Pulse (Collide)

by Gail McHugh

  Emily giggled, tears slipping from her eyes. “No. I usually make it a habit of buying a few spares just in case.” She unclicked her seat belt, climbed over the console, and deposited herself onto Gavin’s lap. He chuckled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and peppered kisses against his lips, nose, and cheeks. “Yes, I’m pregnant, Blake. It’s not funky forest green, but we’re filling this minivan with bucketloads of kids.”

  Gavin cradled the back of her head and slanted his mouth over hers as he spoke. “Simply amazing. This girl named Molly—you might know her—but yeah, she stormed into my life and hasn’t stopped rocking my world ever since.”

  And in the year following the season that’d changed Emily and Gavin Blake’s lives forever, fate finally played fair. It stopped its wicked games and decided to let up… just a lil’ bit. From beautiful do-overs on a long stretch of highway in Mexico, to many layers of life peeled away, filled with bottle caps and another car seat in the back of a minivan, time had tick-tocked its way to where it belonged.

  Fate… such a funny little thing.

  Joe, Joseph, Matthew, and Ava. I love you all. Mom’s back. I promise. I missed you more than you’ll ever know. Thank you for dealing with not having me around. Nothing can ever bring back the time we lost, this I know, but I swear from here on out, the little memories we build together will last us when I slip back off into another world.

  Wow. Where to begin? That’s the proverbial question. This ride—writing Pulse—was insanely different than that of when I wrote Collide. Both in glorious and wicked ways. Both amazing and scary. Both… very opposite. I published Collide thinking I’d sell a few copies, gain a few readers, and get my work out there to some people who might enjoy the story well enough. Boy, was I wrong. Overnight, I was thrust into a spotlight I could’ve never prepared myself for. No matter how many times I might’ve dreamt for what I’ve experienced, nothing, and I mean nothing, could’ve have readied me for the road I walked. Wait. I take that back. I didn’t walk anything. The road I ungracefully stumbled, tripped, skidded down, and fell face first onto. I learned quite a few things. Most of which were very hard to swallow—razors down my throat hard to swallow—but nonetheless, I’ve been more than blessed.

  The red, velvet curtain is sliding open right about now. Please take a bow when I call your name, and most of all, thank you for not casting judgment, changing on me, or ridiculing my every move while you tripped with me down this road.

  Cary Bruce, Brooke Hunter, Angie McKeon, Lisa Maurer, Stephanie Johnson, and Teri Bland. Almost the original BCBW’s with Angie being a great addition. Thank you for always keeping it real. The brutal honesty kept me where I needed to be while writing. I don’t need to say much to you ladies, as we speak regularly for the most part, and you know how much I severely adore you all. So, I’m giving you each a few words you’ll understand. Cary: You got your monkey. Happy? Brooke: Readers will now know it was YOUR idea to kill Gavin. I may have written the devastating words, but you thought it up. Pure. Genius. Lisa: The world is my people. I will never forget that ride! Angie: My evil teaser queen! Stephanie: Diaper. Ha! Great catch and yuck at the same time! Teri: Asystole and Craniotomies!!!!! I could thank you each to the moon and back, and it’d never be enough.

  Melinda Atkinson-Medina- Thank you for catching me, friend. There will never be a time in my life I couldn’t count on you.

  Lisa Kates- We split a bit during this, but we’re not broken.

  Ashley Hartigan Tkachyk, Joanne Arcarese Schwehm, Becca Manuel, Laura Babcock Dunaway, Kim Rinaldi, and Jennifer Pikul Gass. My second round of betas. Thank you all for accepting the split second notice before Pulse went into editing. Your willingness to jump right into it amazed me.

  Tina Reber- Thank you for the much needed chat sessions. You’ve anchored me in so many ways and every piece of advice you’ve ever given is tucked in my head.

  To my cover artist Regina Wamba from Mai I Design and Photography- You’re simply amazing. Many indie authors in this industry said you were wonderful to work with, and they weren’t kidding. Every book I write will have your stamp on it.

  To my formatter Angela McLaurin from Fictional Formats- Again, thank you. Your wonderful design and little surprises for me in Pulse were astounding. I look forward to many years of working together.

  To my editor Cassie Cox- Thank you for kicking my ass. No, really. I am being serious. Thank you. You scared me at first, but you cut my ‘shit’ where needed.

  To the sick, twisted, amazeballs women in TFC- Madeline Sheehan, Emmy Montes, Claribel Contreras, Syreeta Jennings, Trevlyn Tuitt, Karina Halle, and Cindy Brown. You ladies have seen me on my worst and best days. You witnessed many times when I wanted to throw in the towel, but your words pushed me forward. Either way, you listened. You gave me an ear to rant to, a shoulder to cry on, and a stage to express my fears. Our fears. I got nothing but love for each of you.

  To my blog tour: True Story Book Blog, Angie’s Dreamy Reads, ‘Ssh Mom’s Reading, Fiction and Fashion, Vilma’s Book Blog, Book Boyfriend Reviews, Flirty and Dirty, Books Babes and Cheap Cabernet, Sinfully Sexy, The Little Black Book Blog, Whirlwind Books, Swoon Worthy Books, Three Chicks and Their Books, Bridger Book Bitches, Romantic Book Affairs, Becca the Bibliophile, The Rock Stars of Romance, Mommy’s Reads and Treats, The Boyfriend Bookmark, First Class Books, Book Crush, I Love Indie Books, Sugar and Spice, Ménage a Book Blog, Up all Night Book Blog, Morning After a Good Book, Kindlehooked, TheSubClubBooks, Smitten, A Book Whore’s Obsessions, The Book List Reviews, and Smut Book Club. Thank you all for participating. Your blogs, among every other blog out there, whether people realize it or not, are the veins of our reading community. The blood pumping books out to readers. I said it in my acknowledgements in Collide, and I’ll say it again. Each blog amazes me. Simply… amazes me. No matter how chaotic blogger’s lives get, they still put time aside to reach out to their readers and promote books from authors they love. Authors they believe in. Authors they’ve never heard of. Some of you take a chances on unknown authors, and that says a ton. Your reviews, be them bad or good to writers, are passionate. It takes a lot to put your review out there the world, and I admire you ladies for doing so each and every day. In the grand scheme of things, blogs are overlooked. Just know most authors realize how much time and dedication goes into running one. I thank you, all listed here—and not listed here—for getting the word out about Collide and Pulse.

  Last, and so not even close to the least… my readers. Hot damn, you loved my characters! What??? Let me say that again… what? Shocked doesn’t even begin to skim the surface here. Not. One. Bit. I’ve mentioned a ton of wonderful ladies above, and let me just say, on days I wanted to pull out of this ride and promptly get a refund, slip off the rollercoaster and go home, not only did they stop me, but so did you. Thousands upon thousands of emails kept me writing. Thousands upon thousands of comments on my author wall, posts, and online delivered to me what I needed the most: the drive to push on. The courage to move forward on this glorious, scary, humbling, and blessed ride that was set forth in my life. Thank you for loving my characters as much as I do. Thank you for believing in me as a writer. Thank you for telling your mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, nieces, and friends about Collide. Though I left your mouths agape at the end of Collide, thank you cheering for me while I wrote Pulse. Not kidding when I say this, but you all have mentioned fan-girling when you’ve spoken to me, well, there’s not a time I haven’t fan-girled over you. No joke. I hope I’ve done well by you all. I hope I continue to do well. Just know, I’ll always try.

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of Fear of Falling

  by S.L. Jennings coming July 2013

  Shit happens.

  I never really understood that saying. Yeah, there were certain situations in life that were shitty, but they were just that; they were life. So it really wasn’t the shit in life that was, well, so shitty. It was life itself.

  Life happens. That was much more
appropriate.

  Unfortunately, many of us found that out earlier than some. We found out just how awful life could really be. We found out that monsters were, indeed, real. They walked among us. They looked just like you and me. They came in the form of the people that we loved and trusted the most. The people whose only job was to love and protect us.

  Funny thing about life is that it never turns out the way you want it to. It’s never fair. It’s harsh and brutal. It kicks you when you’re down. It makes you wish you could give up and part with it just to have a semblance of peace.

  I almost felt that peace unintentionally. And if I had known exactly what I was fighting against, I would have succumbed to it. I would have traded my young, shitty life for the peace that came with death.

  I should have. I would have been free.

  I needed a drink. A strong one.

  One that could possibly knock me on my ass and make me forget what I had done just 20 minutes ago. This was always the hard part. The guilt, the self-loathing. Sometimes it strangled me. I hated what I did. I hated the pain I inflicted but it was part of the process, part of what came with being me.

  I hurt people, and it wasn’t something I was proud of.

  Pulling into the parking lot of the first bar I spotted after leaving the scene of the crime, I punched in a number on my cell phone, speed-dialing Angel. “It’s done,” I announced, not even bothering with a cordial greeting. Those were reserved for days when I didn’t feel like locking myself away from everyone and everything. For days when I didn’t feel myself breaking into a million pieces.

  Angel sighed on the other end, feeling my pain through the receiver. “You okay, baby?”

  “Yeah. I will be. Down to get shit-faced?” I chuckled though I truly couldn’t find the humor in my own request.

  “I’m always down. Where are you?”

  After giving Angel the address, I fixed my smeared mascara in the visor mirror. I could have just stopped at a liquor store and gone home to drown my troubles, but I needed an excuse to hold it together. A distraction. In public, I’d have no choice but to plaster on a phony smile and ignore the immense guilt I felt. I’d be forced to pretend.

  10…9...8…7…

  I started the mental countdown ritual. I could do 10. Twenty was reserved for extra shitty days. Fifty was for all-out hellish catastrophes. Today felt more like a 10: a craptastic situation.

  “You can do this,” I whispered to the reflection staring back at me. “It’s ok. You’re ok. It had to be done. You have to keep going. You can do this, Kami Duvall. You will not break. Not today.”

  The bar’s marquee stated Dive, though it only slightly resembled the traditional, hole-in-the-wall dive bars I was accustomed to. As I scurried into the air-conditioned building, seeking refuge from the relentless Charlotte summer sun, I could tell it had been recently upgraded with modern furniture and a fresh coat of paint. I liked it already though ambiance was not a requirement for what I had planned for the rest of my evening.

  I settled in at the bar and ordered a shot of tequila along with a Long Island Iced Tea chaser. When the bearded bartender raised a questioning brow at my request, I diverted my eyes to a bowl of peanuts a few seats down. I didn’t need his misguided judgment.

  “Damn, baby. Sure a pretty little thing like you can handle a drink like that?” a voice laced with a southern drawl called out to me. I looked up to spot a smiling onlooker across the bar. Great. Judgment and an asshat with my beverages.

  I smiled sweetly before grabbing my shot of tequila, downing it, tossing the slice of lime to the side, and slamming the glass on the bar. When I looked back up, Asshat was already making his way towards me, obviously intrigued with my shot-pounding capabilities. Unfortunately for him, that’d be the only thing getting pounded tonight.

  “Hey there, honey. I’ve never seen you ‘round here. You must be new. I’m Craig,” he smiled, extending his hand. I looked at it, scanned the length of his body and turned my attention back to my drink. It was much more exciting. Craig took the hint and pulled his hand back but still settled in the seat beside me. I rolled my eyes; he was a persistent little prick. Normally the southern charm was endearing to a California girl like me, but after what I had just been through, it was annoying as hell.

  “Craig, right?” I asked after a long pull from my Long Island. He nodded and flashed a hopeful smile. I couldn’t wait to wipe that dumb look right off his face. “First off, calling the wrong person ‘honey’ could very well get you cut. And second of all, how would you know if I was new? Do you hang out here on a regular basis?”

  “Easy there, darlin’,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in defense. “Just making friendly chit-chat. And yes, actually, I do come ‘round here often. This happens to be my family’s place.”

  I eyed Craig disapprovingly. With his wavy, chin-length brown hair, light brown eyes, and the bit of scruff on his chin, he wasn’t exactly bad to look at. He was actually pretty cute in that young southern gentleman kinda way, but I was too far gone on the self-depreciation train to even fall for his charm.

  “So what? That gives you a right to harass all the paying patrons?” I replied with a raised brow before downing the last of my drink. It was strong, but not strong enough to stow my bitchiness.

  “You are an exotic little thing, aren’t ya? Yes, in-deed,” Craig appraised, ignoring my jab. He finished his beer just as our empty glasses were quickly swiped from the bar. “Let me guess- you’re one of those moo-lot-toe girls.”

  I nearly choked, and probably would have spit my drink right in his face just for shits and giggles if I’d had a mouthful. “Excuse me? Are you trying to say mulatto?”

  “Yeah! That chocolate and vanilla swirl! I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Wow. Craig was a bigger asshat than I initially assumed. I had played this game with guys before. The whole, “What are you? Let me guess…” bit was not new to me. Usually I shut it down, but since I had nothing else better to do than stew about my predicament, I thought I’d humor Craig and eventually make a fool of him. I didn’t think it would take long anyway.

  “No, I’m not moo-lot-toe, jackass. Chocolate and vanilla? Do I look like an ice cream cone to you?” I snickered. Craig’s eyes widened with glee at my choice of words, instantly making me regret them. Thankfully, the bartender returned with our drinks, so I could get back to the task at hand: getting stupid drunk.

  I looked up to say thank you and was met with a hooded pair of chocolate brown eyes and a boyish grin. His hair was covered in a worn baseball cap, and he had just the right amount of scruff on his chin and upper lip to give his baby face an edge. His hands and arms were covered with intricate, colorful tattoos. He was different from what usually attracted me and absolutely beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I had to tear my eyes away before I used Jedi mind tricks to undress him. I wanted to see what else those tattoos covered. Badly.

  “CJ, I hope you’re not botherin’ this young lady,” the younger, much more enticing bartender smiled, his deep voice laced with a touch of southern drawl. His large hand (yeah, I noticed) clapped Craig on the back as he shook his head, a lock of brown hair escaping his cap and falling into his eyes. His gaze came back to me, and he winked.

  Under normal circumstances, the move would have probably made me blush, and/or flash a flirty smile, but my mind and heart were still heavy with grief. I returned the sentiment with a nod and a nervous half-grin. Sure, he was attractive, painfully so, but that thought would be all I could allow myself to enjoy.

  “Aw, you know me, Blaine. Always makin’ friends,” Craig snickered before taking a sip of his fresh beer.

  Blaine.

  Even his name was sexy as hell, and I resisted the urge to try it out on my tongue. He placed his palms against the bar, and leaned in, looking at me expectantly. Shit, I really didn’t want the attention. But he looked at me intently, his head cocked to one side, with his mouth curled up, and I couldn’t think of anything witty
or even rude to say to make the guys go away.

  It made me nervous. Like, really nervous. So I tore my eyes away from his and nodded towards a HELP WANTED sign propped up on a high shelf. “You guys hiring?”

  Blaine turned and looked at the sign before bringing those brown eyes back to me. “Yeah. Waitresses, line cooks. A bartender. Looking for work?”

  “Maybe,” I shrugged before taking a sip of my drink while I surveyed the room. It was a good-sized place, and it was centrally located. But, it was virtually empty aside from a few bar patrons. “Did this place just open or something?”

  “Nah,” he responded with a little shake of his head. The lock of hair fell farther into his line of vision, and much to my dismay, he swept it to the side, tucking it back into his cap. “Just got new management.”

  Craig snorted and rolled his eyes before taking a chug of his beer. He turned his attention back to me and waggled his eyebrows. “So darlin’, where were we? Oh right…how about Puerto Rican? Mexican? I have to be close. Did I get it right? Or are you just gonna keep me guessing all day?”

  Ignoring Craig completely, my gaze fell to Blaine’s hands. They rested on the bar, just inches from mine. On one hand, he had a letter written in some type of old script on each finger. The other had a design on the back that fused into the piece crawling up his arm. My eyes followed the vibrantly detailed pattern slowly, studying every line and curl. Even shrouded in ink, I could tell his arms were magnificently cut and defined with muscle. Muscles that flexed and quivered as he leaned against the bar, causing his biceps and shoulders to strain against his fitted, plain white t-shirt.

  “So are ya?” Craig asked, intruding on my thoughts and pulling me away from the splendor of Blaine’s arms.

  “Huh?” I sputtered, looking up with a doe-eyed expression and praying that neither of them had noticed my shameless gawking. They both chuckled, making me believe that my prayers had gone unanswered.