Twist (Beekman Hills)

by K. C. Enders

  An outrageous smile stretches across my face as Adelaide makes her way through the door. The air stills as she searches the dark interior, looking a little unsure until her eyes adjust and her gaze lands on Finn. The dramatic gobshite plants his hands on the bar top and hops over it to get to her, unwilling to wait the seconds it would take to walk the twenty or so feet.

  “So, you’re on board with the ladies.” He nods to the round table in the center of the room after taking in Adelaide’s #TeamFinn shirt.

  Adelaide shrugs and runs a finger across his own shirt emblazoned with #TeamAddie in pinks, greens, and blues. “I like this.” She looks up at him, her smile matching his. “So, this is it? This relationship is officially defined?”

  “It is,” he answers with just as much cheek.

  He pulls the tickets he bought for them to go to a concert in Kansas City from his pocket. The same tickets that she has in a packet for him.

  These two are meant for each other as much as Aidan and Lis are. Gracyn will find her man when she stops trying to hide from the truth of who she is.

  All in all, these people are my family. My boys and their ladies, my girls and their men.

  Sometimes, you hold tight to the secrets that need to be kept.

  For love. For life. For the best.

  Acknowledgments

  Twist was never supposed to be a thing. I had no intention of writing Finn’s story, he was just a side character. Sweet and goofy, loyal and protective, but just out for a good time. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But sometimes life takes a left turn and you need something light and fun to take your mind off the serious life changes going on in your world. This little project provided me with a break, the laughter and goofiness I needed more than anything. For that, I will forever be grateful to my friend, Finn.

  I just hope I didn’t ruin things at McBride’s! Once a flirt, always a flirt, so, ladies, don’t stop teasing him—

  Christy Wallingford, without you, this would have never happened! You deserve the biggest thank you there is for this. You held my hand, patted my head, brainstormed, laughed, and snorted with me for countless hours through this crazy little side project and brought Finn to life.

  Marisol Scott and Kate Spitzer, thank you for reading, laughing, and adding to the ridiculousness of Finn. The idea started with a comment in McBride’s and grew and grew until it couldn’t be contained. Thank you for all of your amazing support.

  Boy #1 and the infamous Sparky, thank you for having those cheesy pickup lines at the ready. Boy #1 and I were chatting at our taproom—Cinder Block Brewery, the picture is on the back—and I mentioned needing more pickup lines. He whipped out his phone, texted his friend Sparky and the response was so fast, my head spun! Thank you, love. I hope they work better for you than they did for Finn! ...maybe Sparky needs a book…

  Boy #2, your time is coming. Ideas are being discussed.

  Lynsey Stewart, once again...this is all you. Your words, your encouragement gave me what I needed to try this writing thing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

  Kate Farlow, thank you for one of the funniest graphics ever!

  Jodie Larson, I did it again...mentioned your band, Lightning Strikes. They play a much bigger part in the next story, the one that was supposed to be done here. If you’re wondering, Jodie has a series centered around a band from Kansas City. I love them and have included a taste of the first book Serenading the Shadows. You have got to check them out!

  Thank you to the ladies of McBride’s who can’t seem to wait to get their hands on Finn, your support and enthusiasm has been AMAZING!

  And to my Tribe— Jiff, Jenny Kate and Heather, my author friends, the bloggers and readers who always go above and beyond in encouragement, support, and promotion, THANK YOU! You all make me life so full.

  About the Author

  Karin is a New York Girl living in a Midwest world.

  A connoisseur of great words, fine bourbon, and strong coffee, she’s married to the love of her life who is also her best friend. The mother of two grown men, she is proud to say that they can cook, open car doors for the ladies, and clean up after themselves (you’re welcome, world). Even though her boys no longer live at home, the three dogs she’s rescued have taken up their empty space.

  Connect with her on Social Media:

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kcewrites/

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorkcenders/

  BookBub: http://bit.ly/bookbubkce

  Amazon: http://amzn.to/2yinoie

  Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2FnL4sj

  Book and Main Bites @kcenders

  And join the shenanigans in her reader group:

  McBride’s on Main

  Serenading the Shadows Sneak Peek

  By Jodie Larson

  PROLOGUE

  “Why? I don’t understand what the big deal is. Can’t you just move it so I can go out and live my life?”

  Another crack of lightning illuminates the sky. The responding thunder rumbles in the background as the torrent of rain falls upon the ground. The cold, bitter wind howls against the glass as it presses forward, matching the mood inside the car.

  “The big deal? Adrienne, you’re sixteen years old. There is no way we’re going to let you go to an overnight concert two hours away with that boy,” Mom says from the front passenger seat.

  That boy? Ugh, why does she have to say it like he’s a disease? Just because Brian isn’t from our side of town doesn’t mean he’s not good enough. Sure, he dresses in nothing but baggy jeans and leather jackets, but he listens to me, treats me like a human and not a piano playing robot. In fact, half the time we’re able to sneak away together, the piano never comes into the conversation. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not with him. I can just be me, whoever that is. Most days I’m not even sure anymore.

  “You know how important this weekend is to your career. You need to be there,” Dad adds.

  I let out a frustrated groan and stomp my foot. “No! I’m sick and tired of playing on your schedule. You’re always trying to run my life. When do I get to have a say in what I do, or where I go, and when I play?” I run a hand through my hair, yanking at the roots. “You know what? Maybe I’ll give up the piano altogether just so I can be a normal teenager for once in my life!”

  Playing the piano has been my world since I first crawled onto the bench at the age of three. My fingers hit the keys and played a simple melody: Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I had listened and watched my mother play it so many times I knew exactly what to do. That’s when my life, my freedom to choose, ended. Piano lessons, performances, traveling concerts, scholarships to private schools to work on my music, voice lessons, and anything else related to better my ability. Not once have I been able to go out on a Friday with friends. Those nights were dedicated to showing everyone that the local piano prodigy is going to make a name for herself.

  “Sweetie, you have the rest of your life to do what you want. What we’re doing now is helping you succeed for the future. You have a gift, and it shouldn’t be wasted,” she says. “Trust me, Adrienne, you’ll thank us later. Besides, it’s only for a few more years.” She turns and pats my leg. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the orchestra asks you to play with them for the new season.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to play with the orchestra. Maybe I want to do something for myself.” I can feel the heat crawl up my neck the more this conversation doesn’t go my way. Time for the kill. “You can’t live your life through me. Eventually, you’re going to have to deal with the fact that you’re a washed up nobody who can’t play the piano anymore, Mom.”

  A twinge of pain hits me as I watch my mom’s face fall from the sharpness of my words. It’s not like I’m asking for much. One weekend of normalcy is all. That shouldn’t be too much to ask for.

  “Adrienne, you’re not going, and that’s final. You will go to this performance, and you will play the piano. And when they offer you the seat with t
he orchestra, you will accept.” The scowl Dad gives me in the rearview mirror almost makes me shrink back in my seat. “We are done talking about this. It’s what’s best for your future,” he says with the utmost finality in his voice.

  I lift my face to the ceiling and let out a frustrated yell. “You don’t understand! I hate you! I hate you both! I’m nearly an adult. I should be making decisions about my life!”

  Angry bolts of lightning flash across the sky, creating a distraction from the deafening rain pelting the car. Within seconds, the car shakes and rocks with the roar of thunder and gusts of wind. Darkness surrounds us again as the sky opens up, releasing its fury.

  Suddenly, the car jerks and we float across the water on the road. Dad’s knuckles turn white before he corrects us. The wipers can barely keep up, making it nearly impossible to see.

  Dad turns his head to say something, only he never has the chance to speak.

  Mom clutches his shoulder, pulling at his shirt.

  Everything moves in slow motion. Scenes flash before my eyes. Blinding white lights pour in from the oncoming vehicle. Our screams echo in my ears as I brace for impact.

  And then there’s nothing.

  No sound.

  No lights.

  Nothing.

  I don’t know where I am or how much time has passed. Faint voices sound above me, while machines beep in the background. I can’t move. I can only listen to what the voices are saying.

  “We need to get her to an OR, stat,” a man says.

  “How’s her pressure?” someone else asks.

  “Eighty over forty.” The woman’s voice grows fainter as the darkness threatens to pull me under again.

  “Now, people, move it! We’re going to lose her.”

  I want to move, but nothing works. I want to cry, to scream, to ask what happened, but I have no voice. Something’s wrong. Why won’t my body respond?

  Sounds fade in and out, the voices and machines are a constant now, the only reminders I’m still here.

  “She’s stable now,” a familiar masculine voice says. “She’ll need to stay here in ICU for a while, though. How’s her family?”

  “Died on impact,” another voice says. “They never had a chance. She was lucky she was in the back seat.”

  Darkness.

  Quiet.

  Alone.

  It’s what I wanted.

  It’s what I asked for.

  I guess what they say is true.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Find Serenading the Shadows on Amazon!

  Troubles Sneak Peek

  By KC Enders

  CHAPTER 1

  Lis

  Orphan.

  Origin: Late Middle English (noun)-Late Latin orphanus destitute, without parents.

  I’m an orphan.

  It’s an unofficial designation, but it fits. I’m broke as hell putting myself through college, and that’s close enough to destitute.

  The “without parents” part is tricky. They’re both alive. They even live in the same small New York town as me; we just don’t interact. At all—no phone calls, no dinners together.

  Nothing.

  Cutting them out of my life was not an easy choice until it was. Cut ties, or let them drag me down. If I didn’t have Gracyn as my roommate, I don’t know what I’d do.

  I scoop another handful of ice into the blender and hold the lid in place. Flipping the switch, I watch as the whiskey blends with the lemonade. When the ice is a slushed perfectly sassy pink, I pour the whiskey sours into tall glasses, adding straws and a couple whiskey-soaked cherries. My nana taught me to make these before I hit double digits. Told me it was her “secret” recipe. I don’t know that it’s any great secret, but it’s perfect every damn time.

  The sound of the blender is replaced by the whir of Gracyn’s hairdryer as I take the handful of steps down the hall to our bathroom. I squeeze between where she’s leaning against the vanity and the tub, knocking into her as I pass and hand her a whiskey sour hoping for a distraction.

  I shove my arms up into the front of my new tee shirt and pull it away from my body, needing to stretch it out over my boobs a little. Gracyn bought us matching shirts for St. Patrick’s Day and, of course, she bought a size smaller than I would have.

  “What are you doing?” She slams her glass down and smacks at my hands. “That shirt fits you perfectly. Leave it alone.”

  “Gracyn,” I whine, “we’re just going to McBride’s. Why do you feel the need to pour me into this tiny thing?” I’m not proud of the whining, but I feel way too exposed.

  I prop my hands on my hips and face the mirror full-on. The thin green material stretches tight over the girls and the neckline scoops way lower than I’m comfortable with. Gracyn stares back at me, slurping from her glass.

  It’s fascinating, watching her brain freeze hit, twisting and contorting her features. I try to push down the laughter that bubbles up, but it’s not working.

  “Lis, you need to stop hiding your curves—use them, show them off. And for the love of God, promise me you’ll try and have fun tonight?”

  I settle myself on the side of the tub in our tiny bathroom while she finishes her smoky cat-eye. “It’s time for you to get back out there. Just a little bit. Maybe flirt a little—kiss someone tonight.” Gracyn waves her hands up and down the script on her shirt, like she’s presenting prizes on a game show. “Kiss me, I’m Irish-ish” is scrawled across our chests, highlighted with bright red kissy lips. The shirts are cute, but it would be so much better if the lips weren’t perfectly centered over my left boob.

  “There’s not going to be anyone new there. I’m pretty sure I’ve kissed everyone I needed to in this town.” It’s mostly true. Beekman Hills is nothing but a sleepy little college town about an hour outside New York City. Gracyn and I grew up here and sadly never left.

  McBride’s Public House is only a few blocks from our apartment and the walk down Main Street is cold. Our breaths trail behind us in white plumes. I pull my fleece tighter around me and pick up the pace. Most of the businesses along Main Street are closed for the night, but the scent of cinnamon and coffee still linger outside the coffee shop as we hurry past.

  The line to get into the pub winds around the white clapboard building that’s been here longer than I’ve been alive. College students and townies dressed in whatever green and plaid they could find—short skirts, ridiculous hats—and frat boys in kilts. All these people are in line, anxious to get their hands on cheap green beer and listen to a really bad Irish band.

  Gracyn and I scoot around the back of the building and push through the door into the kitchen. Francie McBride’s bright gaze peers up at us over an impossibly tall stack of plastic cups. He juts his cheek out around the tower precariously balanced in his hands for a quick kiss. “’Lo, love. Just gettin' in, are you?” His accent is extra thick tonight.

  Gracyn and I have not had to wait in a line here for years. Francie busted me when I was nineteen trying to drink with a fake ID. He sat talking to me for hours instead of calling the cops, taking me under his wing and eventually bought me my first legal drink. He’s been kind of a dad to me ever since. My own father couldn’t be bothered finding his way out of the bottom of a bottle.

  Gracyn pulls her jacket off over her head showing off her creation. “I bought us matching shirts for tonight and she didn’t want to wear it. It took some time to convince her.”

  “No, it took whiskey to convince me.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and shift uncomfortably.

  Francie steps back to look at us as I drop my jacket on a stack of boxes, eyes crinkling above the scruffy beard he’s had forever.

  “Let me help you take those out to Finn,” I say to try and move the conversation off my chest.

  “I’ve got these. Go and have a pint. Off with you, then.” Francie pushes past me, chuckling at our shirts, shaking his head. “Come on, then. I’ve a new lad at the bar tonight, make sure he treats
you right, yeah?”

  It’s tight, but following close behind we get through the chaos pretty quickly. At the scarred, deep oak bar Francie bumps Finn and throws a nod in our direction. Finn turns, his wide smile about splits his face as he makes his way over to us, pouring drinks and collecting money as he goes. He hops up leaning over the bar and lays a kiss on me.

  He thinks he’s the Irish Casanova, but the boy is too sweet to pull it off.

  “Finn, I need a pitcher and two cups,” I shout to him slapping ten dollars down on the bar.

  “And two shots of whiskey,” Gracyn yells throwing down another ten.

  Finn slides us our plastic cups before filling the pitcher. “Give us a kiss, Gracyn, and I’ll get it for you.” He’s already reaching for the bottle and a couple of shot glasses.

  Gracyn leans over the bar and Finn’s eyes go wide with surprise, spilling whiskey as he pours. He thinks he has a chance, but she’s a flirt, plain and simple, so the kiss Finn thinks he’s getting? Nothing more than a peck on the cheek.

  We down our shots and turn, taking in the crush of wall-to-wall bodies. There’s a tiny bit of open space by the pool tables, so I grab the pitcher and start making my way through—turning sideways, trying hard not to brush up against strangers. I breathe a sigh of relief when we’re through and fill our cups.

  The band in the corner launches into their next set, filling the old bar with strains of violin and lilting voices bouncing around the room.

  “Have you heard from them?” Gracyn leans in close, not so much for the noise level, but more to keep this conversation just between us.

  I take a drink of the crappy beer and shake my head.