foster my music since she lived in New York. Wrong so wrong. Next, they shipped us to Seven Mile Forge to live in big old Southern plantation owned by my bohemian, hippy-dippy aunt, Vivianne.
Small-town horrible didn’t work for me but home tutoring did. My grandmother paid for the best private teachers. Preslee kept me from closing down by being her naturally bubbly self. Her friends became my friends. Samantha Gentry is the mathematical version of myself. I fell ass over elbows for her and her big brain. Pined for her, helped her raise her daughter, all while she loved Mazric Vortex.
Theirs is another story but suffice to say one alcohol-fueled night proved kissing her was akin to planting one on my sister. Not good. So not good.
Women come and go. I turned my focus to my music. Money kept rolling in from the multiple movie soundtracks I wrote, but my actual goal was performing. I’d never tell Samantha but I stuck it all on the back burner to be there for her when she was pregnant and raising Mazzy Jae by herself.
She got her happy ever after, Preslee returned and her heart healed, thanks to my now brother-in-law, Joey Holmes. Again, a true love story for the decades. Before the incident, I’d set the wheels in motion to chase my dream.
No one knew I’d composed my last score. Before traveling to Bermuda, I finished working with the producer of the next big action flick. Nona Gayle built me a studio in the basement. Thanks to my connections, I had a record company on the line waiting for my first demo.
One blow to the head from a pile of moss-covered rubble and poof, it all farts off in the wind. Another win in the Creeden was a psycho column.
I breathe deep through my nose, inhaling my own stink. Greasy strands of hair hang over my eyes and my teeth are growing fur.
Hmmm…there’s a hot bod image for you. Wanna hump my leg yet?
“FUCK!” I yell or I think I do. My lips part, air escapes; my vocal cords vibrate, but hell if I know if anything actually came out.
I sit in the dark, hunched over in my wheelchair. Tapping a soundless rhythm on my thigh. A searing stab slices through my brain, bouncing from my eyes to the back of my skull before rebounding and settling in the center. A searing dagger through the top of my head. Hands fisting my hair, I rock back and forth, wordlessly begging the agony to stop.
A needle pokes into my skin. I jolt seething out a hiss. With nothing more than the light from hall, I see a glass of water and a hand holding two pills. My response is a petulant cold shoulder. She sets down the glass, grabs my jaw, using some sort of pressure point jab she pries open my lips, pours in the pills, using her now free hand to reclaim the water and dump it down my throat.
While effective it also splashes down the front of my formerly white tee. It was clean three…four…no six…fuck it, when I slipped it on. The water rinses a clearing path down my chest showing how disgusting I’ve become.
She releases her hold. I swallow, cringing from the chalky pill taste. Thanks to the shot the searing burn in my brain hedges to a dull scorch. When the other meds kick in, they’ll devour the rest of pain but they come with a sleep-inducing price.
The lamp in the corner switches on. My eyes squint closed as I recoil like a snake. She taps my shoulder; I play opossum. This tactic works on everyone but my sister. Fragile egos of those pesky, helpful types can’t handle rejection nor do they want to further my discomfort. Her body heat remains so close I can feel it through my grungy sweatpants.
Small fingers grab my nipple through my shirt, twisting it hard. I wheel backward gasping what I’m sure is a girly squeal. Eyes open wide, I see Asia DeMarco looming in front of me. Her hand moving with rapid motion so fast, even if I understood how to sign, I’m not sure I could keep up. I flip her off in response, pointing to my phone or whiteboard.
Yellow light from the lamp surrounds her in a halo, turning her hair to spun gold. She cocks a hand on her hip, giving me a disgusted glare before grabbing the dry-erase marker.
I’m here to cut your hair.
My hand scribbles fast. Not happening. Go away.
She waves the same message again. I flip her off with both fingers this time. Her lips tilt up on one side before she mouths what I think is okay before she leaves.
Wow. Got rid of her easily. I’m mid-pat myself on the back for climbing higher in ranks for the king of douchery when a bucket of lukewarm water pours over my head.
Acknowledgements
The world became a scary crazy place from the time I began Preslee and Joey’s story until the day I typed The End. Many rough months where I wondered if the words would ever find me again. While we aren’t out of the woods yet I see better days coming.
Thank you to all the readers who fell in love with Mazric and Sammy Lee so much they couldn’t wait discover Preslee and Joey’s love.
Cassy Roop with Pink Ink Designs, you are a master at giving vibrant life to a story with the genius of your cover creation.
Karen Hrdlicka you are the queen of taking my scattered ramblings and making them grammatically correct. I cherish you as my editor and friend.
Enticing Journey promotions rocked the cover reveal and blog tour. DSF PR Services I hope we work together more in the future. Xpresso Book Tours, it’s been a pleasure.
To all my ARC readers, Booksprout followers and bloggers…thank you for taking a chance on J & P. Thank you Anjelica Grace for taking a chance and beta reading. Beth Suit, I’m always forever grateful when you help me with my words.
As always, much love to my hubs and kids. They inspire every word I write.
TO THE READERS – THANK YOU!
To anyone else who worked to bring this baby to life and I’m too scatter brained to remember…my ultimate gratitude.
May 2021 be a better year for all of us.
About the Author
Billie Dale lives in no-where middle earth. Lost in a small village in the Midwest with four kids, three animals and an amazing, word inspiring book boyfriend worthy husband.
A blogger by nature and a writer because she got tired of arguing with the voices in her head. She loves and lives the words on the page, whether writing them or reading them her life is consumed by the worlds her head creates.
Her greatest wish is that readers will fall in love with her words as much as she loves writing them and as much as she loves reading others. She loves to create new worlds to explore and loves to write words that will take root in your soul.
Paranormal, New Adult, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary — there is not one box she fits in. She’s a rebel in the author world who writes what her head tells her even it jumps from genre to genre.
Follow Billie Here:
NEWSLETTER | INSTAGRAM | FACEBOOK | READERS GROUP | BOOKBUB | WEB PAGE