She heard Samir’s voice, low and assured, as he spoke with a nurse or a midwife or someone. Yes, he said, they were trying to breastfeed, and yes, they had formula ready just in case, and no, Laura didn’t mind the blood, or the vernix that lingered on Bump’s skin like waxy chalk. They could wash it off later.
Samir came back as she lowered Bump to her breast. The baby snuffled around like a piglet, and she wondered what was supposed to happen now. Some people had trouble, the midwife had told her—it wasn’t always plain sailing. But the midwife had also told her to relax and let it happen, so with astonishingly little effort, Laura chilled the fuck out. Must be the magic air.
“Hey,” Samir said softly, his hand sliding over her hair.
She smiled weakly up at him, her muscles loose, as if the strings that controlled them had unravelled. Her eyes felt slightly blurry. “Hey yourself.”
“How do you feel?”
“I’m… I can’t believe I can be so thoroughly uncomfortable in every way, and happier than ever at the same time.”
He gave her one of those soul-shaking smiles, and somehow, impossibly, she became even happier. “You did good,” he said. “You did really fucking good. And Christ, I’m gonna have to stop swearing, aren’t I?”
“Yes, but you can have a pass for now.”
He chuckled even as he ran a single finger over Bump’s mucky little shoulder. “It’s amazing,” Samir whispered. “So amazing. That he was in there all this time, coming to life…”
“I know,” she whispered back. “Look at him! Look how pretty he is!”
Samir grinned, shaking his head. “Look how pretty you are.”
“Oh, shut up.” She shouldn’t be blushing. She was a mother. She had never been so mature in her life as she was now. She definitely shouldn’t be blushing.
He kissed her cheek. “I love you.”
Oh, God, was she blushing. “And I love you.”
“And I love Bump.”
“But he needs a better name,” Laura admitted sadly. She quite liked Bump, to be honest. “A proper name. Like… Fire.”
Samir rolled his eyes. “No.”
“With a ‘y’?”
“You say that like a ‘y’ makes it better.”
“You can’t say no to me! I just pushed out a whole baby.”
“True,” he admitted, his brow creasing into a frown. “Oh! Here’s an idea. Let’s call Ruth in. I’ll let her say no to you.”
She snorted, then winced as the laughter caused all kinds of uncomfortable twinges below her waist. That did not bode well.
But the midwife didn’t seem concerned about anything down there, and really, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not about the state of her nether regions, or the fact that she might be lying in her own blood right now, or even the sleepless nights ahead of her.
Laura couldn’t worry about a damn thing. Not with her son lying on her chest and the love of her life holding her hand.
Not when she’d stumbled headfirst into a happiness that she’d once thought she’d never deserve.
Epilogue
Twenty-one Years Later
“Phoenix Bianchi!”
They were supposed to hold their applause ’til the end of the ceremony. Samir should’ve known the twins would ignore that rule.
As their big brother took to the stage in his flowing, black robes, Willow and Sol gave a whoop so perfectly coordinated, it had to be pre-planned.
“Girls!” Laura whispered sharply.
At the iron in their mother’s grey gaze, the twins settled down. But that iron melted away like so much city snow when Samir caught his wife’s eye over their heads. She gave him a smile that showed every inch of her beaming pride, her pure, unadulterated happiness, and it hit him like an arrow to the heart.
So beautiful. She’d always been so beautiful. How had he gotten to be so blessed?
Usually, it took him forever to look away from Laura’s smile, from her round, pink cheeks and the creases that cradled her laughing eyes. But today he managed it in record time.
He couldn’t miss the sight of his son graduating, after all.
Phoenix shook the presiding officer’s hand, standing a head taller than the older man, his auburn hair aflame under the hall’s harsh yellow lights. Then, the scroll that symbolised his degree firmly in hand, he strode off the stage.
But not before taking a moment, the barest second, to look out into the crowd for his family. He caught Samir’s eye because, though Phoenix loved his mother, he was Samir’s boy first.
Samir nodded, knowing his son would understand. I am so proud of you. Almost too proud to bear.
Phoenix’s smile stretched wider, his cheeks plumping up like his mother’s. As if he’d never paused, he left the stage, those robes floating elegantly behind him.
Samir studied his family, the girls in dresses for once and sitting nicely, Laura grinning so wide she might burst. Sometimes he wished he could go back in time and tell his teenage self about this. That he could reassure the Samir who’d once been so full of rage he hadn’t trusted himself to speak. That he could say, One day you’ll be surrounded by people who love you. One day you’ll have children with Laura Albright, and marry her, and watch your babies become adults, and know that you’re capable of contentment, of family.
But he couldn’t time travel. He couldn’t tell himself that. And in the end, it didn’t matter.
Happiness had been one hell of a surprise.
THE END
Thank you for reading Damaged Goods. It would mean the world to me if you could share your thoughts about it on Amazon or Goodreads. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend.
Love,
Talia x
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Author’s Note
I didn’t intend to write this book. The Ravenswood series was supposed to be a trilogy… but then Laura Burne happened.
I knew from the start that Daniel’s wife would have to leave him, because Daniel, as we learned in A Girl Like Her, is a serial abuser and a piece of human excrement. I couldn’t stand to leave a woman—even an imaginary woman—trapped with him. What surprised me, though, was how many of you guys felt the same way. I got so many emails asking what would happen to Laura, how her story would turn out, if she’d get a HEA…
Well, of course, the answer was yes. I’m a romance writer, after all! But I’d planned to slot her HEA into other people’s books, as a sort of subplot. Then I realised that she deserved way more than that. Damaged Goods is the result.
As always, I want to put some helpful information below:
If you or someone you know is experiencing, or has experienced, intimate partner violence, I recommend the U.K. charity Women’s Aid. They are helpful, trustworthy and genuine.
You can visit their website at https://www.womensaid.org.uk or use their free, 24 hour helpline: 0808 2000 247.
I believe you.
Thank you so much for reading this book. It means a lot. Hannah’s story is on its way, I promise. But feel free to nudge me if you’re feeling impatient. ;-)
Love and biscuits,
Talia x
[P.S.: As you may know, my books typically feature black heroines. But I wrote Laura’s story anyway, because I owed her. When it comes to diversity, I frequently see white authors complain that getting into the head of a character of colour is too difficult for them. Now, while I’m a black woman, writing Laura didn’t blow my mind. Probably because she’s a human being, like all my other characters. I hope that helps.]
Giveaway
To celebrate the launch of Damaged Goods, I’m hosting a giveaway! Follow this link to be in with a chance to win exclusive Ravenswood swag. This giveaway ends on the 18th of June 2018, and three winners will be chosen at random. Good luck! https://goo.gl/forms/EXtFJHmHq3x
2esWa2
A Girl Like Her
Have you read Ruth and Evan’s story?
Everyone has secrets. He wants all of hers.
Meet the man next door…
After years of military service, Evan Miller wants a quiet life. The small town of Ravenswood seems perfect—until he stumbles upon a vicious web of lies with his new neighbour at its centre.
Ruth Kabbah is rude, awkward, and—according to everyone in town—bad news. Thing is, no-one will tell Evan why. Does she perform ritual sacrifices? Howl at the moon? Pour the milk before the tea? He has no clue.
But he desperately wants to find out. Because Ruth doesn’t seem evil to him; she seems lonely. And funny, and clumsy, and secretly quite sweet, and really f*%king beautiful…
The more Evan’s isolated, eccentric neighbour pushes him away, the more he wants her. Her—and all her secrets. Because there’s no way a girl like Ruth truly deserves the town’s scorn.
…Is there?
Read on for a sneak peek!
Sneak Peek
Chapter One
Ruth’s favourite place had always been her head.
Inside her mind, the sort of excitement she struggled to process in real life became accessible. She could slow it down and compartmentalise it, like a TV show she controlled utterly. And she could translate it, too. That was the best part.
Ruth’s stylus flew over the screen of her graphic tablet as she sketched out the story unfolding before her eyes. Not the eyes that saw light shining off the tablet’s pristine glass, but the eyes that saw entire worlds beyond this one.
She’d found the sweet spot. The zone. That precise point in time and space and possibility when a story began to flow like water, and the artist was able to keep up with the current.
In the peace of her shitty little flat, Ruth’s easily-shattered focus was, for once, razor-sharp.
Until the phone rang.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered. The sweet spot became sour. Ruth was thrust out of her own head and back into the real world, into herself. The image, the story, was left behind.
For a moment, Ruth looked down at the scene she’d just outlined. Lieutenant Lita Ara’wa glared at her captain, an 8-foot-tall, golden alien, from over a huge, living desk. The desk smelled and felt like Derbyshire peat, but that was a detail only Ruth would ever know. In a moment, Lita and her captain would commence rage-fuelled hate-sex on top of the Derbyshire peat desk.
Which, come to think of it, didn’t sound very hygienic. Maybe one of them should catch something…
Aaaaaand the goddamn phone was still ringing.
Its shrill chime threatened to snip the golden thread of Ruth’s idea—which could not be allowed to happen.
Chewing at her lower lip, Ruth thrust out a hand in the direction of her phone’s repeated chime. After a few unseeing, experimental gropes at her bed’s rumpled sheets, she came up empty-handed.
But the phone kept ringing, loud and clear. It had to be there somewhere.
Eyes still trained on the tablet, Ruth shuffled across her bed. Lita and the captain should definitely catch something, she decided. An unfamiliar Earth disease. What could one catch from Derbyshire peat? Frowning slightly at the image before her, Ruth reached out towards the space where—if muscle-memory and instinct served—a bedside table sat.
Muscle-memory and instinct did not serve.
In fact, not for the first time, they failed her completely. Ruth shuffled a bit too far, leaned a bit too hard, and fell right off the bed.
Again.
“Ah, fuck.” The cool, wooden floor of her bedroom was a familiar location, but that didn’t ease the sting in her hip and elbow.
Ruth stayed still for a breath, because serious pain usually waited a second to make itself known. Just as she decided that nothing was damaged, the blasted phone stopped ringing.
And, of course, in that precise moment, she spotted the bugger. It was on the floor, next to a nearby stack of Avengers comics. Exactly how it had gotten there, Ruth had no idea. Perhaps she’d thrown it.
With a sigh, she scrabbled over and grabbed the phone.
1 MISSED CALL: HANNAH
Oh. Any hopes of ignoring the call and returning to work evaporated. Rising to her feet, Ruth called her elder sister back.
“Hey,” Hannah answered. “You’re up.”
“Unfortunately.” Ruth pressed a hand to her belly as she stood. Sometime in the last few minutes, she’d become aware of a concerning, nauseous feeling low in her gut. She headed out into the hall, weaving expertly through her stacks of comics, and explained, “Inspiration struck.”
“Well, it’s good that you’re awake. I wish you’d get your sleep schedule on track.”
Sigh. Ruth had been gifted with a mother who did not nag. As part of the bargain, she’d been given an elder sister who did nothing but. “My sleep schedule is fine,” Ruth muttered, stepping into the bathroom. “I’m not one of your—” Of your toddlers, she’d been going to say. Because she was an insensitive, ungrateful cow. She swallowed the words and hoped they’d gone unnoticed.
“What time did you get up?” Hannah demanded. Thank God for dogged determination.
“About four.”
“In the afternoon?”
Ruth ignored the question, because the answer was obvious. She yanked down her pyjama bottoms and enormous granny knickers to find the expected splotches of blood staining their crotch. “Oh, dear,” she mumbled.
“Are you talking to yourself again?”
“Nope.” Ruth grabbed a box of tampons from the bathroom cabinet and found it quite tragically empty. “Shit.”
“You are talking to yourself,” Hannah insisted. “Oh, Ruthie. You really should get a cat.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ruth tucked the phone between her shoulder and chin, tearing off a length of toilet paper. “Cats despise conversation.”
“Perhaps a goldfish, then.”
“You’d rather I talk to a goldfish?” Ruth wadded up the tissue and shoved it down her knickers. Emergency manoeuvres were called for.
“I’d rather you talked to people,” Hannah corrected. “Real, live people. Why don’t you come out with me tonight?”
Ruth paused in the act of pulling up her pyjama bottoms. She couldn’t help it. At the prospect of spending a Friday night out—like, out out—her body froze.
There was a pause. Then her stiff joints released, her muscles relaxed, and her breath calmed just enough for her to say, “No.”
Hannah sighed. Perhaps unsurprised, probably disappointed. “Not in Ravenswood. We could go to the city.”
As much as Ruth hated to deny her sister anything… “I’m on deadline, Han.”
“You make your own deadlines.”
“And I’m a bitch of a boss.” Ruth arranged her pyjamas, then headed out into the hall, grabbing a jacket. “I have to go.”
“Ruth—”
“Period emergency.”
That was enough to distract even Hannah. “Oh, God. Are you alright? Do you want me to bring you some ice cream?”
“I have plenty of ice cream. Bye, Han. Love you.” Ruth put the phone down before her sister had a chance to say those last words back.
She didn’t really feel worthy of hearing them.
“You shouldn’t do that, you know.”
Evan Miller stifled a sigh.
He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know who those words had come from. After five days at Burne & Co., he was more familiar with those cultured, charming tones than he’d like.
So Evan continued to focus on the length of iron before him, holding it up to the light, making sure that he’d drawn it out just far enough. His muscles ached and sweat trailed down his brow as the forge cooled. He was almost ready to leave, but now he wanted to find some reason to stay. Just ten more minutes, or maybe twenty. As long as it took for his visitor to get the hint.
Evan had been waiting all week for Daniel Burne to lose
interest in him, and so far it didn’t seem to be working. Maybe Evan was the problem. Maybe, by not rushing to befriend the boss’s kid, he’d made himself stand out too much.
Daniel Burne was rich, handsome, good at his job despite the possible nepotism, and king of this small town. He probably didn’t understand why Evan rebuffed his friendship. That was the problem with popular people; they needed, more than anything, to be noticed.
So it came as no surprise when, instead of going away, Daniel moved further into the workshop. He wandered within Evan’s line of sight and leant against the wall, folding his arms.
This time, Evan didn’t stifle his sigh. He released it loudly, a drawn-out gust that spoke a thousand words. But his mother had raised him to be a gentleman, so that sigh was the only hint of annoyance that he allowed to escape.
“What’s up?” Evan asked, lowering the iron finial.
Daniel’s auburn hair gleamed bright in the light of the dying fire. He tossed his head towards the line of cooling finials at the edge of Daniel’s workshop. Eventually, they’d form a gate for the Markham family.
“You shouldn’t be doing Zach’s work for him,” Daniel drawled. “If he wants to slack, let him face the consequences.”
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