by L. P. Dover
Rolling off of him, I jumped off the bed and went straight to the shower. North Carolina was so different from Maine. You could walk outside and be drenched in sweat in a matter of minutes. The humidity was worse than in Vegas.
I missed my uncle and the B&B, but Jason’s friends had turned into my family. Diane constantly sent me presents and even came out to visit a couple of times. She loved Charlotte so much, she decided to open up a store, giving me free access to anything I would want. If I didn’t take anything, she made sure to send me a package along with a letter, scolding me.
Once out of the shower, I picked out one of my many sundresses and slipped it on. The next thing I knew, Jason barreled up the steps and rushed into the room. “We have to go, now.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” I raced down the stairs after him.
“Something bad happened at Second Street. I got a call saying they needed backup.”
I froze and looked down at my dress. “I can’t go in this. Let me change really fast.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door. “No time. I got your gun and badge, that’s all you need.”
We jumped in his car and sped out of the driveway. “Who called you?”
“One of the guys from the PD. Apparently, it’s something they can’t handle.”
“That makes no sense. They’ve handled plenty of cases without you. Besides, don’t they know we’re on vacation?”
He scoffed. “Like they care. Whatever it is, we’ll get it handled and have the rest of the night to ourselves.”
One thing I’d learned about Jason was that he was completely dedicated to the force and to solving crimes. It was one of the things I loved about him. After I moved, the bureau transferred me to another government lab based in Charlotte where I could continue to experiment. The serum turned out to be a huge success and the bureau wanted me to come up with a truth serum for interrogations. I couldn’t wait to get started. When we pulled up to the Second Street Bar, there were police cars everywhere.
“Holy shit, what in the world’s going on?” I exclaimed.
Jason slammed on his brakes and jumped out of the car. “I don’t know, but I’m going in.”
“Dammit, wait on me!” Gun in hand, I jumped out of the car and rushed inside, only to come to a freezing halt.
“Somebody might want to take her gun before she turns it on Avery,” someone yelled. The crowd bellowed.
Looking around, I found Jason standing in the middle of the crowd with a mischievous smile splayed across his lips. Everyone was there, including my uncle, Diane, and even Adrian with his fiancé.
Luke, Jason’s best friend, walked up to me cautiously. I had the pleasure of meeting him the day Jason brought me to Charlotte. He was definitely a ladies man with his charming smile and tousled blond hair. “Mind if I take your gun? I don’t want you shooting my best friend.”
I gave it to him and glanced at the people around the room before focusing on Jason.
Stepping forward, he took my hand. “Come on.” He hopped up on a table and pulled me with him.
“Jason, what are you doing?”
The crowd gathered around and Diane was crying when I looked at her. What the hell was going on? Jason held up his hand and waved the crowd to silence. “Everyone, if I could have your attention. As you all know, this lovely firecracker has been here with me for six months now. I know that might not seem like a long time to some, but what we’ve been through surmounts any length of time. She started off as a pain in my ass—”
“Hey, look who’s talking,” I griped, smacking him on the arm; everyone laughed.
He pulled me close and kissed me. “Okay, so we were both pain in the asses. What I’m trying to say is, you’re my partner in more ways than one. I’ve trusted you with my life and you’ve never let me down. With that being said,” he murmured, getting on one knee. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shimmering diamond ring.
Gasping, I smacked a hand over my mouth. “Oh my goodness.”
Sliding the ring on my finger, he kept his green gaze on mine. “I love you, Aylee McFadden. I may drive you insane sometimes, but I hope you can see past my faults and go on this next adventure with me. Please say you’ll marry me.”
I pulled him up and jumped in his arms. “Yes!” I cried. The crowd cheered and I held him tight. “I love you so much.”
He chuckled. “You say that now, just wait until we’re eighty. You’ll probably kill me by then.”
“All right, you two, the fun isn’t over yet,” Diane called, waving her hands at us. “I have something to give you.”
Jason jumped down and helped me off the table, straight into my uncle’s arms. “I’m so happy for you, peanut. Promise me you’ll bring the grandbabies to visit.”
“Uncle G that’s not happening any time soon,” I laughed.
Diane ruffled my hair and whispered in my ear, “I’m sure it’ll happen sooner than you expect. Hopefully, they’ll take after their mother.”
“I heard that,” Jason grumbled.
She smiled at us both. “I have you both an engagement present. I know you’re taking some time off, so it’ll be perfect timing.” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a large envelope and handed it to me.
When I opened it and took a look inside, my eyes started to burn. “Diane, this is amazing. I can’t believe you’d do this.” Inside the envelope was an all-expense paid trip to Ireland.
“You’ve told me how you wanted to connect with your mother’s relatives, so I thought it’d be the perfect present. You can see the land and visit your family. It’s so beautiful there.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I squeezed her tight and let go. “Thank you. This means a lot, really.”
“You’re welcome. You and Jason could use the vacation.”
“That we could,” he said, giving her a hug. “I thought she was going to kill me when I told her we got called in.”
Diane laughed. “I can imagine. I hope you two have fun. Make sure to take lots of pictures.” She winked at me and then joined her husband who was talking to a group of Carolina Cougars. Jason and his famous friends . . .
Putting his arms around my waist, he drew me into his body, placing his forehead to mine. “Are you happy?”
“Very.”
“Good, because there’s nothing I wouldn’t give or do to make you happy.”
I placed a finger on his lips. “I know, but the only thing I need is you. You’re the only thing in this world that’s going to make me happy. As long as you’re by my side there’s nothing else I’ll need.”
“You sure about that?”
I nodded. “It’s an oath. You have my body, heart, and soul. Loving you will be the ultimate adventure.”
“And loving you will be mine.”
Coming this August
ROPED IN
(An Armed & Dangerous Standalone novel)
Read other books by L. P. Dover
This thank you goes out to every single one of my readers and future ones. Without you, writing couldn’t be possible for me. Some people say that authors are their rockstars, but I think it is you who are the rockstars. Thank you for being awesome.
Also, I have to thank my husband for putting up with me. He has to deal with me when I get into my writing zone and I know that can’t be easy.
And of course, I can’t forget Kim Walker, the superpower PA. I swear she has the capability to do anything. I really do think she has powers. I would be lost without her.
Regina Wamba, is one amazing woman behind the camera. Thank you for making my photo shoot epic. You totally rocked the pictures and made an awesome cover out of them.
To my lovely editor, Victoria Schmitz, thank you for making my words shine. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
To one of my favorite authors and friend, Heidi McLaughlin, thank you for always being there for me. I look forward to our future projects. Also, I owe you big time for lending me your lovely helpers:
Kelli, Veronica, Amy, Tammy, and Audrey. They have been such a huge help.
Lastly, I want to say thank you to the handsome model on the cover, Josh McCann. He did a great job being my Jason Avery.
NEW YORK TIMES and USA Today Bestselling author, L.P. Dover, is a southern belle residing in North Carolina along with her husband and two beautiful girls. Before she even began her literary journey she worked in Periodontics enjoying the wonderment of dental surgeries.
Not only does she love to write, but she loves to play tennis, go on mountain hikes, white water rafting, and you can’t forget the passion for singing. Her two number one fans expect a concert each and every night before bedtime and those songs usually consist of Christmas carols.
Aside from being a wife and mother, L.P. Dover has written over seventeen novels including her Forever Fae series, the Second Chances series, and her standalone novel, Love, Lies, and Deception. Her favorite genre to read is romantic suspense and she also loves writing it. However, if she had to choose a setting to live in it would have to be with her faeries in the Land of the Fae.
L.P. Dover is represented by Marisa Corvisiero of Corvisiero Literary Agency.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written consent from the author.
No Limit
L.P. Dover
Copyright 2015 by L.P. Dover
Editor: Victoria Schmitz at Crimson Tide Editorial
Cover Design by: Regina Wamba
Model: Josh McCann
Interior designed & formatted by:
www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com
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EACH STEP I TAKE IS PAINFUL. Not in the sense that I’ve been physically injured—unless you can count my heart being torn out and ripped to shreds, twice, as being physically hurt—but in the sense that my body aches with any type of movement. I’m sore all over from too much crying and a lack of eating. Withering away to nothing, as my best friend, Lois has been saying for the past two weeks.
The fact that it’s been two weeks since my life has been turned upside down flipped inside out and run through the ringer stops me mid-step. Lois smashes into my back, no doubt looking at her phone, texting someone she shouldn’t be and meddling in my affairs. Even though I love her, I want her to stop. I want to wake up from this nightmare and have my life go back to the way it was six years ago.
Lois places her hand on my back, urging me silently to take the next step, and the next one and the next one after that. She’s been my rock for as long as I can remember, and surprisingly there was a time when I didn’t need her as much, but that’s all changed.
At the top of the staircase sits a table with a small bouquet of freshly picked flowers, a nice touch to the drab location. When Lois pulled in front of the building, I recoiled in my seat. The brick building, old and worn with age, shows no sign of being welcoming. The sidewalk is cracked and weeds grow in between the slabs. The only saving grace is the park across the street, and while it’s empty, it looks inviting, if not a place to escape.
Lois opens the door before I can raise my hand to knock. She’s impatient with me and I understand why. I know deep down she’s afraid I’m going to turn and run. Believe me the thought has crossed my mind a time or two. I know it’s not the answer, but it makes the most sense. If I can’t be found, I can’t be hurt, and I’ve had far too much hurt in my life to last me until my last breath. With her hand on my back, she gives me a gentle nudge to step into the office. The woman behind the glass wall looks up briefly and gives us a half smile. She probably feels the same way I do about the building. It’s lacking in life, much like I am right now.
After giving her my name, I sit down next to Lois. Her face is now stuffed in a magazine, and she’s ignoring me. This is her idea of tough love. I’ve been down this path with her before so I know what to expect. You’d think by now I’d be a pro and can deal with whatever is thrown my way, but I’m not. It seems that every few years my idea of happiness turns into a weak excuse for life.
My name is called, and I’m directed through an open door. The room I step into is lackluster and cold. I cross my arms to ward off an impending shiver and chastise Lois for making me wear a dress today. My cardigan is resting in the backseat of her car when it should be on my shoulders.
“Good morning. What’s your name?”
It’s in the chart on your desk, I want to yell out, but refrain. Lois would likely hear me and scold me like a child. I’d take it though because she’d be right. The lady behind the desk doesn’t ask me to sit down or guide me to the chair or couch in her office. She doesn’t even look at me. This meeting is feeling a bit too impersonal for my taste, and as I reach for the door, I hear her clear her throat.
“Ryley, I like to ask my patients to say their names so that their identities aren’t forgotten when we start discussing why you’re here.”
It makes sense, I think. I opt to sit on the couch, but only on the edge. I don’t want to be comfortable or complacent.
“Ryley Clarke,” I answer, letting my name flow easily from my lips.
“Tell me, Ryley, what brings you in today?”
Of course she wastes no time punching me in the gut. If it weren’t figuratively, I’d flinch and let her know that it’s not okay to hit, but instead I straighten my back and ponder the question that seems to have brought me to this point in my life. A point where I’m required, no begged, to enter therapy to help figure out the rest of my life. Maybe not even the rest, but the next step. Either step I take leads me down a path of love, pain and irreparable hurt.
Most importantly, I don’t want to be here. I don’t think talking to a third party with a psyche degree is the answer. Sadly, I’m the only one who feels that way. I’ve been told therapy will help, but I’m not so sure it will. You can’t fix something that has been destroyed for years. We aren’t a family of teddy bears with missing eyes or ears that can be sewn back on making us look somewhat new. We’re a damaged bunch, destined for nothing but heartache.
I pick at the threadbare couch that I chose to sit on. It looked more comfortable than the chair in front of her. It’s royal blue, or at least it used to be. I think at one time it was probably soft, plush and very comfortable, and people didn’t have a problem lying back, closing their eyes and letting all their worries flow from their mouths. You would think that with the many people that come through the door, a new couch could be purchased. I may be wrong in my assumption. I likely am. This couch holds secrets that no one ever wants out, and it’s about to know mine too. Maybe that’s why she keeps it this way.
“Why am I here today?” the words are a whisper on my lips. I can barely hear them myself and know she can’t hear me. Clearing my throat, I keep my eyes downcast and away from her face. The last thing I want is for her to see the pain in my eyes. That’s for me and me al
one when I stare in the mirror, asking myself how and why.
“I’m here so you can fix… this.” The words are bitter and angry. I spread my arms out wide, and my knuckles scrape the side of the worn out armrest. I pull my right hand to me, examining my fingers for any signs of damage. A sliver maybe, something to cause pain, anything to make me feel. I have nothing.
I lean forward, determined not to cry. I don’t know why I’m here. I healed. I moved on. We moved on. Life was good, not better, but manageable. We were happy. We laughed and loved and we missed him terribly, but we woke up each day determined to make a new happy memory. But then life—no, I take that back—the military made that all change.
If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d say this was all planned, but honestly, what do they care about my life? Nothing, that’s for damn sure. They don’t care that they’ve ruined the last six years of my life because of some clerical error. “Sorry,” is all they could be bothered to say.
They’re sorry.
I realize now that I’ve spoken, the floodgates are open, and I can’t get my words out fast enough. She, the one who sits behind a desk taking notes, doesn’t have a clue as to what I’ve been through, but I’m about to tell her.
“I don’t know why I’m here. I’m not sure a session or a million sessions can fix my life right now. People have told me that time heals all wounds, but they’re full of shit. I think when that saying was coined, they meant a scratch or a bump, not a hole in the middle of your chest that you’d have to put back together piece by piece. A hole so big that when you breathe in, it burns and makes you ache all over. One that makes you beg for someone to show you mercy, even if no one will because they all feel the same way as you. And was I ever really healed, or did I wake-up one morning and decide that I needed to move on?”
“It does take time to heal, Ryley, and everyone has to do it at their own pace.”