by Tessa Marie
“Homerun,” Brady says in his tiny voice, me and Hailey face each other our mouths open as if he just figured out the answer to life.
“That’s right, homerun. We won.”
“Won,” he says and I look to Hailey once again. This time my mouth is shut, a smile settling on my face. I draw her into me, our lips instantly finding each other as if they know where they belong. The smell of apples overwhelms my senses, a scent I can never get sick of. Slowly, I pull away, locking eyes with her before kissing her on the nose.
I turn to Brady, taking him from Hailey and holding him up high. “That’s right, little man, we won.”
THE END
First off, I want to thank my readers. Your support and enthusiasm makes this crazy ride the best one I’ve ever been on. So thank you.
Cassie Mae, this was one of those books that had me questioning every little detail, brought out all of my insecurities and to be honest scared the crap out me. You, however, had faith in it from the start and your encouragement and unwavering support made this book possible. Thanks for all the phone calls and Facebook chats. I owe you cheesecake.
Suzi Retzlaff, I can always count on your fabulous editing skills. I appreciate all 1024 comments you had. Beyond your skills you’re an awesome friend and I value that.
Kelley Gershke, you read one of the very first versions of this book when we first met and I just need to say thank you for not running away then! And thank you for so willingly offering to read it again and offer me some priceless feedback. I really believe you’re Superwoman!
Rachel Schieffelbein, thank you for reading and helping get this story to where it is. Your insight helped more than words can convey. You’re the best. Oh! And thank you for photographing my cover and helping to bring my vision to life.
Mom, your honesty, even if it hurts at time, is something I appreciate. You never sugarcoat anything and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I seriously couldn’t do this without you.
Dad, thanks for telling me Mom doesn’t know what she’s talking about when she is honest to make me feel better. And then making me laugh when you tell me she heard you and you’re in trouble.
Eric, I’ve been on my computer so much the past few months and when I apologize and you ask me for what then tell me to get back to work, I swear my heart melts into a big drippy mess. It’s the silliest thing, but it shows me you understand and care about my dreams. Thank you for all the home cooked meals, for ignoring the clutter when I don’t have time to clean and for just being you. I love you
Ashley Blevins, thanks for giving me a deadline and forcing me to stick with it. This book would still be on my shelf if it wasn’t for you.
The Paolo Pretties, you guys are the best and now that this book is done, I hope to chat with you so much more!
Jessica Salyer, Jenny Morris, Lizzy Charles, Jennie Bennett, and Leigh Covington I can always count on you guys for a laugh, to lift me up and to share all the craziness that this writing world entails. Thanks for always being there!
Rachel Marks and the rest of the team at Mark My Words Book Publicity, you all are amazing and I appreciate all the effort in helping to spread the word about my books.
Allie Brennan, I gave you a photo and asked for a cover and you gave me a beautiful work of art. I can’t even express how much I love this cover. It is everything I wanted and more.
Tessa Marie lives in the same town she grew up in on Long Island, NY with her longtime boyfriend and their fish. Her debut novel (NEVER) AGAIN, a NA romance, released in Fall 2013 with Berkley (Penguin) and (ONCE) AGAIN released this summer under her real name, Theresa Paolo. She is also the coauthor of the Amazon bestseller KING SIZED BEDS AND HAPPY TRAILS and BEACH SIDE BEDS AND SANDY PATHS, a YA contemporary series. She has a hard time accepting the fact she’s nearing thirty, and uses her characters to relive the best and worst years of her life. She put her love of writing on hold while she received her Bachelor’s Degree in Marketing from Dowling College. When she’s not writing, she’s behind a camera, reading, or can be found on Twitter, Pinterest and Facebook.
More by Tessa Marie
Young Adult
Home is Where You Are
Prove Me Wrong (Thank you for reading!)
(Co-written with Becca Ann)
King Sized Beds and Happy Trails
Beach Side Beds and Sandy Paths
True Love and Magic Tricks
New Adult
(Under the name Theresa Paolo)
(Never) Again
(Once) Again
Excerpt from HOME IS WHERE YOU ARE
As I see it, the only thing worse than death is life. Maybe not everyone’s life. But mine is a lonely, sad existence with no point other than to survive another day.
I got lotto’d out at my chance for a warm meal and a cot in a place away from the elements. The wind kicks up as if to remind me I have no way to escape it. I tug my hoodie tight around my neck and scan my surroundings.
The blue sky is a faded memory as each day ends sooner and dark falls earlier. I need to find a home for the night. The train trestle is my best bet, but it’s on the other side of town. I sure as hell don’t feel like making the hike.
A row of woods line the YMCA so I decide to head there and set up camp. I find a nice clearing and put my backpack down, retrieving my towel from inside and placing it on the ground.
I take out the only thing I have of value, say a silent goodnight, and thenplace it back in my bag for safe keeping.
My eyes flutter shut and I think of the life I once had, the one where happiness existed. It was so long ago, and I’m afraid if I stop remembering, avoid replaying it in my mind, I’ll forget. And I can’t. It’s all I have left. It’s the only thing that makes my shitty life a little easier.
“Who the fuck are you?” A deep, raspy voice echoes around me and I jolt up. Every muscle in my body tenses, knowing trouble is just inches away. I take a calming breath to push my fear beneath the surface and slowly turn, holding my hands up in defense.
A tall man in ripped filthy jeans and a t-shirt that was once white, but now a grungy shade of gray, glares at me. He grinds his yellow teeth and narrows his beady black eyes.
“How dare you come in my woods,” he barks, spit flying across the space between us. I step back, but he unleashes his fury in one swift blow, and I crumple to the ground. Blood pours from my instantly split lip, and I suck in a jagged breath, bracing for another hit. He kicks the wind out of me with his steel-toe boot. Bile rises in my throat, and I push down the cinnamon raisin bagel I had for dinner.
“This is my turf, motherfucker,” the bastard growls. He reaches into my pocket and wrestles out my last two bucks. I twist away, but my attacker places his sole on my throat. One strong shove and my trachea will collapse. A part of me wishes he would. The pain won’t last forever. It couldn’t possibly be as bad as the shit I’ve felt over the past ten years.
Do it. Just do it.
Seventeen may be young to die, but I’m okay with it. When I suck in my last breath and my heart goes still…I’ll finally be reunited with my parents.
Please.
I squeeze my eyes shut and think of my parents, but no matter how hard I concentrate on their faces, I keep seeing someone else’s.
My parents might be dead, but my sister isn’t. I promised myself the day the social workers ripped her from me I’d find her.
With a deep breath I prepare to fling the guy’s foot off me, but I don’t have to. He removes his boot from my throat and rips open my backpack. Before I can see what he’s taking, my surroundings dim, and the darkness consumes me.
***
Sun shines through my window. I grab for my pillow to block out the light but come up empty handed. There’s only one explanation—Josie, my pain in the ass little sister.
She needs to get over this monster bullshit. I roll over, and pain shoots through my gut, a scream erupts from my mouth, and my eyes pop open. Panic settles in as I realize it wa
s just a memory, and I’m lying on the cold ground in a pool of my own blood. Slowly, bits and pieces of last night come back to me.
My backpack.
Shit.
I jump up, ignoring the searing pain in my ribs. My eyes flick from side to side, a damn ping pong match going on in my mind. I dive to my right where my black t-shirt sprawls across a pile of leaves. I toss it aside, but nothing. I jump back up and spot my other shirt. I come to a skidding halt in front of it, reach down, and toss the shirt aside.
Please be here.
My heart plummets to the ground, and I go with it, letting my head fall between my knees. The only thing I had left of my family was in that bag—the last link to my sister.
And it’s gone.
I fight the burn in my throat and run a hand through my hair. I’ve been through nine foster homes in ten years and never lost sight of it. Ten years and in the matter of seconds it’s gone.
I shake my head, my eyes landing on a pile of brush to my right. My bag!
God, please let it be there. I fall to the ground and snatch the bag into my arms. My shaking fingers yank on the torn zipper, tugging, pulling, praying he didn’t take the one thing I can’t replace. I rip back the plastic pocket. Relief floods into me, and I fall to my ass. I take the picture of my family and press it against my heart. The burn in my throat is impossible to fight and spreads, but I manage to swallow it down.
I hug the picture as if my family is really here and not trapped in a moment of time.
Seconds turn into minutes before my head clears and the painful memories fade. I count my single blessing, and with one last glance at a life I will never have again, I place the picture back in its protected place.
The bastard took my blanket, but at least he left my towel and clothes. Two outfits, not a lot, but it’s better than nothing.
I shoulder my backpack and get up. Hot searing pain stabs at my ribs. Shithead totally sucker-punched me. I’m just shy of six feet, but he was bigger.
Should’ve just gone to the damn train trestle. I let my guard down for three lousy seconds. I swear this is the last time I wind up motionless in the dirt, blood dripping into the ground marking my attackers so-called territory.
A laugh rumbles up my throat at the irony then I tug my hood over my head, pulling the strings tight.
My body rejects any and all movement, but I force myself to get as far away from these woods as possible. During the day, the library is my safe haven, so I head there. Heat and a bathroom sound like heaven right now, and for a few hours I can get lost in a book and forget about life on the outside.
My stomach growls, but with my empty pockets, there’s nothing I can do about it. The glass door slides open as I approach the library, and I step inside.
The woman at the desk peers over her glasses at me, her light eyes widening slightly. I pull my hood tighter and hurry to the bathroom.
“Excuse me, young man,” the woman says as I pass. My first instinct is to ignore her and keep walking, but I can’t make her suspicious and chance losing my safe haven.
I turn, praying to God I don’t look as crappy as I feel. The woman sucks in a startled breath which only means I look worse than I thought.
“Are you okay? What happened? Do you need me to call someone?”
Emptiness fills my heart and rips at my soul. I focus on coming up with a believable story and ignore the fact that there’s no one to call.
“I misjudged the size of a curb and hit it wrong. Flew right over my handlebars. I’m sure it looks a lot worse than it is.”
“Maybe you should get checked out by a doctor,” she says, and reflexively my hands wave her suggestion away.
I’m a runaway, the last thing I need is to be found.
“Really I’m fine. Nothing a little soap and water can’t fix. Thanks for the concern,” I say and walk away before she can ask any more questions.
I almost don’t recognize my own reflection. Red splotches swirl with purple and blue just beneath my eye. Dirt and grime smear across my cheeks and remnants of leaves stick to my hair.
I inhale deep and instantly regret it as pain slices its way across my sides. I bite back the scream clawing its way up my throat and remove my hoodie. Dried blood outlines my jaw and dirt is caked in my hair. I clean myself up then take my spot in the farthest corner amongst the history books.
My stomach makes more noise, and I remind myself the soup kitchen will be open for the season in a few days. I can hold out till then. I’ve done it before.
***End of Excerpt***