by Jody Kaye
The wet towel I’d used to shower with has fallen on the floor and there is the faint outline of the puddle my shampoo caddy had sat in while it dried. The sight of my long twin bed attracts my attention. Its perfect hospital corners mock me. I couldn’t stand the rumpled sheets, thinking about what’s been done to me without my consent. I’d tidied up as best as possible in between trips to the bathroom to clean myself off, waiting for my lower GI to settle, and pressing cool compresses between my legs. I sat in my roommate’s Papasan chair for twenty-four hours before the burning sensation from the angry hives on my inner thighs became too much to handle and I called the health center.
I approach my desk and take a puff from the inhaler for my asthma. The nurse said with my latex allergy it was best to keep using it the way I have been. I thought it was a simple anxiety attack that had made it difficult to breathe. The allergy is another way she saw through to what he’s done to me. I am, was a smart girl. I would have told him we couldn’t use those types of condoms.
I take the throw pillow off the chair and lie down on the area rug with my back away from the bed. My slouchy sweats are the only thing covering me. The appointment card pokes into my stomach.
My mind reels over all the questions the nurse asked that I was unable to answer, repeating the ones I could as if they can save me still. How many partners have you had? None. Did you know you were allergic to latex? Yes. Do you remember anything?
I remember getting ready and being excited to wear the new Rincon dress I’d found on a clearance rack because the weather going into fall has been so beautiful. The curved, athletic hem scooped above my knee, which I loved since I have longer legs and a shorter torso, and simple summer dresses are my jam since you can put them on and run out the door when you’re late.
It’s the beginning of my sophomore year. Students have just moved back to campus. My new roommate went home for the weekend. When we agreed to bunk together, I was aware she picked up as many hours as she could at her job. I don’t go places alone at night, and my other girlfriends—many of whom scattered amongst other dorms and Greek houses this year—hadn’t approached me with a plan. So, when Brandon invited me to a welcome back kegger on Friday night, I agreed.
I’d met him while standing in line at the college store for what seemed like an eternity. We’d struck up a conversation, which led to lunch together in the cafeteria a few times over the past week.
When we got to the party, I saw a friend I hadn’t seen yet this semester. While she and I were catching up, he asked if I’d like a drink and took off to get our beverages. I didn’t think anything of the grin on his face as he walked back with those two red plastic cups. He’d bought me a fountain drink not eight hours earlier. I’d let him put the plastic tops onto our cups and the straw in mine while I’d reached for some napkins to wipe up a spill.
Bass pounded from the speakers in the house and the music got incredibly loud, so we went outside to talk. The sounds became more muted and my recollections foggy. I have no clue how I got back to my room or if Brandon was the one who brought me here. I woke up on Saturday feeling like a truck hit me. My dress was rumpled past my midsection. The tie at the waist bound at my armpits. My bra was trapped underneath, unclasped in the back. The straps hung loose at my shoulders. I later found the underwear I’d worn in a knot where the sheet tucks into the mattress. The ache between my legs didn’t register at first. My head throbbed too hard. Then all I thought, as searing pain stabbed inside me, burning my thighs, was how this couldn’t have happened? I would’ve known.
I waited twenty years for that moment. It was supposed to be...Unforgettable.
There’s no erasing the past few hours from my memory and back in my dorm, lying on my side, the seconds tick by like minutes. Time stands still, mocking me. I stare at the dust bunny clinging to the mini-fridge under my roommate, Hailey’s, bed watching it get pushed around by the whirr of the motor as it clicks on and off. As if attached by a tiny invisible chain, the puff of dirt never lets go of its captor.
The sunlight has faded to a deep navy shadowing the room when a key tumbles in the lock. Hailey flips on the light, throwing her clean laundry bag and the backpack she took home with her on her mattress. Like mine, her parents live in the area and her weekend job at a cinema is near their house.
“What are you doing on the floor?” she asks in a laughing tone, suggesting I’ve partied too much while she was away.
“I don’t feel well. I think I came down with something.” I’m surprised at how easy the lie rolls off my tongue.
“Make sure you go to health services tomorrow if it gets any worse,” Hailey says, scooting a trash basket closer in case I’ll need it in an emergency.
“I’ve already been.”
I’ve had blood taken. Urine. Pictures. The nurse gave me the morning-after pill to be “on the safe side”. Safe seems like a comical word. Safe is pouring your own drink. Safe is not having sex with someone who is blacked out so that they don’t have to safely use medication to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. Should I be grateful whoever it was used a condom to be safe when it protected them?
“You want a blanket?” She tugs at my bedding.
“No!” I sit up too fast and have to lay right back down when my head spins. I cover my eyes with the crook of my elbow. The material of my sweatshirts absorbs the moisture from my eyes and hides the harsh and critical light shining down on me.
Learn more at www.jodykaye.com/shredofdecency
There will never be enough words to express how much I appreciate the time you took to read this book. My goal is to make the characters come to life on the pages. I hope any imperfections didn’t take away from your enjoyment!
If you believe you’ve found an error, it has slipped by multiple software programs and several sets of human eyes.
I’d be glad to look at it myself and take the time to make necessary corrections. All you have to do is screenshot and circle the issue, then e-mail it to me at [email protected].
Thank you so much!
I wish I could write as fast as you read. My brain sparked with the original concept for this series the first year I began publishing. It wound up getting back-burnered for so long I honestly never thought these books would get written.
During the fall of 2019, I’d also taken a serious step back to consider what I loved about indie publishing, what I didn’t, what was working, and what wasn’t. About to enter my 4th year (Holy Moly!), I understood two things:
The first is for me being indie means I’m in control. To a decent extent, that includes my stress level. Maintaining longevity means avoiding burn out. No matter how hard I wish it were different, I’m only capable of writing so many books in a year.
The second? I’m a series writer. I love backstory. I love the way character’s personalities bounce off of one another as they grow from one book to the next. I love revisiting plot lines and hiding Easter Eggs in stories, whether or not the reader catches onto them.
It’s not to say every book I pen will be part of a series, but I know my strengths lie in my passion. I pick apart books of every romance sub-genre written in a similar style to mine. As a reader, I live in those books. As a writer, I live for those books because they’re invaluable at teaching me craft the best way I learn.
After establishing the Kingsbrier Quintuplets series and the Legacy spin-off, Shattered Hearts of Carolina should have been a no-brainer. However, I sat at my desk for weeks going over chapters I’d written years ago, not understanding who these people were, the world they lived in or how to create a universe for the initial book concepts. What I thought these books were going to be years ago didn’t align with the books I’d published or match reader expectations.
And I stressed out!
The quints went from A to Z. The first Shattered Hearts book I was attempting to plot was somewhere around point KMN (kill me now, if you’re not a Big Bang Theory rerun enthusiast.) The secondary characters—which if y
ou’re a long-time reader you know my secondary cast is never okay with taking a back seat to my main character’s storylines—were lifeless. I didn’t understand their motivations for anything. So, I set about reverse-engineering an entire universe.
My very first task was tearing a character in half who wasn’t working. Trig started out as part of Skye, whom you’ll meet in the next few books. Trig had a name, a job, and not much else. I didn’t even know what he looked like. Trig didn’t have a backstory, and inviting one more person to the party in my brain overwhelmed me. Unwilling to concede defeat, I popped into Quintessential, my reader group, and shamelessly asked them to construct their ideal book boyfriend.
I have never not created my own characters and giving my readership this power was a HUGE step for me. I wasn’t even sure if they’d be interested.
Boy, was I wrong.
Up to the task, my Quinters had every detail of Trig nailed down in hours. A day later, I was jotting notes stream of consciousness and the need for a new female character/friendship popped into my head. Trig literally growled in my ear the way you’ve heard me comment that Brier does and I stopped because even used to writer-brain, when your characters start taking over your thoughts it’s a little disconcerting!
It got me wondering, what would happen if I gave the Quinters her name? Again, my readers rose to the challenge. In two days, I had two brand new characters to breathe life into. A week later, Splinter of Hope was a complete draft manuscript. From there, three more brand-new books evolved, forming the foundation at the mill.
I’m eternally grateful because this series never would have gotten from page to published without the help from my amazing readers!
SPLINTER OF HOPE
I want that.
It was the first thought that entered my mind when I laid eyes on her.
Kimber is all creamy skin and vibrant red hair. The fiery kind that makes a man understand there is strength in her convictions. She’ll stand by the ones she loves, no matter the cost.
And it fuels the desire to make her mine.
The biggest choice she made left her arms empty.
I’m searching for a flicker of hope she’ll let me fill them again.
I want that.
For her.
For us.
Today is the day.
Four years is a long time for any man to wait.
But if Kimber’s heart hasn’t mended yet, mine will splinter. Because it means I haven’t given the woman I love everything she needs.
—Trig
SHRED OF DECENCY
Hindsight is 20/20
A lot of people ensured Aidy’s future was filled with endless possibility. She never saw the guy like me—who belonged behind bars—coming.
So, I’m going to make sure he pays… And in the meantime, do whatever it takes for Aidy to smile again.
There’s no doubt she makes my meaningless existence worthwhile.
If I had a shred of decency, I’d have left it alone.
Because if Aidy’s determined to stand alongside me, it will destroy her perfectly planned out life.
—Morgan
**This book contains sensitive scenarios that may trigger readers. Please consider reading reviews or contacting the author if you have questions.
SLIVER OF TRUTH
Men beg to touch her body.
Yet, I’m the one grasping onto Cece time and time again.
I tried to keep them away. To keep her safe and help her reach her goal of a better life.
We’d been careful to make sure what’s happened between us remained unnoticed. But when our impossible secret gets out, it has me labeled an opportunistic creep.
I’m a simple man. All I want is a chance. Though, it’s uncertain Cece’s ready to defend our love. We both knew that our silence was golden... And there’s a sliver of truth that I’ll never be the one she wants.
—Dusty
I love the personal messages readers send me requesting more stories and saying how much they’ve connected with a character. I wish I could share them because most of these e-mails are exactly what goes into a review.
Writers leave review reminders for one simple reason: The fewer reviews we have, the less retailers believe we’re worthy of your precious time. They’re quick to suggest someone else; an author with more reviews.
The amazing thing is that your favorite retailer makes it easy to rate and review when you get to the end of an ebook. The stars appear right in the app to touch. Reviewing is simple. Just a sentence or two that tells other readers what you liked or that you’d recommend this book. You can also leave a review on Goodreads or BookBub.
Reviews are the best way to help an author. I’d really appreciate a review this (or one of my other books) so that I can keep writing for you. Thanks!
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Shattered Hearts of Carolina
Splinter of Hope
Shred of Decency
Sliver of Truth
The Kingsbrier Legacy
Gray Sin
Going Down
The Kingsbrier Quintuplets
Eric
Brier
Daveigh
Miss Cavanaugh
Cavanaugh
Adam
Colette
Colton
The Canvas Duet
Canvas
Imprint
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Jody’s husband asked what she’d been doing all day. After five years she finally confessed, “When no one is around, I write.”
Okay, it was more like a bunch of stammering and trying to get out of saying a thing. Jody’s a writer. You want it pretty. Let’s compromise.
“Just finish one,” he said, challenging her to complete a story and share it. Little did he know that those words of encouragement meant they’d return from a family vacation with a wild and defiant set of quintuplets stumbling their way into adulthood. Wasn’t raising their three sons enough?
A native of nowhere, Jody settled in New England for 17 years before agreeing to uproot her brood of boys and move to North Carolina. She’s a part-time graphic designer and marketeer with over twenty years’ experience, and full-time writer. If Jody ever gets lost, you’ll find her reading, all the while hoping that her ravenous children haven’t eaten all the ingredients before she’s cooked dinner.
Get to know her better at www.jodykaye.com.
08.11.2020