Worth the Fight (Accidentally on Purpose) (34 page)

Dear Reader,

When I started writing Worthy of Redemption last year, I had only intended it to be a short story, but Kyle deserved more. I had a love/hate relationship with the man, but fair is fair. He deserved to have his story heard and I am content with his ending. Again when I began writing Worth the Fight, I had no intentions of writing a full novel. Everyone already knew most of the story, but Luke deserved to have his side read more than any of the three in the love triangle. I don’t like reading books that drag out, trying to make a smaller book into a bigger book and I didn’t want to do that with Luke, and I feel I’ve succeeded. I have often told people that I write until I think the story is finished – whether that is 80 pages or 300 pages. I feel, that between the three novels, that Emmy’s, Kyle’s, and Luke’s stories have been thoroughly told. I have no intentions of creating more novels or novellas for any of the three. In fact, after my next project, which I will discuss below, I plan to move on to something completely different and not at all associated with AOP. I love the books and the characters within, but I have so much more to offer you.

With that said, I know I have alluded to secondary cha
racters having their spotlight, and I plan to move forward with that over the next year or so, working on these stories only secondary to other work I want to produce. Although some have been started and are sitting patiently in a literary waiting room, one in particular I only recently started, and though she wasn’t my first choice in my AOP spinoff, I can’t leave her alone. I’m absolutely passionate about her tale. Her story sends shivers up my spine and makes my heart ache, and her story, too, was only supposed to be a novella...

Therefore, without further ado, I present a preview of the first novel in my new series…

Present Day

I am at my best friend’s wedding reception dancing dirty with her husband. I grind, I shake, and shimmy, and drop it like it’s hot. He gets into it, dancing better than most guys I have ever known, and I’ve known quite a bit. I dare a glance at his wife. She’s watching us and laughing, smiling, and clapping. I love that she knows that I don’t mean anything by it. I love that she knows how happy I am for her and I’m not trying to screw her husband.

The song changes and I am drawn in for a slower paced dance that does not require me to shake my ass. Luke Kessler looks ridiculously happy. He’s high off of his happiness. It makes me glad, and it makes me sad for myself.

“You look really happy,” I say.

“I don’t think it’s possible to feel any happier,” he answers with that big, beautiful smile. How has Emmy survived these panty dropping smiles? I bite back my own smile.

“Sweet,” I say. “Cheesy and corny, but sweet. I’ve ho
nestly never seen Em look so happy.”

Emmy is dancing with her father Fred. I danced with Fred at my wedding, too. He was the only dad I had when I got married. 

“I really like you, Luke,” I say, turning my eyes back on Luke. “In fact, I love you as much as a girl can love her best friend’s husband without it being scandalous. But…” I trailed off.

Like Emmy and especially like her mother Sam, I am n
otorious for speaking my mind. Speak first, and worry about the consequences later. But maybe this isn’t the time or place to say what I really want to say. Luke has been very good to Emmy, with the exception of a few months not that long ago, but that was kind of her fault. I don’t want him to think that I doubt him, because I don’t. But he is human.

“But?” Luke looks at me questioningly.

“If you fuck this up beyond repair, I will kill you,” I promise.

“I would rather die than to fuck this up beyond repair,” he says. I feel him stiffen ever so slightly under my hands. 

“We all say that,” I say quietly. “We would rather die than to hurt the ones we love, but we do. She did it to you.” Under my breath, I say “Hell, I’ve done it.” 

Luke frowns and looks at me with confusion and I realize with horror that he heard my last few words. He looks at my husband Jerry who is paying us no mind. He is surrounded by adoring baseball fans. Even if they are not Philly fans, they are drawn to the professional athlete.

“It’s my wedding day,” Luke says briskly. “I don’t want to talk about that, Donya.”

Me either, Luke.

No one wants to talk about this unless it is happening to someone else and they don’t have to personally feel the effects.

“I just want you to always be conscious of your actions, Luke,” I say and look at him very hard. “It’s very easy to find yourself standing on the wrong side of the line without ever meaning to cross it.”

He looks at me startled like. I feel like the banquet hall is too small. I kiss his cheek and pull out of his arms.

“Just remember what I said,” I say in a rush of air.

I whirl around and rush towards the exit. It’s January, in Chicago no less, but I feel hot and my palms are sweaty. It feels very stuffy in here and I am having difficulty breathing. I pro
mise myself I won’t turn around and look. There is no reason to look. I won’t look.

I’m only a few feet from the door. I turn my head and look.

It is as if there is a magnet that draws my eyes to his exact location every time I say I will not look. If I have looked in the past and he was not in my immediate eye sight, I may have turned away and been okay, but that never happens. My eyes always find him right away.

He looks stunning in his tuxedo. His deep blue bowtie hangs to one side and his shirt is unbuttoned a few buttons, r
evealing the beginning contours of what I know to be a well-defined chest. His dark hair is a little on the long side. Hair falls across his forehead. It’s sexy. His wife hates it. She must not like running her fingers through it. His hands are in his pockets as he speaks. He looks casual and relaxed.

I look away and escape the crushing pressure of the room.

I dig into the little purse strapped to my wrist and get my ticket for my coat. I thrust the piece of paper at the guy behind the counter and he retrieves my coat a few seconds later. I walk out of the building and away from the few people outside who also dared the cold. I follow a walkway until I find myself on the other side of the building, facing what is probably a very gorgeous garden in the warmer months. It was still pretty, even under the ice and snow.

I look around and am relieved to find myself alone. The sun is setting. The lampposts are flickering to life. It is cold as cold can be out here, but I needed to get out of there.

I open my purse and find my hidden cigarette and lighter. I put the cancer stick in my mouth and light it up. I inhale deeply. I close my eyes as I let the smoke out slowly through slightly parted lips.

Smoking is the bad habit I picked up during my days as a model. I got lucky. It could have been cocaine, heroin, pills, and so many other things that string a girl out. I quit smoking when I quit modeling, but on occasion, a cigarette is warranted.

I hear light footfalls behind me. The long invisible tether tightens. I know who is coming without having to look. I can feel him. My eyes always find him and he always finds me. I stopped questioning it long ago.

One strong arm encircles my waist. I shiver and it has nothing to do with the chilling weather. A hand plucks the cig
arette from my lips and tosses it away. I watch as it lands in the snow a few feet off of the path. It is resilient. It burns on, despite the cold moisture under it.

Another arm closes around me. My head naturally falls back on his shoulder and his cheek naturally presses against my hair. I breathe him in and his scent settles my nerves better than any cigarette ever has. Feeling his body enveloping mine makes me feel safer than I ever do anywhere else.

We stand quietly as the sun sets and darkness sets in. He kisses the side of my head and I close my eyes, both relishing and cursing the kiss. His breathing changes as his arms tighten their hold on me. I feel his breath on my neck and I know he wants to kiss me there. I hate that I want him to kiss me there.

Here it is. The line I spoke to Luke about. I have one foot on the right side of the line and one foot on the wrong side of the line. This was the third time this week I have found myself standing like this, with the line between my legs, but it has ha
ppened so many times over the years, I cannot keep track. The line gets blurrier and blurrier every time I even poke a toe over it. If I am not careful, the line will dissolve, and so will so many other things. I know this, yet I cannot make myself pull away. I cannot push him off of me and walk away. He will always find me again. He will always tug on that tether and I will always return.

Eventually, the line must be cut. Or we are all in big trouble.

I turn around and look into those green eyes I fell in love with as a child, and speak his name.

Coming Early 2014

Special thanks to the following people:

Monica Martinez

Jodi Negri

Amanda Barrios

Lea Jerancic

JaeJae

Confessions of a Book Heaux
for getting me in touch with all of the great bloggers I have met

South Jersey Writer’s Group
for your support and camaraderie

&

Dystel and Goderich
for your support and helping me make my dream come true

All of the bloggers that I have had the pleasure of wor
king with ~ you are so very much, deeply appreciated and loved

All of my readers, of course!

My usual thanks and appreciation and love to the people who endure (and torture) me:

Lorien Moy

Evelyn Erndt

Karleigh Lewis-Brewster (PSH!)

R.L. Mathewson

K. Davis

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