Good info here, especially for bloggers and writers! š
Day: October 26, 2017
“Exp1re” by Erin Noelle #ReleaseBlitz
Numbers.
They haunt me.
I can’t look into a person’s eyes without seeing the six-digit date of their death.
Iām helpless to change it, no matter how hard I try.
Iāve trained myself to look down. Away. Anywhere but at their eyes.
My camera is my escape. My salvation. Through its lens, I see only beauty and lifeānot death and despair.
Disconnected from all those around me, Iām content being alone, simply existing.
Until I meet him.
Tavian.
The man beyond the numbers.
How can I stay away, when everything about him draws me in?
But how can I fall in love, knowing exactly when it will expire?
They haunt me.
I can’t look into a person’s eyes without seeing the six-digit date of their death.
Iām helpless to change it, no matter how hard I try.
Iāve trained myself to look down. Away. Anywhere but at their eyes.
My camera is my escape. My salvation. Through its lens, I see only beauty and lifeānot death and despair.
Disconnected from all those around me, Iām content being alone, simply existing.
Until I meet him.
Tavian.
The man beyond the numbers.
How can I stay away, when everything about him draws me in?
But how can I fall in love, knowing exactly when it will expire?
PROLOGUE
Lyra
10.18.02
The intercom crackles loudly throughout the classroom, interrupting Ms. Shermanās rather uninspiring Friday afternoon lesson on the life cycle of a star. Even though most of the students around me are furiously jotting down notes about nebulas, red giants, and supernovas, Iām half listening while I doodle caricatures of me and my friends in the margin of my notebook. Itās not that Iām not interested in the material sheās talking about. No, thatās not the case at all. Itās quite the opposite actually; science is my favorite subject, especially anything that deals with astronomy and the unknowns in our universe.
But with a dad who is a super-smart astronomer at Johnson Space Centerāor NASA, as most people here in Houston call itāI learned about this stuff sheās teaching before I ever started kindergarten. Heck, just this past summer before fifth grade, Mama and I went to visit him at a planetarium in Hawaii, where he was part of a team that discovered eleven new moons orbiting Jupiter! If I donāt ace this test next week, I better not even go home. I definitely wouldnāt be able to be an astronaut then.
āMs. Sherman, can you please have Lyra Jennings gather her things and come down to the office? Sheās leaving for the day,ā the office lady who reminds me of Paula DeenāMamaās favorite chefāannounces through the ancient intercom system.
At the sound of my name, my chin jerks upward from my pencil sketches to the standard black-and-white classroom clock mounted above the projection screen. The hands read 12:45 p.m., nearly three hours before the end of the school day, when my parents are supposed to pick me up as we head out to Dallas for the weekend to celebrate my eleventh birthday. Ooh, maybe getting out of school early was my surprise they mentioned!
Iāve been looking forward to this day since we came home from this same trip last year, and I know my parents planned something special for this year. Every birthday, instead of having one of those silly kidsā parties with pointy hats and piƱatas, they take me to the Texas State Fair. There, we spend the weekend riding as many rides as possible, stuffing our mouths with sausage-on-a-stick and fried Twinkies, playing games until we win the biggest of the stuffed animals, and laughing until our faces hurt and happy tears stream down our cheeks. Hands down, itās my favorite three days of the year, even better than Christmas. And I really, really like Christmas.
Excitement jets through me as I stand up from my desk and hurriedly cram my spiral notebook and textbook into my purple paisley backpack. If we make it there early, Iāll be able to go swimming at the fancy hotelās indoor pool before dinner.
āSure thing,ā my teacher calls out in response. āSheāll be right down.ā
Hoisting the strap of the bag up on my shoulder, I turn to leave the room and my gaze meets Ms. Shermanās. Her warmth shines in her bright amber-colored eyes, highlighting the numbers 051123 that I see imprinted in her pupils. The same six white numbers I see every time we make eye contact. The numbers Iām not allowed to talk about. The ones everyone thinks are all a part of my healthy imagination.
But theyāre wrong. Theyāre all wrong.
The numbers are real, and they never change or go away. I only wish I knew what they meant. Mama and Daddyāwho, by the way, are the only two people I know that have the same numbersācall it my special superpower, but I know they just pretend to believe me. I see the looks they share when they think Iām not watching. They donāt want me to think about all those things the doctors say about me. I may only be ten years old, but Iām 100% sure Iām not crazy, nor do I lie for attention. Iām an only child, for Peteās sake; my parents are overly interested in my life. Though I do appreciate their support, even if they donāt understand.
āHave a nice weekend, Lyra. Donāt forget we have a test over CHAPTERs six through eight on Monday. Make sure youāve read all the material,ā she reminds me.
āYes, maāam. Iāll be ready,ā I reply modestly, not sharing with her or the rest of the class Iāve already read through CHAPTER thirteen in the text, including answering the study guide questions at the end of each section. I may be an overachiever, but Iām not a brown-noser.
Luckily, school just comes easy for me, and my parents get over-Jupiterās-moons proud when I bring home straight Aās on my report card. It reassures them that Iām normal and well adjusted. At least thatās what I heard Mama whispering to Daddy on the phone one night when she thought I wasnāt listening.
I mouth a quick goodbye to my best friend, Beth, who I pass by as I scuttle toward the exit. With her last name being Blackmon and mine being Jennings, we rarely get to sit near each other, as most of our teachers put us in alphabetical order. Bethās numbers are 022754, and like Ms. Shermanās, they light up vibrantly when she looks up at me and mouths the words Have fun before I slip out the door.
I never want to break the rules or get in trouble, so I somehow fight the urge to sprint down the deserted hallway and force myself to walk as fast as my long, skinny legs will let me. The swishing sound from my denim shorts rubbing together fills my ears, creating a soundtrack for my excitement. My cheeks ache from smiling so big while I drop off my folders and books in my locker then make a beeline to the front of the school, where my parents are waiting for me. This is going to be the best of the best weekends ever, one that none of us will ever forget. I just know it.
Only, when I swing open the glass door to the main office, expecting to see my favorite two people in the world, Iām surprised to find my Aunt Kathy standing there, her face puffy and pink, the corners of her mouth pointing due south. Our eyes meet, and I can barely see her numbersā123148ābecause of how swollen the lids are around them.
The fluffy white cloud of elation I floated in on disappears instantly as a dark fog of dread takes its place. Engulfing me. Swallowing me whole. She doesnāt have to say a wordāI already know. Not how or when or where it happened, but deep in my bones, I know.
I was right. This will definitely be a weekend Iāll never forget, only it will be for reasons Iāll never want to remember.
āIām so sorry, Lyra baby girl,ā she cries. āIām so sorry. Theyāreā¦ theyāre gone.ā
gone.
Gone.
GONE.
The word bounces around between my ears, getting louder each time it echoes. The first time, it freezes my movements. The second steals all the air from my lungs. By the third time, Iām pretty sure I have no pulse. I want to go, too.
Go.
Going.
GONE.
With my feet stuck to the floor and my body stiff as a statue, Aunt Kathy rushes over to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. Pulling me up against her chest as uncontainable sobs shake her body, she breaks down in front of the receptionist and attendance clerk, neither of who bother to hide their open staring. Numb, I stand completely still while she wails for several minutes, and I never once make a single sound or try to break free from the death grip she has on me. My thoughts race so fast theyāre standing still.
Iām justā¦ here. And my parents justā¦ arenāt. And they wonāt ever be again.
Theyāreā¦ gone.
Climbing into the passenger seat of Aunt Kathyās fancy sports carāa car I usually beg to ride in because thereās no backseatāI fasten my safety belt and then close my eyes as I lean my head back on the black leather, warm from the hot southern Texas sun. Even though itās mid-October, Iām still wearing shorts and sandals, and just last weekend I went swimming at Bethās house. But as I sit here and wait for my aunt to start the car, my teeth chatter loudly and my entire body trembles uncontrollably. My heart is frozen solid, but Iāve yet to shed a tear.
The phone rings and I jump, automatically looking at the caller ID on the screen, thinkingā¦ hopingā¦ praying itās someone calling to let us know this has all been a big mistake, that my parents are really okay.
āHey, Mom,ā Aunt Kathy answers after just one ring. We still havenāt pulled out of the parking space. āYeah, I have her now. Sheās safe and sound.ā
My heart plummets even lower into my stomach than it was before as she pauses to listen to Granny Gina on the other end. Granny Gina is my dad and Kathyās mom who lives in New Orleans, where she moved about five years ago after my grandpa passed away from lung cancer. Since my momās parents both died before I was born, sheās the only living grandparent I have, and luckily for me, sheās a pretty awesome one. But today, nothing is awesome. Not even close.
āI donāt know. She hasnāt said a word. Iām sure sheās in shock.ā My aunt talks about me like Iām not sitting right here, as I finally feel the car jerk back in reverse.
Another pause. The car lurches forward into drive then we bounce hard as Aunt Kathy flies over a speed bump. I think Iām going to throw up.
āOkay, Iāll take her home so she can pack a suitcase of whatever she wants to bring, and then weāll go to my place until you get here. You should be in about 5:00?ā
Pack a suitcase of what I want to bring where? Where am I going? Why is this happening to me? Iām a good kid. I make good grades and Iām nice to people, even those people who everyone else makes fun of, and I listen to my parents and my teachers. What did I do to deserve this? Why me?
āYeah, Mom, I know,ā Aunt Kathy hiccups. Sheās crying hard again. āIāll take good care of her, and weāll see you later. I love you.ā
I keep my eyes screwed shut as she disconnects the call, scared sheāll want to talk if I open them. I donāt want to talk to her or Granny Gina or anyone but my parents. I want my mom and dad!
Thankfully, Aunt Kathy doesnāt try to talk to me as we drive, but when I feel the car come to a stop and hear the engine turn off, she gently taps my arm. āLyra, sweetheart, weāre at your house. Weāre going to go inside, and I need you to pack up a suitcase or two of the clothes and things you want to take to New Orleans. Whatever you need.ā
āNew Orleans?ā My lids snap open and I whip my chin in her direction. I donāt even recognize my harsh, scratchy voice. āIām going to New Orleans?ā
āYeahāāshe nods sadly as she swipes at the black mascara streaks on her face with her thumbsāāwith Granny Gina. After we take care of, uh, of everything here, youāll go live with her there.ā
Scowling, I cross my arms over my chest and grunt. āI donāt want to leave Houston, or my friends, or my school. Why canāt I stay here with you?ā
āYou know I travel with my job, Lyra. Sometimes Iām gone a week or two at a time, and there wonāt be anybody here to stay with you. Granny Ginaās house has an extra bedroom, and since she doesnāt work, sheāll be able to better give you everything you need.ā
What I need and will be better for me is my mom and dad. And my perfect birthday weekend at the fair.
She reaches out to attempt to soothe me with her touch, but I wrench away, banging my elbow on the car door in the process. The whack is loud, and the place I hit immediately turns red, but my brain doesnāt register the pain. I feel nothing. Iām broken.
I glance over at my aunt, and the tears spilling down her cheeks make me feel bad for acting the way I just did to her. What happened to my parents isnāt her fault, but Iām angry and this is all moving too fast. How am I supposed to pack up what I need in a couple of bags? I want to stay in my room, in my house, living with my parents.
āI know this is all unfair, baby,ā she says through her sniffles, āand I canāt even to begin to understand what youāre thinking or feeling. I mean, Iām freaking the hell out and Iām a grownup whoās supposed to know how to handle these kinds of situations. All we can do is cling to each other as family and try to get through this together. Between me and Granny, weāll do the best we can for you, and right now, we think the best thing is if you get your things and go stay with her.ā
āHow did they die?ā I blurt out, completely off topic from what sheās talking about. My mind canāt stay focused on any one thing, but this is the question that keeps popping up. āI need to know how it happened.ā
Swallowing hard, Aunt Kathy inhales a shaky breath through her nose and blows it out through her mouth, visibly trying to collect herself before she answers me. āIt was a car accident,ā she whispers after forever, barely loud enough for me to hear. āI donāt know why they were together in your momās car this morning or where they were going, but an eighteen-wheeler lost control and hit them. They were already gone by the time the first responders arrived.ā
I nod, still unable to cry. I hear the words sheās saying, but they arenāt really registering. They make sense, but I donāt understand. Itās as if Iāve been swallowed up by one of the black holes Daddy taught me about and the darkness is sucking away my ability to think, to feel. All I hear is the word āgoneā still replaying over and over and over.
āOkay. Iāll get my stuff,ā I say flatly, finally opening the door and stepping out of the car.
My movements are robotic, and I can barely even feel the key in my hand as I unlock the front door to my house. Stepping inside, Iām overwhelmed by a combination of the sweet smell of my momās favorite vanilla cookie candle and the sight of my dadās fuzzy slippers waiting by the coatrackāthe slippers he puts on the minute he walks in the door from work every night. When I realize heāll never wear those slippers again, nor will my mom ever be able to forget if she blew out the candle when weāre about to pull out of the driveway, an acute pain shoots through my chest and I stumble over to the staircase, grabbing the banister to keep my balance.
āIām right here, Lyra,ā Aunt Kathy murmurs from behind me as she slips her arm around my waist. āLetās just get your things and head over to my place. Later, once weāve had some time to deal with everything, we can come back to go through the house and all the stuffā¦ if you want.ā
Another nod and I let her guide me up the stairs to my room. I want to scream at her that there will never be enough time to deal with losing my parents, that Iāll never be able to go through their things, but I keep my lips pressed together and do as Iām told.
āWhere do you guys keep your suitcases?ā she asks, glancing around my room as if sheās doing an inventory of what I have. āIāll go grab a couple while you start pulling out what you want to take. If you forget something, itās no big deal, because you and Granny are going to be staying at my place for the next few days. I can just bring you back to get it, or I can even ship it to Louisiana if you remember once youāre there.ā
āTheyāre in the storage cabinets in the garage,ā I answer while walking over to my desk, my eyes locked in on a framed photo of me and my parents that sits next to my laptop.
āOkay, Iāll be right back.ā
The thud of her heels on the hardwood floor grows quiet as she makes her way back down to the first floor, and just as I grab the picture and plop down on the chair, I hear her open the door to the garage. A few much-needed minutes by myself.
I gaze down at the photograph of the three of us from a day at the beach, me sandwiched between their cheerful, carefree expressions, and the first tear finally escapes. Once the dam breaks, I canāt stop the flow, and as I trace my finger over the outline of each of my parentsā faces, I cry for everything Iāll never have again. A supernova of tears.
Faces Iāll never see smile again.
Voices Iāll never hear say my name again.
Arms Iāll never be hugged by again.
A never-ending galaxy of love that Iāll never feel again.
Itās all justā¦ gone.
After several minutes of vision-blurring bawling, I set the picture frame back upright on my desk. A hot pink heart drawn on my calendar with the words Birthday Weekend Begins written over todayās box catches my attention. I then notice the printed numbers next to my bubbly handwriting that read 10-18-02.
Snatching the picture up again, I stare directly into first my dadās eyes, and then my momās. The numbers I see when I look people directly in the eyes only happens when Iām face-to-face with someone, never in photographs or through a screen or mirror. But even though I canāt actually see the numbers right now in the picture of my parentsā pupils, their numbers are forever etched in my brain from looking at them every day of my life. I used to think the reason they had the same numbers meant they were true soul mates, like God made them to match perfectly together, but nowā¦.
My gaze flicks over to todayās date of 10-18-02, then back to my parentsā faces, where I envision their numbersā101802.
My plummeting heart collides with my lurching stomach in an explosion of realization.
Itās my Big Bang Moment.
10.18.02
The intercom crackles loudly throughout the classroom, interrupting Ms. Shermanās rather uninspiring Friday afternoon lesson on the life cycle of a star. Even though most of the students around me are furiously jotting down notes about nebulas, red giants, and supernovas, Iām half listening while I doodle caricatures of me and my friends in the margin of my notebook. Itās not that Iām not interested in the material sheās talking about. No, thatās not the case at all. Itās quite the opposite actually; science is my favorite subject, especially anything that deals with astronomy and the unknowns in our universe.
But with a dad who is a super-smart astronomer at Johnson Space Centerāor NASA, as most people here in Houston call itāI learned about this stuff sheās teaching before I ever started kindergarten. Heck, just this past summer before fifth grade, Mama and I went to visit him at a planetarium in Hawaii, where he was part of a team that discovered eleven new moons orbiting Jupiter! If I donāt ace this test next week, I better not even go home. I definitely wouldnāt be able to be an astronaut then.
āMs. Sherman, can you please have Lyra Jennings gather her things and come down to the office? Sheās leaving for the day,ā the office lady who reminds me of Paula DeenāMamaās favorite chefāannounces through the ancient intercom system.
At the sound of my name, my chin jerks upward from my pencil sketches to the standard black-and-white classroom clock mounted above the projection screen. The hands read 12:45 p.m., nearly three hours before the end of the school day, when my parents are supposed to pick me up as we head out to Dallas for the weekend to celebrate my eleventh birthday. Ooh, maybe getting out of school early was my surprise they mentioned!
Iāve been looking forward to this day since we came home from this same trip last year, and I know my parents planned something special for this year. Every birthday, instead of having one of those silly kidsā parties with pointy hats and piƱatas, they take me to the Texas State Fair. There, we spend the weekend riding as many rides as possible, stuffing our mouths with sausage-on-a-stick and fried Twinkies, playing games until we win the biggest of the stuffed animals, and laughing until our faces hurt and happy tears stream down our cheeks. Hands down, itās my favorite three days of the year, even better than Christmas. And I really, really like Christmas.
Excitement jets through me as I stand up from my desk and hurriedly cram my spiral notebook and textbook into my purple paisley backpack. If we make it there early, Iāll be able to go swimming at the fancy hotelās indoor pool before dinner.
āSure thing,ā my teacher calls out in response. āSheāll be right down.ā
Hoisting the strap of the bag up on my shoulder, I turn to leave the room and my gaze meets Ms. Shermanās. Her warmth shines in her bright amber-colored eyes, highlighting the numbers 051123 that I see imprinted in her pupils. The same six white numbers I see every time we make eye contact. The numbers Iām not allowed to talk about. The ones everyone thinks are all a part of my healthy imagination.
But theyāre wrong. Theyāre all wrong.
The numbers are real, and they never change or go away. I only wish I knew what they meant. Mama and Daddyāwho, by the way, are the only two people I know that have the same numbersācall it my special superpower, but I know they just pretend to believe me. I see the looks they share when they think Iām not watching. They donāt want me to think about all those things the doctors say about me. I may only be ten years old, but Iām 100% sure Iām not crazy, nor do I lie for attention. Iām an only child, for Peteās sake; my parents are overly interested in my life. Though I do appreciate their support, even if they donāt understand.
āHave a nice weekend, Lyra. Donāt forget we have a test over CHAPTERs six through eight on Monday. Make sure youāve read all the material,ā she reminds me.
āYes, maāam. Iāll be ready,ā I reply modestly, not sharing with her or the rest of the class Iāve already read through CHAPTER thirteen in the text, including answering the study guide questions at the end of each section. I may be an overachiever, but Iām not a brown-noser.
Luckily, school just comes easy for me, and my parents get over-Jupiterās-moons proud when I bring home straight Aās on my report card. It reassures them that Iām normal and well adjusted. At least thatās what I heard Mama whispering to Daddy on the phone one night when she thought I wasnāt listening.
I mouth a quick goodbye to my best friend, Beth, who I pass by as I scuttle toward the exit. With her last name being Blackmon and mine being Jennings, we rarely get to sit near each other, as most of our teachers put us in alphabetical order. Bethās numbers are 022754, and like Ms. Shermanās, they light up vibrantly when she looks up at me and mouths the words Have fun before I slip out the door.
I never want to break the rules or get in trouble, so I somehow fight the urge to sprint down the deserted hallway and force myself to walk as fast as my long, skinny legs will let me. The swishing sound from my denim shorts rubbing together fills my ears, creating a soundtrack for my excitement. My cheeks ache from smiling so big while I drop off my folders and books in my locker then make a beeline to the front of the school, where my parents are waiting for me. This is going to be the best of the best weekends ever, one that none of us will ever forget. I just know it.
Only, when I swing open the glass door to the main office, expecting to see my favorite two people in the world, Iām surprised to find my Aunt Kathy standing there, her face puffy and pink, the corners of her mouth pointing due south. Our eyes meet, and I can barely see her numbersā123148ābecause of how swollen the lids are around them.
The fluffy white cloud of elation I floated in on disappears instantly as a dark fog of dread takes its place. Engulfing me. Swallowing me whole. She doesnāt have to say a wordāI already know. Not how or when or where it happened, but deep in my bones, I know.
I was right. This will definitely be a weekend Iāll never forget, only it will be for reasons Iāll never want to remember.
āIām so sorry, Lyra baby girl,ā she cries. āIām so sorry. Theyāreā¦ theyāre gone.ā
gone.
Gone.
GONE.
The word bounces around between my ears, getting louder each time it echoes. The first time, it freezes my movements. The second steals all the air from my lungs. By the third time, Iām pretty sure I have no pulse. I want to go, too.
Go.
Going.
GONE.
With my feet stuck to the floor and my body stiff as a statue, Aunt Kathy rushes over to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. Pulling me up against her chest as uncontainable sobs shake her body, she breaks down in front of the receptionist and attendance clerk, neither of who bother to hide their open staring. Numb, I stand completely still while she wails for several minutes, and I never once make a single sound or try to break free from the death grip she has on me. My thoughts race so fast theyāre standing still.
Iām justā¦ here. And my parents justā¦ arenāt. And they wonāt ever be again.
Theyāreā¦ gone.
Climbing into the passenger seat of Aunt Kathyās fancy sports carāa car I usually beg to ride in because thereās no backseatāI fasten my safety belt and then close my eyes as I lean my head back on the black leather, warm from the hot southern Texas sun. Even though itās mid-October, Iām still wearing shorts and sandals, and just last weekend I went swimming at Bethās house. But as I sit here and wait for my aunt to start the car, my teeth chatter loudly and my entire body trembles uncontrollably. My heart is frozen solid, but Iāve yet to shed a tear.
The phone rings and I jump, automatically looking at the caller ID on the screen, thinkingā¦ hopingā¦ praying itās someone calling to let us know this has all been a big mistake, that my parents are really okay.
āHey, Mom,ā Aunt Kathy answers after just one ring. We still havenāt pulled out of the parking space. āYeah, I have her now. Sheās safe and sound.ā
My heart plummets even lower into my stomach than it was before as she pauses to listen to Granny Gina on the other end. Granny Gina is my dad and Kathyās mom who lives in New Orleans, where she moved about five years ago after my grandpa passed away from lung cancer. Since my momās parents both died before I was born, sheās the only living grandparent I have, and luckily for me, sheās a pretty awesome one. But today, nothing is awesome. Not even close.
āI donāt know. She hasnāt said a word. Iām sure sheās in shock.ā My aunt talks about me like Iām not sitting right here, as I finally feel the car jerk back in reverse.
Another pause. The car lurches forward into drive then we bounce hard as Aunt Kathy flies over a speed bump. I think Iām going to throw up.
āOkay, Iāll take her home so she can pack a suitcase of whatever she wants to bring, and then weāll go to my place until you get here. You should be in about 5:00?ā
Pack a suitcase of what I want to bring where? Where am I going? Why is this happening to me? Iām a good kid. I make good grades and Iām nice to people, even those people who everyone else makes fun of, and I listen to my parents and my teachers. What did I do to deserve this? Why me?
āYeah, Mom, I know,ā Aunt Kathy hiccups. Sheās crying hard again. āIāll take good care of her, and weāll see you later. I love you.ā
I keep my eyes screwed shut as she disconnects the call, scared sheāll want to talk if I open them. I donāt want to talk to her or Granny Gina or anyone but my parents. I want my mom and dad!
Thankfully, Aunt Kathy doesnāt try to talk to me as we drive, but when I feel the car come to a stop and hear the engine turn off, she gently taps my arm. āLyra, sweetheart, weāre at your house. Weāre going to go inside, and I need you to pack up a suitcase or two of the clothes and things you want to take to New Orleans. Whatever you need.ā
āNew Orleans?ā My lids snap open and I whip my chin in her direction. I donāt even recognize my harsh, scratchy voice. āIām going to New Orleans?ā
āYeahāāshe nods sadly as she swipes at the black mascara streaks on her face with her thumbsāāwith Granny Gina. After we take care of, uh, of everything here, youāll go live with her there.ā
Scowling, I cross my arms over my chest and grunt. āI donāt want to leave Houston, or my friends, or my school. Why canāt I stay here with you?ā
āYou know I travel with my job, Lyra. Sometimes Iām gone a week or two at a time, and there wonāt be anybody here to stay with you. Granny Ginaās house has an extra bedroom, and since she doesnāt work, sheāll be able to better give you everything you need.ā
What I need and will be better for me is my mom and dad. And my perfect birthday weekend at the fair.
She reaches out to attempt to soothe me with her touch, but I wrench away, banging my elbow on the car door in the process. The whack is loud, and the place I hit immediately turns red, but my brain doesnāt register the pain. I feel nothing. Iām broken.
I glance over at my aunt, and the tears spilling down her cheeks make me feel bad for acting the way I just did to her. What happened to my parents isnāt her fault, but Iām angry and this is all moving too fast. How am I supposed to pack up what I need in a couple of bags? I want to stay in my room, in my house, living with my parents.
āI know this is all unfair, baby,ā she says through her sniffles, āand I canāt even to begin to understand what youāre thinking or feeling. I mean, Iām freaking the hell out and Iām a grownup whoās supposed to know how to handle these kinds of situations. All we can do is cling to each other as family and try to get through this together. Between me and Granny, weāll do the best we can for you, and right now, we think the best thing is if you get your things and go stay with her.ā
āHow did they die?ā I blurt out, completely off topic from what sheās talking about. My mind canāt stay focused on any one thing, but this is the question that keeps popping up. āI need to know how it happened.ā
Swallowing hard, Aunt Kathy inhales a shaky breath through her nose and blows it out through her mouth, visibly trying to collect herself before she answers me. āIt was a car accident,ā she whispers after forever, barely loud enough for me to hear. āI donāt know why they were together in your momās car this morning or where they were going, but an eighteen-wheeler lost control and hit them. They were already gone by the time the first responders arrived.ā
I nod, still unable to cry. I hear the words sheās saying, but they arenāt really registering. They make sense, but I donāt understand. Itās as if Iāve been swallowed up by one of the black holes Daddy taught me about and the darkness is sucking away my ability to think, to feel. All I hear is the word āgoneā still replaying over and over and over.
āOkay. Iāll get my stuff,ā I say flatly, finally opening the door and stepping out of the car.
My movements are robotic, and I can barely even feel the key in my hand as I unlock the front door to my house. Stepping inside, Iām overwhelmed by a combination of the sweet smell of my momās favorite vanilla cookie candle and the sight of my dadās fuzzy slippers waiting by the coatrackāthe slippers he puts on the minute he walks in the door from work every night. When I realize heāll never wear those slippers again, nor will my mom ever be able to forget if she blew out the candle when weāre about to pull out of the driveway, an acute pain shoots through my chest and I stumble over to the staircase, grabbing the banister to keep my balance.
āIām right here, Lyra,ā Aunt Kathy murmurs from behind me as she slips her arm around my waist. āLetās just get your things and head over to my place. Later, once weāve had some time to deal with everything, we can come back to go through the house and all the stuffā¦ if you want.ā
Another nod and I let her guide me up the stairs to my room. I want to scream at her that there will never be enough time to deal with losing my parents, that Iāll never be able to go through their things, but I keep my lips pressed together and do as Iām told.
āWhere do you guys keep your suitcases?ā she asks, glancing around my room as if sheās doing an inventory of what I have. āIāll go grab a couple while you start pulling out what you want to take. If you forget something, itās no big deal, because you and Granny are going to be staying at my place for the next few days. I can just bring you back to get it, or I can even ship it to Louisiana if you remember once youāre there.ā
āTheyāre in the storage cabinets in the garage,ā I answer while walking over to my desk, my eyes locked in on a framed photo of me and my parents that sits next to my laptop.
āOkay, Iāll be right back.ā
The thud of her heels on the hardwood floor grows quiet as she makes her way back down to the first floor, and just as I grab the picture and plop down on the chair, I hear her open the door to the garage. A few much-needed minutes by myself.
I gaze down at the photograph of the three of us from a day at the beach, me sandwiched between their cheerful, carefree expressions, and the first tear finally escapes. Once the dam breaks, I canāt stop the flow, and as I trace my finger over the outline of each of my parentsā faces, I cry for everything Iāll never have again. A supernova of tears.
Faces Iāll never see smile again.
Voices Iāll never hear say my name again.
Arms Iāll never be hugged by again.
A never-ending galaxy of love that Iāll never feel again.
Itās all justā¦ gone.
After several minutes of vision-blurring bawling, I set the picture frame back upright on my desk. A hot pink heart drawn on my calendar with the words Birthday Weekend Begins written over todayās box catches my attention. I then notice the printed numbers next to my bubbly handwriting that read 10-18-02.
Snatching the picture up again, I stare directly into first my dadās eyes, and then my momās. The numbers I see when I look people directly in the eyes only happens when Iām face-to-face with someone, never in photographs or through a screen or mirror. But even though I canāt actually see the numbers right now in the picture of my parentsā pupils, their numbers are forever etched in my brain from looking at them every day of my life. I used to think the reason they had the same numbers meant they were true soul mates, like God made them to match perfectly together, but nowā¦.
My gaze flicks over to todayās date of 10-18-02, then back to my parentsā faces, where I envision their numbersā101802.
My plummeting heart collides with my lurching stomach in an explosion of realization.
Itās my Big Bang Moment.
About Erin Noelle USA Today Bestselling Author
Erin Noelle is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband and two
young daughters. While earning her degree in History, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child. A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current,Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels.
Most nights you can find her cuddled up in bed with her husband, her Kindle in hand and a sporting event of some sorts on television.
young daughters. While earning her degree in History, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child. A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current,Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels.
Most nights you can find her cuddled up in bed with her husband, her Kindle in hand and a sporting event of some sorts on television.
“A Real Man Limited Edition Box Set” by Jenika Snow #ReleaseBlitz #Adult #18+
A Real Man Limited Edition Box Set. (includes never before published bonus content)
Books included in set:
Lumberjack
Lumberjack bonus holiday chapter (previously published Box Set Volume Two)
Virgin
Virgin holiday bonus chapter (previously published Box Set Volume Two)
Baby Fever
Baby Fever bonus holiday chapter (previously published Box Set Volume Two)
Experienced
Experienced bonus holiday chapter (previously published Box Set Volume Two)
Roommate
Roommate bonus holiday chapter (previously published Box Set Volume Two)
Arrogant
Arrogant bonus holiday chapter (previously published Box Set Volume Two)
Feral
Feral bonus chapter
Dirty
Dirty bonus chapter
Viking
Viking bonus chapter
Blacksmith
Blacksmith bonus chapter
Brutal
Brutal bonus chapter
Kilt Me
Kilt Me bonus chapter
Blacksmith (A Real Man, 10)
The side of the house stopped our retreat. He shifted so I was now facing the wall. I liked the roughness on my back, the feeling of being helpless. He groaned, this rough, almost primal sound that had my pussy becoming so wet, my nipples so hard. I opened for him, sucked his tongue into my mouth, showing him exactly where I wanted this to go. If not for the alcohol running through my veins, I wouldnāt have ever been so bold or wanton, but right now this felt like the most natural thing.
But he stepped away far too soon, and I was left feeling bereft, like a piece of me was missing. I touched my lips, the tingling and warmth that covered them reaching the very recesses of my cells.
āWhatās wrong?ā I asked. āYou donāt want me?ā My cheeks heated at the idea that maybe he didnāt, despite the vibes I got from him and the fact heād invited me out. I also blamed the alcohol for me opening my mouth and even asking.
But Deacon had his body pressed to mine a second later. I gasped from the contact, from the feeling of his very massive, apparent erection currently digging into my belly.
āDoes that feel like I donāt want you?ā He thrust against me, and my mouth go slack. āDoes this feel like I donāt want to take you right up against the house, not giving a shit who saw?ā
I didnāt know what to say, so I just closed my mouth. He cupped my cheek, smoothing his finger along my skin and sending shock waves through me.
āTell me if this doesnāt feel like I want you.ā He continued to smooth that digit along my face, over my lip, down to my pulse, which beat erratically.
āIt feels like you want me.ā
He growled out low, a sound that was so feral, so delicious. āYeah, I want you really fucking badly, Maddie, but youāve been drinking, and Iām not going to cross that line.ā He stepped back then, gave my pulse one last smooth over with his finger, and dropped his hand to his side. āBut we arenāt going there. Iāll call you tomorrow, yeah?ā
I nodded. Not only was he the manliest man Iād ever met, he was also a gentleman. I turned and unlocked the front door, stepped inside, and watched him. Heād waited until I was in the house before he left and went back to his SUV. I was still standing there long after heād driven off, knowing that Iād fallen hard for Deacon, and that there was no getting up from it.
How about another taste?
Three Brutal (A Real Man, 11)
I became even more aware of Axel sitting beside me. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, his chest rising and falling just a little faster, a little harder than normal. Was this having the same effect on him as it was on me?
But I kept my focus on the TV. The couple started kissing, the womanās moans exaggerated, erotic. And then soon they were naked, but of course we just saw the womanās breasts. The couple started moving in a very sexual way, and I felt my face heat. I was a virgin, but Iād seen porno, knew all that went down in that category. But I was watching this with Axel, and that made me very aware of my surroundings, of how my body was reacting.
I found myself looking at Axel. His body looked hard, not in the normal, powerful way but in the way that told me he was tense. And then he turned his head and stared right at me. Our eyes locked, the heat in the room seemed to increase, and I felt beads of perspiration dotting my skin.
My body was reacting in a way only Axel could make it. My lips felt too dry, my tongue swollen. The sound of the couple having sex seemed to be amplified in the room, and although it was a cheesy movie, the sex scene something on late-night cable, I was so turned on.
I was wet, my panties damp, my body ready for Axel.
I felt my chest rising and falling, the chemistry clearly moving between us, making me think maybe he felt the same way for me. Surely friends didnāt react this way just because some sex scene was on the TV.
And when I saw Axel look down at my mouth, I found myself lowering my gaze to his lap. There, pressing against his jeans, was a massive erection. My throat tightened, every part of me tingled, and I found myself opening my mouth, about to say what I had wanted to for so long.
But the words lodged in my throat.
Is this really happening? Is this a moment between us?
The longer we stared at each other, the more the blood rushed through my veins, the pressure in my body becoming almost unbearable.
Before I said anything, Axel was up and leaving the room. I sat there, staring at the fading sex scene, hearing him in the kitchen getting something to drink.
I stood, but he was back before I could even take a step. He held a beer out to me, the bottle chilled.
āEverything okay?ā
He looked tense, like he wanted to say something. Maybe this had been in my head, the chemistry I felt, the moment I thought we had shared.
āIām good,ā he said, his jaw tight. He sat on the couch again, took a long swig of the beer, and stared at the movie.
I wasnāt going to wait, wasnāt going to let my fear override this. I had to start living for today, for the future.
One more taste?
Four Kilt Me (A Real Man, 12)
It had been a long time since Iād been with a womanāyears, in factāand never had I felt this kind of possessiveness and need for a female. I wanted Molly like a fiend. I needed her like I needed tae breathe.
And as fast as this all seemed tae be happening, I couldnāt have slowed things down if I even wanted tae.
I was so fooking hard, stiff as a lead pipe. I should have jerked off in the shower, but I kneā it wouldnāt have helped. But even knowing that, I reached down and palmed myself. Of course I couldnāt help but picture Moly and what I wanted tae do tae her.
Her glorious naked body on my bedāor hell, bent over a desk. Yeah, I could see her ready and willing for me, primed and soaked. I went back to picturing her on my bed, her legs spread, her pussy on display. Her fire-colored hair would spill over my pillow. Sheād smell like me.
Sheād watch me quietly, waiting for me to tell her what to do. Weād both want it though. And thatās when Iād tell her to spread those pretty pussy lips for me.
And sheād do so instantly.
I closed my eyes and really put myself in the fantasy. I groaned as I felt pleasure shoot up my spine.
āSay youāre mine, lass.ā
āIām yours, Alastair.ā Her flesh, so pink and wet, glistened under the dim lighting. She was so fooking ready for me. Only me. Her back was arched, and her breasts were thrust forward, the tips pink, hard. They begged for my mouth, for me to taste them, run my teeth and tongue along the stiff peaks.
But I couldnāt move. āTouch yourself for me, Molly lass.ā
She obeyed so nicely as she brought one of her hands to her mouth and rubbed her fingers along the seam of her lips. Slowly, while still watching me, she sucked on one, then two fingers, mimicking the act of giving me head. In and out she moved the digits between her full, red lips.
When she removed them, a resounding pop filled the room and caused my cock tae jerk violently. She moved her fingers down tae her pussy, and I held my breath.
I watched as she played with her clit, rubbing the bud between the digits and making these little sounds in her throat. She was beautiful, and Iād be claiming that pussy like no other had before.
A harsh groan left me when she slid her fingers down her clit, circled her pussy hole, and then shoved them deep inside. I held my breath as she pumped the digits in and out. Seconds of torturous pleasure washed through me as I watched her.
Her high moan filled the room.
I couldnāt take it anymore. I all but tore off my clothes and went to her. She pulled her fingers out of her pussy and presented them to me. I greedily sucked those glistening digits intae my mouth, tasting her, getting drunk off the flavor on my tongue.
I let out a harsh sound as I came in my hand, my seed coating my fingers, my pleasure so fooking high Iād never touch the ground again. I opened my eyes, breathing out harshly, so damn needy for her even after I spent myself, that I kneā being with Molly would be better than anything Iād ever experienced.
And I was done waiting.
Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.
Author Links
“Branded Trilogy: Sacred Legacy” by Kat Flannery #Excerpt #Giveaway
Branded Trilogy
Author: Kat Flannery
Genre: Historical / Western / Paranormal Romance
Sizzling ROMANCE, the WILD WEST, and a dash of PARANORMAL make the BRANDED TRILOGY bundle a heart-pounding and satisfying readā¦
SACRED LEGACY
Tsura is a Chuvani, and with that comes great powerā¦
Desperate to escape the memories that haunt her, Tsura Harris returns to Jamestown, the very place her mother forbade her to go. A gifted Chuvani, Tsura has sworn off all magick, thus making her vulnerable to the Renoldi clan, who wish to kill her and take the pendant that is the key to her power.
Red Wolf is hell-bent on living his life on the sea until he runs into Tsura on the docks. His pride wounded from her rejection years before, he hoped to never see her again. But when the evil Corsair, Romulus Black, demands to know where she is, Red Wolf must protect her, as is his duty.
But is duty and honor his only reason, or does Red Wolf still carry a flame of love in his heart? And will Tsura finally discover her destiny?
EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
Jamestown, Virginia, July 1740
Ā Tsura Harris lifted the hem of her green skirt and stepped up onto the wooden plank. She clutched her reticule in her right hand and reached for the rope with her left. The planked bridge swayed as the boat rocked against the seas. She stared at the water below. White-capped waves crashed along the shipās hull, rocking the boat. She inhaled, forced her chin up, and took another step. She walked the short distance to the boardwalk, releasing the breath sheād held when her boot touched land. She planted both feet upon the wooden dock and set her shoulders, but the reminder of why she was here intensified the weight upon her chest. Despair was her shadow, and it was with her today.
āSister!ā
Her brotherās deep, masculine shout came from above.
She shaded her eyes from the hot afternoon sun and peered up at him. His stature always shocked her. Micah Walker was six foot with broad shoulders and strong arms, a spitting image of their father, Kade. His white shirt gaped open to show the tanned skin beneath, a sign of too many days out on the water. Long blond hair waved in the breeze. Her handsome brother had his pick of the ladies, but still hadnāt settled down. It was a shame. She knew he wanted children and a wife of his own, but his heart belonged to the sea and time would lend him those favors only when he was ready.
āYou must wait,ā he called and raced past his men carrying crates of goods onto the wharf.
She placed her bag onto the wooden walk and clasped her gloved hands together.
He reached her, his cheeks glowing and dark eyes lit with mischief. Before she could discourage him, he picked her up and swung her around. Her boots kicked the bag, knocking it over, as his strong arms held her tight.
Micah had always been affectionate. He never shied away from holding her hand, kissing her cheek, or teasing her like a brother would. Heād come to her side when she needed him the most. When her life had fallen apart, and she couldnāt see past her own misery to pick herself up. He had carried her, and she loved him for it.
āYou cannot go off without wishing me well.ā He smiled down at her.
āIf you would simply release me, Iād be able to make it so,ā she retorted. He was the only one, aside from her mother and father, who she allowed to touch her.
āVery well, nit.ā He set her in front of him. The nickname he used for her was one of endearment and came from her pestering him as a child.
āThank you.ā She smoothed her skirt before bringing her eyes to meet his.
āYou do not need to do this.ā
She glanced away unable to stare at him any longer.
āCome sail with me.ā
She shook her head. The urge to leave caused her legs to shake. She couldnāt be around him any longer. His cheerful disposition haunted her and made her think of things sheād rather forget.
āI know you donāt want to speak of this, butāā
āNo, Micah.ā
āTsura, you need to forgiveāā
āForgiveness is not within my heart.ā
āIt surely is.ā
She shook her head, careful not to release the many pins holding her thick corkscrew curls in a loose chignon.
āIt is in all of us.ā
She glared at her brother.
āDo not speak to me of forgiveness, brother. My heart is cold to it.ā
His dark eyes watered, and she knew her words had hurt him, but she didnāt care. It was better this wayāit was easier.
āWill you not reconsider?ā
āNo.ā
āPlease stay. I will protect you.ā
Protection was not what she needed. She could care less if she died. Itād be a relief from the constant pain she felt each day.
āI shouldāve taken you to mother and father.ā
āDo not speak to them of my presence here.ā
āThey will understand.ā
āNot one word.ā
Micah sighed. āAs you wish.ā
āI must go.ā Anger pressed on her spine, and she straightened.
His shoulders dropped.
āBe safe. Trust no one.ā
She nodded.
~ Author Bio ~
Kat Flanneryās love of history shows in her novels. She is an avid reader of historical, suspense, paranormal, and romance. She has her Certificate in Freelance and Business Writing.
A member of many writing groups, Kat enjoys promoting other authors on her blog. Kat loves to teach writing classes and give back to other aspiring authors. She volunteers her time at the local library facilitating their writing group. Sheās been published in numerous periodicals throughout her career
Her debut novel CHASING CLOVERS has been an Amazon Top 100 Paid bestseller twice. LAKOTA HONOR, BLOOD CURSE, and SACRED LEGACY (Branded Trilogy) are Katās three award-winning novels and HAZARDOUS UNIONS is Katās first novella. Kat is currently hard at work on her next series, THE MONTGOMERY SISTERS.
Visit Kat at: www.katflannerybooks.com
Find her on Facebook: Kat Flannery, author
Follow her on Twitter: @KatFlannery1
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5284914.Kat_Flannery
Ā
~ Links ~
Universal Link:Ā https://getbook.at/BrandedTrilogy
Amazon.ca:Ā https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0759WXWN7
Amazon.com:Ā https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0759WXWN7
Amazon.co.uk:Ā https://www.amazon.co.uk/Branded-Trilogy-Kat-Flannery-ebook/dp/B0759WXWN7
Enter Kat Flanneryās giveaway for a chance to win a great prize!
Prizes include 3 eBooks of FERN, book 1 in the Montgomery Sisters, 3 eBooks of HAZARDOUS UNIONS and a $25 Amazon gift card.
~ R A F F L E C O P T E R ~
ENTER
Nesie's Place 