Inner Core: (Stark, #2)
Inner Core
by
Sigal Ehrlich
Copyright © Sigal Ehrlich
ISBN: 978-0-9914007-1-3 (eBook)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Inner Core
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Copyright © 2014 by Sigal Ehrlich
. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any eans, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
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Published by Sigal Ehrlich
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Version 2014.01.25
Acknowledgments
Inner Core was written during one of the most intense periods I’ve experienced. Wonderful intense periods. And I honestly would have not been able to do so without the help of some incredible people I’m blessed to have in my life.
Firstly, my husband. Though I’m supposed to be a so-called writer, it is beyond my ability to find the right words to describe how truly amazing you are. Thank you for taking care of everything when I didn’t, and for making me stop from time to time to breathe. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you for being my more, my so much more.
My kiddos, for being as perfect as you are, and still loving unconditionally even with less mommy-time.
Liis, my personal Marry Poppins, for loving my kids almost as much as you do.
Shachar, my inspiration, my gorgeous inspiration.
Capy, for your encouragement, always, and for being my Tasha and Ian combined.
My beta readers, thank you for being as passionate, patient and fun to work with. Evelyn, Liis, Sima, Zohar, Hila, Tali, Sirle, and Sylvie. And a special thanks to Beth, for the extra time and effort.
Ravit, for your time, the laughter, sarcasm, ideas, suggestions, mini arguments. It was a blast working with you on the last touches of the book. You are amazing, I’m beyond thankful for all your help.
My editor, Nicole Hornbaker, I couldn’t have asked for a better editor to work with. You know just how to hone my work in a way that doesn’t differ from my voice. It has been an absolute pleasure working with you.
Cassandra and Kate, for always giving my work the last needed polish to make it just as I’ve envisioned it to be.
Regina Wamba, for tolerating my sometimes-over-the-top control-freakery, and designing the amazing covers for the series.
Bloggers, truly incredible bloggers. I cannot begin to express how thankful I am to you and your support, it’s priceless.
Special gratitude to:
Kawehi, my kindred spirit, of
Kawehi Book Blog
. Michele of
Devilishly Delicious Book Reviews
. Jen of
Lustful Literature
. Beth of
Tome Tender
. Dearest Carmie and the awesome ladies at
Forever Me Romance
. The great bunch of women at
A is for Alpha B is for Books
. The coolest blogger out there, Liz, of
Fictional Candy
(dear, I’m your fan). Alice of
All Things in the Clouds Sweet
. Bianca, aka the blogger who rocked me to my core, of
Bianca of BJ’s Book Blog
. Theo, sweet Theo of
Shattering Words
, Cindy of
The Book Enthusiast Blog
, Tiffany of
Tiffany Talks Books
, and the lovely ladies at
Four Brits and a Book
.
And most importantly, my readers. Since Layers was released I’ve been constantly overwhelmed by your response. You guys are truly amazing and I could have not asked for better readers. I am more than grateful to you.
Thank you! Thank you for reviewing, messaging, emailing, loving, liking, spreading the word. You guys absolutely rock.
And lastly, warm thank you to some special ladies: My fav, aka Julie, Tatiana, Sharon, and Rachel.
For Capy, aka Hila, for being the friend one could only wish for.
To reach the core of inner beauty, one must first unravel the many protective layers.
Inner Core
Chapter 1: One in Seven Billion
The arrivals hall at O’Hare is relatively busy, particularly for a Sunday morning, but it’s a good thing. The larger the crowd, the more people I can spy on, like some twisted stalker. I can’t help but wonder what a professional would say about this questionable habit of mine.
I needed distraction. I had to get out of the house, out of the bubble of emotional and mental torture. I was going insane
.
I had to get away from the tense gloom that had descended unbidden over my parents’ home since we got the horrifying news about Steven, my younger brother who’s a combat medic deployed in Afghanistan. We are a fraction of a family, waiting to hear news of the segment that makes us complete, desperately hoping that we will be whole again. Each one of us in our own way dreads the thought we won’t. It’s been a nerve-wracking twenty-four hours that seem like a lifetime of waiting, waiting for any sort of news that will either shatter our lives or ensure that our Steven survived the suicide bomber that exploded next to his platoon’s convoy in Kabul.
I wade through people standing in groups and those waiting solo, making my way toward a bench just in front of the sliding doors that are continuously pouring with passengers from incoming domestic flights. Abruptly I halt, taken by my image as it reflects on the glass doors ahead. I am pale. I am disheveled, my long wavy blonde strands pulled up in a messy bun, my usually dark brown eyes without their vivid glee. Even my freckles don’t seem to add the liveliness they usually do. I guess I look as worn as I am inside.
I settle on the bench and think about how the airport is the best place to defuse some of the frustration, anxiety and pain I’ve been abiding for far too long now. It's a place that has always proved successful in seeding hope in me, like a parallel universe which brings people together, which helps cease longing. And with the thought of longing, the thought of Daniel involuntarily drifts into my mind, accompanied by the unbelievable ache I’ve been carrying inside my heart since we went our separate ways two weeks ago.
Truth be told, he never really leaves my mind. The thought of him hovers constantly, whether I like it or not.
The sound of his voice when I called him last night plays vividly in my head now. How my name sounded like a prayer of redemption coming from his lips. How my heart missed a beat at his emotionally saturated tone. How every part of me drew to it, in hope. And how reality and sense crashed down, strong and illuminating, at the faint sound of my dying phone.
It was a wakeup call in the form of a dying line. And just like that, he was gone again. Gone like my courage and the confidence that getting back together was the right thing to do. As much as I want him―with an almost irrational need―I also clearly know that I couldn’t possibly let myself be vulnerable again, as I unquestionably am when it comes to Daniel. I cannot imagine ever going through so much agony as I went through by this breakup.
I need a timeout from these voices echoing Daniel’s name through my head; I can’t do this now. It feels as though I'm about to lose it.
You need a quick exorcism, that’s what you need
. I can’t have him occupying my thoughts this way.
I’ll deal with everything Daniel when I get back home
. I can’t handle both the anguish of worrying about Steven and the ache for Daniel. There's only so much my heart and my brain can take at a time if I don't want to risk being committed.
An unpleasant numbness slowly spreads over my backside from the hard plastic surface of the bench, prompting me to shift in my seat. I watch the scene before me, of the expectant crowd as they wait for their loved ones. A sparkle reflected from a mylar red balloon floating above even the highest of heads in the herd draws my attention. A breeze from the automatic exit doors tilts the balloon hypnotically from side to side, encouraging my gaze to deeper fixate on it and the background gradually blurs away. I stare at the fine string that tethers the balloon to someone's hand. A security announcement funnels in the background, urges people to not leave their belongings unattended. I drop my stare lower, to the chubby little hand holding the balloon. It belongs to a child standing with a woman who I guess is his mother. I study the delicately freckled features that ornament the child's sweet round face. My heart flutters when my gaze pauses on his hazel eyes: a shade lighter, and they would be identical to the ones I so long to drown in. And I recycle, yet again, my memories of Daniel, of the call last night and his voice that manifested relief for us both.
Did I make the right decision not to call him back?
The dying line took away my courage and any bit of assurance I had in me when I dialed his number.
You did the right thing, Hales. Stop beating yourself up. Just stop!
And through my mulling a sudden spark draws my focus, the light of joy. Joy that could only be enticed from the lips of a cheerful child. The little boy holding the balloon giggles and runs to a man who waits, squatting, to receive him in his open arms. My heart swells at the sight; this is the very moment of why I love watching people at airports. As disturbing a habit as this is, these kinds of encounters are just priceless
.