"What are you doing walking around a dark street at night with a piece of equipment that probably costs more than a normal week's paycheck?"
I drop the phone down onto the passenger seat, leaving FaceTime on so he can stare at the ceiling of my Jeep. "I don't recall agreeing to be your concern, Brody," I tell him, starting the ignition.
"Well, I didn't ask," he counters. "As a human being with a brain in my head, I'm calling out the blunt fact—a beautiful woman like yourself shouldn't be walking down a dark street alone with expensive equipment."
"I can take care of myself. I've been doing so for quite some time now."
"Is it that you can take care of yourself, or do you tiptoe through life thinking you're tougher than shit?"
"Shit isn't very tough, bright one. It's actually pretty—"
"Okay, enough. I'm serious. Do you even lock your doors at night?"
I roll my eyes, though he can't see me anymore. "Sure," I tell him.
"You better."
"Okay, I'm in my locked car, driving down the street where I can run someone over if need be. I think we can end our call now, but it was a pleasure."
"This conversation isn't over," Brody says.
"All I have to do is push the 'end' button, and it will be."
"Meet me at Peak Pub tomorrow at eight," he says.
"No, thanks," I sigh.
"How many times do I have to ask you to meet me for a drink before you agree?"
I smile, feeling the warm sense of sin flare through my cheeks. "So many, you won't be able to count high enough."
"This isn't part of the game," he informs me. The game. A game we started when we were seventeen. A game that ended when we were nineteen. A game without any name or rules—just two people playing each other. For some reason, he thinks this so-called-game has restarted after all this time.
"What game?" I stick my tongue between my teeth, feeling like I'm holding power in this conversation that needs to end.
"Fine. You get the first point," Brody says. "Goodnight, carrot-top."
I grab my phone and hit 'end' button without saying goodbye.
It's a long fifteen-minute drive filled with racing thoughts before I'm pulling into the parking lot of the old-stone-mill that houses my studio apartment.
I find myself peeking over my shoulder while clutching my phone in one hand and my keys in the other, wishing the landlord would add a couple of lights to this parking lot. It isn't until I'm inside my eight-hundred square-foot open space that my shoulders relax and my pulse slows. With another peek at the dark screen of my phone, I toss the device onto the counter. Encircling my small kitchen and hang my bag off the back of the bar-stool.
The quiet hits me as I stare out the dark windows, knowing there is nothing out there but the view of cloud covered mountaintops that can't be deciphered at this time of night.
I drop down onto my sofa and toss my head back, staring through the window, upside down, toward the slight blur of the hidden moon. "I miss you so much," I utter. "It hurts. It hurts like it was yesterday. I hope you can hear me."
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Acknowledgments
A BIG THANK YOU to Julie and Tracey for helping me through this book. I know how much time you spent going word by word and your love and support mean more than I can ever explain.
Linda - Thank you for keeping me on track, pushing me, and holding me up when I’m falling down. I don’t know what I would do without our friendship and your guiding hand.
Samantha - Thank you for taking this book at the craziest time of year and putting your heart into it just as you always do.
Erin - Thank you for being my medical mentor and correcting all of my fictional wrongdoings. I know you hate telling me something is wrong, but I love you for calling me up and giving it to me straight.
Heidi - I didn’t realize I needed a sprinting buddy until you gave me a challenge this time, and thank you for being my final set of eyes. Our friendship is much deeper than our daily word-count goals, but I’m very grateful for having you in my life.
My beta girls - thank you for being the first to read these ARCs. I hope you love this story as much as I loved writing it!
My Scream Team - Your loud, outgoing support means so much to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you!
Twisted Drifters - Thank you for sticking with me through different genres and tears of happiness and sadness. I love that you get excited for tear jerkers, humor, history, and everything in between.
To my readers - My books would be nothing without your constant motivation and kind words. Thank you for inspiring me to write everyday.
My family - Mom, Dad, Mark, Ev, Lori, Phil, Grandma, Papa, Leslie, Mark, Steven, Laura, and Dave: I wrote this book during the hardest couple of months our family has gone through. The words were my therapy and I’m beyond grateful that our lives took a turn for the better when things weren’t looking so great. This book is about a family coming together and I didn’t realize it was possible for us to have a closer family than we do, but I was wrong. I love you all so much.
Bryce and Brayden - You have truly shown your desire for reading and writing these last few months and my heart swells in my chest when you tell me you want to write your own books someday. I hope your imagination takes you on wild adventures just as mine has. I’m so proud of you both. I love you with all my heart.
Josh - I usually write something snarky or comedic in my acknowledgements to you, but I was not having the easiest time in life while writing this book, and you picked up our lives and kept everything running smoothly. Thank you for giving me time to write when it wasn’t convenient, and thank you for being the person I needed most these last few months. You are my rock; my everything. I love you so so so much. You’re amazing.
Preview of Shattered Stars
If you enjoy Contemporary Romance, you might also enjoy Shattered Stars!
CHAPTER ONE
Dr. Sheila scribbles words onto a piece of paper, halting our conversation to concentrate. I’m struggling to see what she’s writing, but my train of thought stumbles when a knock raps against the chestnut wooden door.
"Come in," Dr. Sheila calls out, still holding her gaze on the fresh piece of white paper.
"Your twelve o’clock is here," a woman speaks from the corridor. I glance down at my watch, noticing the time is ten past twelve. I didn’t think our session had gone so late.
The visible space between the door isn’t wide enough to catch who is speaking, but I suspect it’s the young receptionist from the front desk.
"Thank you. We’re wrapping up now," Dr. Sheila responds. A hiss embraces the conclusion of her remark, emphasizing an irritation. I wonder if Dr. Sheila doesn’t have a high tolerance for assistants, or if the woman isn’t doing her job well.
"I didn’t realize the time was past twelve," I offer as an apology even though Dr. Sheila was the one speaking most.
This is only the first time I’ve met Dr. Sheila, so I’m not sure I have her figured out just yet. She seems nice enough, but I have the sense she’s all work and not much play. However, if I hadn’t already spoken to her, I might guess she’s a stick in the mud by the sheen bouncing off her glossy hair, held in with a tight knot on the top of her head. Plus, her frameless glasses, and neutral pallet of a complexion don’t offer her a fun and friendly appearance. I suppose I shouldn’t be one to judge since it’s her job to appear perfect, like nothing in her life would give her cause to be in my seat versus hers. I know it’s a myth, though because even doctors need psychiatric help sometimes.
"It’s all right. We can check in next month around this time, but if you encounter any side-effects or new symptoms before then, please call."
Dr. Sheila tears the paper from the stack and places it down on the desk in front of me. "Thank you," I reply, reaching for the prescription.
The brief moments of our exchange feel worthless, like I’m just another patient and this is just her job. I want
to tell her how lucky she is to leave behind all these problems at the end of the night. How she can forget about everyone’s troubles. However, despite Dr. Sheila’s cold front, I wonder if she shuts her day out that way. Although, it seems like it at this moment since she can’t seem to make eye contact.
I slip the paper into my bag and show myself out, striding as if in a trance. I don’t know if I understand the irony of someone flushing narcotics through my body without hope of finding a solution. I’m not sure the pause button has the same effect on life as it does when watching a video or listening to a song. The inevitable is still there and part of me wonders if it will be easier once I reach that dark serenity.
The clouds are overbearing today, casting a chill in the late summer warmth. I locate the black Grand Cherokee with the fog lights highlighting the thick air. Mr. H perks up when he spots me walking toward the car and hops out to greet me as if I have a broken leg.
"What did she say?" he asks, hope filling his eyes just as it has every time I meet with a new doctor. I wish he wouldn’t sound so excited to find out what happened. I’ve trained myself to ignore his optimism because I’ve worked hard to adjust my state of mind and to accept what is, knowing there is no good solution.
I reach into my purse and pull out the prescription she gave me. "Here," I offer with a sigh, handing it to him. "This is the solution given by the ‘infamous’ Dr. Sheila."
Mr. H glances down at the chicken scratch and shakes his head. "What is so difficult about alternative medicine? I thought that was Dr. Sheila’s specialty? Did you press her for more advice?" I get it. He’s distraught. It’s because he feels hope.
It’s not that I don’t have hope, I’m just a realist. I’d rather not lie to myself.
"There are no other options," I repeat Dr. Sheila’s words, verbatim.
"Yeah, well, I would have had choice words for her in response," he says.
"That’s why I asked you to stay in the Jeep," I explain him with a lifted eyebrow and a slight arch to my lip.
"No more, Dani. I’m coming into these appointments with you. Maybe you’re ready to accept all this, but I’m not. I will fight for you!"
"There’s nothing to fight for," I argue, heading for the passenger side of the Jeep.
Mr. H snags my arm as I walk past him and he pulls me into his chest, clasping my head against his ribcage. "Do you hear this sound?"
His heart is racing. It’s pounding. "Yes."
"That’s because of you. It’s always been because of you and I won’t let anything come between us."
"This is why I’m with you, Mr. H. This is why I fell in love with you." He has an uncontrollable need to love, and I’ve needed to be the recipient. It has saved me so many times, and I’ve wanted to believe it might be the one thing that always saves me.
"Don’t call me Mr. H right now. It’s not funny anymore."
"It’s funny to me, so let me have my funny right now."
What isn’t funny … is that no amount of love in the world can save me from losing my mind. [ Read More]
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About the Author
Shari J. Ryan is an International Bestselling Author of Contemporary Romance and Women’s Fiction.
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She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two young sons. Shari started her career as a graphic artist and freelance writer, then found her passion for writing books back in 2011. She has been slaying words ever since and creating imaginary friends ever since.
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With over 125k books sold, Shari’s books have hit Amazon's Top 100 bestseller list, Barnes & Noble's Top 10, and iBooks at #1. Some of Shari’s bestselling books include Last Words, The Other Blue Sky, A Heart of Time, and Man Flu from the Man Cave Collection.
To Find Shari
Web:
www.sharijryan.com
Email:
[email protected]
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Make sure you join her Twisted Drifters Reader Group at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/sharistwisteddrifters/
Sign up for my newsletter:
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ALSO BY SHARI J. RYAN
Women’s Fiction / Contemporary Romance
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Shattered Stars
Last Words
The Other Blue Sky
Unspoken Words
The Heart Series (3 Books)
Ravel
Red Nights
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Romantic Comedy
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The Man Cave Series (5 books)
Queen of the Throne
Spiked Lemonade
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Romantic Suspense
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Darkest Perception
Raine’s Haven
No Way Out (3 books)
TAG
Bourbon Love Notes Page 25