I did my best to sell her a car that was as beautiful as she was . . . a classic with clean lines and a flawless finish. She picked something practical and boring but that was ultimately safe and reliable. I understood her choice but it grated and annoyed me long after she left the shop. When she wasn’t standing in front of me, she should have been easy to forget after all, everything in front of me, everything I had been working for and towards was falling down in front of my eyes. My world was collapsing in on itself and everything I thought I was so goddamn sure about turned out to be nothing more than lies and illusions. In the middle of all of it, I couldn’t forget her sad eyes and shivering, shaking form. Her loneliness clung to me, unshakeable and unforgettable. I didn’t think I would see her again but I often found myself wondering how she was doing and if she had gotten a handle on all the things that seemed to be crushing her under their weight.
I was wrong about seeing her again, just like I was wrong about doing everything differently from my mother would ensure my happiness and a future build on an unshakeable foundation. I was wrong about hard work and sacrifice being enough. I was wrong about holding on when what I was holding onto desperately wanted me to let go. All I was left with was bleeding palms and rope burn around my heart.
The next time I saw her it was my loneliness that was filling up the space, suffocating me, choking me, making me forget to handle her with care. I was nothing more than a vast, open wound. One that was raw, aching, throbbing, and leaking my heart out everywhere. I felt like I lost everything, like my entire life had been nothing but a waste of time, nothing more than building blocks knocked over with the swipe of a careless hand. The girl I loved didn’t love me back, my future was now nothing more than a fuzzy, fractured blur in front of me and I couldn’t see anything but what would no longer be.
I scared her.
It was the last thing I wanted to do but my loneliness was just as big and just and consuming as hers was. It spread out, hungry and angry, looking to consume anyone that might try and challenge its reign.
I tried to pull myself together, apologized because I knew our paths would cross again and I didn’t want to be just another man that she was terrified of. I locked the loneliness down, wrestled it into submission and tried to quiet the wild inside of me that was howling, screaming at the loss of its mate down. I wanted to be nothing more than gnashing teeth and tearing claws but I swallowed that down and became the kicked puppy that just wanted to whimper and cry.
This girl that had been through more than I could imagine, the one I couldn’t look away from slipped past me and disappeared. She looked like honey but she moved like a ghost. I had memorized everything about her even though she hardly let me see her face.
I wasn’t supposed to be looking at anything other than how to best fix the mess my life was in, but she was all I could see.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JAY CROWNOVER is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Marked Men, Welcome to the Point, and Saints of Denver series. Like her characters, she is a big fan of tattoos. She loves music and wishes she could be a rock star, but since she has no aptitude for singing or instrument playing, she’ll settle for writing stories with interesting characters that make the reader feel something. She lives in Colorado with her three dogs.
Jaycrownover.com
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ALSO BY JAY CROWNOVER
The Saints of Denver Series
Riveted
Charged
Built
Leveled (novella)
The Breaking Point Series
Honor
The Welcome to the Point Series
Better When He’s Brave
Better When He’s Bold
Better When He’s Bad
The Marked Men Series
Asa
Rowdy
Nash
Rome
Jet
Rule
CREDITS
Cover design by Studio Takoma
Cover photograph © Deborah Kolb/ImageBrief
Cover image © Alamy (detail)
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COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
RIVETED. Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer M. Voorhees. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition February 2017 ISBN 9780062386014
ISBN 9780062386007
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