Spotlight: Flesh Into Fire by J.A. Huss & Johnathan McClain

Flesh Into Fire
J.A. Huss & Jonathan McClain
(Original Sin #3)
Publication date: April 17th 2018
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

Payback is owed.

And Maddie Clayton is going to collect. This time Carlos and Logan have gone too far. People are dead, lives have been changed, and she’s had enough. Plus, she’s got the Devil on her side, so when an enemy turns into a friend with an idea of how to take Carlos down, she’s in.

Tyler Morgan has been fighting back his whole adult life. He’s ready for anything when it comes to payback. But endangering Maddie can’t be part of the deal. Unfortunately for him, once Maddie gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.

Her debt has been paid in blood and she wants revenge.
His fight is still there, but now he’s got more at stake than himself.

The end is coming.
But even if they win against Carlos, they can still lose each other.

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—

EXCERPT:

TYLER

I roll our interlaced fingers over so that I can see the back of her hand. It’s strong, but delicate. Long fingers and white skin. Veins that tense with the clench of her grip. Freckles. Just a few light, faint, perfect freckles.

I have the same thought I had the other day. That I want to learn her. Her body. Every millimeter of her. I want it burned into my brain. I want to imprint her into my memory before she goes. I want to study her. I want to have a PhD in Maddie Clayton.

I let go of her hand and stand up, turn to face her and then kneel down.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I don’t say anything. She’s not wearing shoes, so I start tugging at the toes of her socks and she giggles as I work them off her legs and then hold her precious feet in my hands, examining them. I stroke the bones that run along the top, ending at the tips of her toes, and I kiss each toe one by one.

I turn them over to inspect the scar I found the other day, and I give it a kiss. Then I spread her legs and slide in between them, popping my head up to give her a kiss on the lips, before I unbutton her jeans and draw down the zipper. She leans back, propping herself on her elbows, and shimmies her hips as I pull her pants down. They’re so tight on her, so fitted, that they draw her underwear along with them as I pull, and then the pants are off her body and on the floor, and her bare calves, and knees, and thighs, and pussy are there for me to explore.

Still leaning back on her elbows, she tilts her head to the side, presses her lips together in a tight smile, and raises her eyebrows at me.

I lift one of her legs and place my face right next to it. Like an archaeologist exploring the contours of a priceless, ancient artifact.

Her smell. Her smell will be the thing that I know I will hold onto most. It’s always been that way for me. Smell is the most potent sense I have when it comes to triggering memories. When I smell cinnamon, I remember my mom. Because she was baking when she collapsed that last time after chemo. And so that’s the smell I choose to associate with my final memory of her, as opposed to the antiseptic smell of the hospital. Because that wasn’t her anymore anyway. Mom stayed in the kitchen. Only the shell of her stuck around for a couple weeks more in the hospital bed.

Anyway.

Right now, Maddie smells like freshly cut grass. She’s been packing and getting ready to leave all day, and it’s been weirdly warm of late, so she’s a little sweaty. And that smell—that pungent, dense, round smell of sweat on her skin that fills my nostrils—reminds me of summer. Which I love. Because I suppose that means that for the rest of my life, there’ll be an entire season where every day all I’ll be able to think about is her. Even though I don’t imagine needing a lot of prompts to steer my thoughts in her direction.

As I stroke my fingers along her leg, kissing as I go, and drinking in her scent with every breath, she drops down from her elbows, letting herself lie flat on her back, her legs dangling off the side of the bed. She traces her fingers up and down the line of her stomach, pushing her t-shirt up to the curve of her breasts as I continue my survey of her flesh.

I’m discovering things. Things that no one else on earth besides me will know.

Her right calf appears just infinitesimally stronger than her left. Her left knee is the teeniest bit knobbier than her right. And when I kiss her behind either of her knees, she shudders through her stomach, causing her toes to crinkle.

As I pass the bend in her knee, I draw my nose along the inside of her thigh. She wriggles a teeny bit as my beard moves along her soft skin. And then my mouth is right at the brink of her entrance. I take my thumb and run it along the pink folds and she lets out a “mmmmm.” I tilt my head, studying my fingers as they massage her tender skin, and take note of what sound each gesture evokes from her.

Kissing tenderly on her opening causes her to growl from somewhere deep inside her throat. So I do. I kiss, and I let my warm breath signal my presence, but I don’t want to penetrate her. Not this way. If she wants me to be inside her, I will happily oblige, but for now I just want to be here with her and hold her close.

And I will.

And I will hold her close in my thoughts every second that she’s gone.

But more importantly…

I will hold her in my heart.

MADDIE

Some people search their whole life looking for that one place they belong. For that one person who gets them. Who brings them into their world, lets them fall easily into the pull of their gravity, and lets them just… be. Just exist. Quietly. Naturally. Freely. This is Tyler for me. The center of my universe. The man around whom I now orbit.

Not like a satellite, either. But like… like two things meant to be one. Like long ago something crashed into us, broke us into little pieces, and left us adrift. Floating in directionless space. Spinning wildly with no tether. And now we’ve been pulled back together. And we circle each other, still spinning, but with the purpose of joining. Of becoming one thing again. Not because of tragedy, the way I’d imagined when I sent that letter. It’s not a lifeline of salvation connecting us now, but some force of nature we can’t explain, or control, or bend to our will. Some law of the universe that dictates the fate of things.

We are connected by something more powerful than shared sorrow. And every moment we’ve spent apart has been valuable. Necessary. Critical.

His mouth between my legs feels wonderful. I could close my eyes and enjoy it. Let myself reach the heights of pleasure.

But alone?

No. I’m done doing things alone. We’re connected now. And everything we do will be together.

So I whisper, “Tyler,” as I caress his head. Run my fingers through his hair. Touch his shoulders. Slide my fingertips up and down the hills and valleys of his muscular arms.

He looks up at me, his eyes smiling even though they’re half closed, even though his mouth is still working. His tongue still flicking against my pussy.

“Come up here,” I say. “And kiss my mouth.”

Now he smiles with his whole face. His hands plant on either side of my hips and he draws himself up to standing. He lifts his t-shirt over his head and undoes his jeans, letting them fall to the floor, and his nakedness reminds me that he has lived every single day of his time on this earth.

He leans onto the bed and eases forward. My legs open wider for him, welcome him between them as his cock—hard, and long, and ready—rests against my clit, making me want him.

If we stopped right now, if he just rested his chest on top of my breasts, became nothing more than heavy weight as he closed his eyes, relaxed, and fell asleep… I’d be content, happy, and satisfied.

And not because there’d be more chances to do this later. But because it’s him I want. Not the sex.

He leans down, his hands on either side of my head now. Bending the mattress the way spacetime bends around a sun. And when his lips reach mine, my eyes are closed.

And I fall again.

I fall far, and long, and easily. The same way I drifted towards him. And as I drift, weightless, we kiss. But I’m still connected to him. Always next to him. Because this is what it feels like to fall into someone, not away.

This is not me slipping down the mountain.

This is not me losing my footing.

This is me finding myself. In him. In us.

So when I reach my hand between my legs and place him right where he needs to be, he enters me. And all those broken, spinning pieces come together to once again create the thing we were always meant to become.

Our bodies move together. Perfectly synchronized. Like the dance of stars in space. His body is hot, and my body is hot, and the heat we create between us doesn’t burn like fire but rearranges us. Like the molecules of two metals mixing to form the strongest sword made of the very best steel.

Our lovemaking is slow. And perfect.

We reach the heights of pleasure together. As one. And it’s the kind of climax that only happens once in a lifetime. The kind of release that means more than the way it makes you feel. It tells you who you are, and who you’re with, and exactly where you fit in the grand scheme of things.

He says, “I love you, Madison.”

And I say it back. “I love you, Tyler.”

We mold ourselves into each other as we relax and grow sleepy. Our bodies back together. His arms around me. My back pressed against his chest.

Our hearts beating. Keeping time.

Becoming what we were always meant to be.

Author Bio:

Two accomplished writers come together to create unforgettable sexy romance. JA Huss is the New York Times bestselling author of 321 and has been on the USA Today bestsellers list eighteen times. Johnathan McClain is a veteran actor and writer whose work, either performed or written, is probably airing on at least one of the channels on your television right now. You can contact them on their website www.hussmcclain.com or find them at their social links below.

STALK JULIE
FACEBOOK / TWITTER / INSTAGRAM

STALK JOHNATHAN
FACEBOOK / TWITTER / INSTAGRAM

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Spotlight: Daisy by Gemma Weir

Daisy
Gemma Weir
(Archer’s Creek #2)
Publication date: April 15th 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Daisy.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul. I thought that was bullshit until I saw hers. Huge doe eyes that should have sparkled with happiness and laughter were dead and lifeless. That was the moment that changed everything. Two random meetings, nine emails, four days and a broken Angel that changed my entire world.

Angel.

Such a silly name for a beautiful boy. Daisy is the saviour I crave and the safety I haven’t felt in years. My world is spinning out of control but he’s the salvation that can keep me alive — if I’ll let him. Two random meetings, nine emails, four days and a broken boy that brought me back to life.

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Author Bio:

Gemma Weir is a half crazed stay at home mom to three kids, one man child and a hell hound. She has lived in the midlands, in the UK her whole life and has wanted to write a book since she was a child. Gemma has a ridiculously dirty mind and loves her book boyfriends to be big, tattooed alpha males. She's a reader first and foremost and she loves her romance to come with a happy ending and lots of sexy sex.

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Spotlight: Everwylde by Donna Grant

Re-enter the world of New York Times bestselling author Donna Grant’s spellbinding Kindred series.

To live in the light they hunt in the dark…

Strong-willed and cunning, Ravyn was taken in as a child by witch Hunters and raised her to be the best of the best. When she receives word that the witch who murdered her family and ripped apart her world is nearby, Ravyn begins her hunt. In her quest to locate the witch, she finds her pursuit impeded again and again by a gorgeous and powerful man. But she won’t be denied and intends to do whatever is necessary to complete her mission. But the Coven is more dangerous than ever, and Ravyn may not be enough to thwart their latest endeavor. 

Carac has spent years building his army and winning wars to become known as one of the greatest knights of his time. But he holds a big secret. Everything he’s worked for comes into question when he’s faced with a threat he hadn’t known existed. He suddenly finds his mission changed after he’s approached by the most spirited and beautiful woman he’s ever seen. It’s soon apparent that priceless antiquities are only the beginning of what they’re fighting for—and what they stand to lose.

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About the Author

Donna is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over forty-five novels. Her most popular series is the breathtaking Dark King (aka Dragon King) series featuring dragons, immortal Highlanders, and the Fae.

In addition to her novels, Donna has written over forty short stories, novellas, and novelettes for digital-first and print release. She has been dubbed as giving the “paranormal genre a burst of fresh air” by the San Francisco Book Review. Her work has been hailed as having “deft plotting and expert characterization” by Publisher’s Weekly and “sizzling” by RT Book Reviews.

She has been recognized with awards from both bookseller and reader contests including the National Reader’s Choice Award, Booksellers Best Award, as well as the coveted K.I.S.S. Award from RT Book Reviews. 

Donna travels often for various speaking engagements, conferences, and book signings. She is also a frequent workshop presenter at national conferences such as RT Book Lovers Convention and Thrillerfest, as well as local chapters.

Born and raised in Texas, she also has ties across the border in Louisiana. Growing up with two such vibrant cultures, her Cajun side of the family taught her the “spicy” side of life while her Texas roots gave her two-steppin’ and bareback riding. She is never far from her faithful 80 pound dog, Sisko, or her three cats. She can often be found at the movies or bookstore with her children. Or buying makeup. And shoes.

Connect: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Tumblr
 

Spotlight: Come As You Are by Lauren Blakely

Requesting the presence of your pleasure…What do you get when you mix a masquerade ball, a smoldering secret rendezvous, and a sexy, billionaire hero who will sweep you off your feet? An opposite-sides-of-the-tracks standalone romancethat you’re guaranteed to love!

From #1 NYT bestselling author Lauren Blakely, comes the gorgeous and sexy-as-sin forbidden romance filled with wit, humor, and so much heart, COME AS YOU ARE! Secret trysts and stolen kisses abound in this brand new, swoontastic novel. Get your copy of COME AS YOU ARE delivered now!

About the Book

I couldn’t have scripted a more perfect night.

For one fantastic evening, at a masquerade party in the heart of Manhattan, I’m not the millionaire everyone wants a piece of. Fine—multimillionaire. But who’s counting all those commas? Not me, and not the most intriguing woman I've ever met, who happens to like dancing, witty banter, and hot, passionate up-against-the-wall sex as much as I do.

There's no need for names or business cards. And that’s why I’m eager to get to know her more, since my mystery woman seems to like me for me, rather than for my huge…bank account.

Everything’s coming up aces. Until the next day when things get a little complicated. (Newsflash — a lot complicated.)

***

He's charming, brilliant, an incredible lover, and right now I want to stab fate in the eyeballs.

I've had one goal I've been working toward, and lo and behold, my mystery man is the very person who stands between me and my dream job. A job I desperately need since my hard-knock life has nothing in common with his star-kissed one.

But it’s time to put that fairytale night behind me, and focus on learning what makes him tick. Too bad it turns out his quirks are my quirks, and his love affair with New York matches mine.

And as we spend our days together, I discover something else that feels like a cruel twist of fate — I’m falling for this naughty prince charming, and that’s not an ending I can write to our story.

Excerpt

~FLYNN~

I part my lips to speak, to tell her I’m not a VC. But I flash back to the racquetball game, to the face-lift suggestion from my sister. If this angel thinks I’m a VC, that means my face-lift is working. My costume is doing what I want it to do—it’s making it possible for me to be me. To have a conversation as Flynn Parker the guy, not as Flynn Parker the multimillionaire.

She doesn’t know who I am. And I don’t correct her. “It can be.”

She nods thoughtfully then roams her gaze over my black attire. She taps her bottom lip. “Hmm. Let’s see what we have here tonight because I don’t think you’re a ninja.”

I punch the air. “Keep going.”

She studies me more closely. “You’re something mysterious. You’re trying to fly under the radar. Am I getting warmer?”

More like hot. “Yes.”

Her brow knits. “You want to go unnoticed, at least for the moment.”

I tense, hoping she’s not putting two and two together as to my identity. Absently, I raise my hand to my glasses, wondering if they give me away. But then I remember. I’m wearing my contacts tonight, something I rarely do.

She snaps her fingers. “I know! You’re a stealth start-up,” she says, using the term for a new company that’s keeping quiet.

I raise my arms in victory, a thrill racing through me. “Everyone else has guessed code ninja or SEO ninja, but you’re the first person all night to get it right. I am, indeed, a stealth start-up.”

Admittedly, donning black pants, a black shirt, and a black eye-mask might have made it challenging to guess. But then again, the angel figured it out, and all without the missing start-up button.

“Your lips gave you away.”

She recognized me from my lips? I furrow my brow behind my mask. “What do you mean?”

“Your mouth,” she says, raising her fingers dangerously near to my lips. “I could tell you weren’t a ninja because your lips aren’t covered. Ninjas cover you’re their mouths.” I relax again since she was referring to my clothes. “Only their eyes show. But you’ve covered most of your eyes, and you’re showing only your mouth and your chin. That’s how I knew you had to be something other than a ninja.”

“I could kiss you for that,” I blurt out. I take a step back and hold up a hand. “I’m sorry. That was probably terribly inappropriate.”

A smile slowly spreads across her lips. “No, it wasn’t inappropriate. It wasn’t inappropriate at all,” she says. Something in the way she takes her time with each word tells me she wouldn’t mind being kissed. That gives me one mission and one mission only: keep talking to this angel.

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About the Author

A #1 New York Times Bestselling author, and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author, Lauren Blakely is known for her contemporary romance style that's hot, sweet and sexy. She lives in California with her family and has plotted entire novels while walking her dogs. With fourteen New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than 90 times, and she's sold more than 2.5 million books. In April she'll release COME AS YOU ARE, a sexy new standalone romance. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter!laurenblakely.com/newsletter

Connect: Website ** Facebook ** Twitter ** Newsletter ** Goodreads

Spotlight: Chrysalis by Maria Macdonald

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Genre: YA Urban Fantasy

Emery never realized the kind of power she held. 

Her whole life had been one long battle. Against other children, bullies, her abusers. Forever the outsider, living her days isolated and lonely. She didn't know that while waging her own battles, another kind of war was coming.

In just one night her whole life changed. 

When she finds herself in danger, the power that was lying dormant inside of her suddenly releases, surprising everyone. 

In the aftermath, a figure appears in the shadows – Elijah. With an air of mysteriousness and answers she had no idea she needed, Emery suddenly understands she’s not alone.

He's either here to save her or bury her. But with no time to ask questions, she takes the plunge, grabs his hand, and prepares herself for a whole new world. One where she will be reborn.

Excerpt

Prologue

I didn’t look back when they called names. I ignored the sharp pain in my back, from the stones and empty soda cans they threw at me when I walked by. I kept my face hidden from them and controlled my tears by biting my tongue, until the familiar metallic taste flooded my mouth. It’s what I always did.

I was different, and the children within my small town hated me with a passion that I didn’t rightfully understand at my young age.

‘Emma the elephant’ and ‘alien face’ were amongst the common names that were used to describe me as a young child. It progressed and evolved to ‘salad dodger’ and ‘wide load.’ Though the one I was called the most was ‘rat girl,’ which was meant to be like Bat Girl, but it was more of an insult than anything else. They used the name because my teeth were bigger in the front. Like a lot of children, I had to grow into them. I was alone. Isolated. Hated and abused. I had no parents, no one to care for me. My whole life had been hollow, empty, and the feeling, it seemed, was to be terminal.

The day my life changed monumentally is one I’ll never forget. It was the day I was reborn.

Walking from my job at the local bookstore, the sun had set and I wrapped my arms around myself as a chill started to seep into my skin. That’s when I saw them.

My abusers.

In school there was a bigger crowd, but tonight I saw only three. Boys… almost men. They were eighteen now, just like me. They hadn’t stopped dishing out the insults since they began back in first grade. In fact, after returning this last year, it’s become worse.

My looks had changed over the summer. I grew into my gangly body and my teeth, my acne cleared, and my long blond hair is now thick and lush. These boys noticed me, they all did. The taunts never stopped, but I saw it in their eyes—there was an annoyance. Just like it had always been, but now there was also a want… they wanted the new me. They hated craving me. It was new to them and they just didn’t know what to do about it. Plus, none of them were brave enough to admit it. Not that it would have changed anything. Let’s face it, I hated them all, with a passion.

When they approached me that night it wasn’t with caution. It should have been. Fear would have served them well. I was meek, quiet. I didn’t fight back. I was an easy target… that’s what they thought. That’s what I thought. Why would they be frightened of little old me?

When they pushed me into the back alley and tried to rip my clothes off, things changed. I listened to their voices, heard the evil inside them, and felt the cruel enjoyment that wept from their pores. I didn’t understand it then. But I do now. That fight was monumental and thus began my life.

I was reborn. I was new. I became what I was always meant to be. They started that, but they’ll never know, never see. I killed them that day—all three boy-men. They were sons, nephews, boyfriends. Hell, they might have been future presidents for all I knew. Either way, I ripped their lives from their bodies in the blink of an eye.

I still feel that evil, the grime under my fingernails, and it eats away at me. One day it might win and then all could be lost. For now, I hold it back, like a dam impounding water, controlling it and stopping it from overflowing and decimating everything in its path.

That night, as they tried to rape me, pawing at my clothes and laughing among themselves,while I was on the floor assured of my death - or at the very least my violation - my heart rate picked up speed and something sparked inside me. Something that had lain dormant, something that would set me free. Something that was so unnatural to me, yet felt so very right.

When the light took over it was blinding, I couldn’t control it. If I’d have known how, then perhaps they would have survived—maybe. When I touched them with my hands, trying to push them off me, they screamed. The sound was bloodcurdling, and as their flailing arms stilled and their lifeless bodies dropped to the asphalt, I had no time to recover or to make sense of the situation surrounding me. A shrouded figure bounded out of nowhere, grabbed my wrist, and hauled me up.

“Come with me, Emery,” he ordered softly, but I couldn’t move.

As I tried to blink away the events, dismissing them as my crazy overactive imagination, he must have seen the confusion, or maybe it was fear that was clear in my eyes.

“Emery, you killed them,” he told me as gently as possible, pointing to my three attackers on the ground.

I looked down at their bodies but felt nothing. No remorse. No regret. I was just cold from the wind that whipped against my skin through torn clothing and from the ice that I’d allowed to fill me inside, shutting out every truth from that night.

Now that time has passed, I see the vision that I blocked out back then so clearly in my nightmares sometimes. I feel it all now.

“I need to get you somewhere safe. Then I can explain everything,” he told me as he tugged me forward.

I could hear the sirens in the distance. Someone must have seen something, and the cops were closing in. I had no time to think, no time to decide if this person urging me to follow him was good or evil. But knowing what I did, I wasn’t entirely sure if I could be classified as good anymore. What I knew was that I had no one in my corner. So, I made a choice that night and followed the man who seemed to hold the promise of something else, something better than the lowly existence I loathed.

That was how this started.

Now, the fight that I thought was huge that first night, seems insignificant to what I face ahead of me. What we all face. Now I’m in the fight of my life. For everyone and for myself.

But to tell the story, I need to go back to the beginning. Back to my emergence.

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About the Author

Maria is a full time working Mum, she has two beautiful daughters, both of whom love books as much as she does. 
Maria has loved to write since she was a little girl. 
Reading and loving books, as well as blogging, has inspired her to write and publish.
Maria, her husband and children now reside in Wiltshire, England. 

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Read an excerpt from Sever by Mary Elizabeth

Misery overstayed its welcome. 

But fate will not be so easily swayed.

Gabriella Mason and Teller Reddy have walked a thin line between affection and hostility for years. The intensity that once set them on fire has ended their engagement and separated them by more than just miles. 

Forced together by circumstances they never saw coming, Gabriella and Teller have no choice but to face the past that brought them together and ultimately severed them apart. 

Wrecked and Damaged have collided. 

This is what happens when they try to pick up the pieces.

Excerpt

I’m not as young as I used to be.

The aches and pains in my neck and back from sleeping on Ella’s porch for two nights make my increasing age very apparent. Four or five years ago, I’d crash out on the cement outside her apartment and wake up ready to chase her around until she forgave me.

I haven’t been able to turn my head since I left St. Helena three days ago.

“Did your arms stop working, too?” Maby scoops dirty clothes from the floor as she passes. “And since when do you smoke in the house, Tell?”

My sister tosses my mess into the laundry room and then opens the sliding glass door to let in fresh air. Sunlight cuts through the parted glass, intruding on my misery and shining a light on my negligence. Maby examines the kitchen, tossing empty takeout boxes into the trash, dirty plates into the sink, and continues to search the refrigerator for sustenance.

She gags.

“Oh, my God, Teller.” Maby holds the gallon of spoiled milk out in front of her, hiding her nose in the crook of her elbow. “Have you even bothered to clean out the fridge since Ella left?”

“Why would I do that?” I drop what’s left of my cigarette into a soda can on the coffee table in front of me. The cherry sizzles in sticky syrup; a trail of smoke swirls from the opening in the lid, disappearing before it merges with the haze hanging above. “If I don’t eat at the hospital, then I go through a drive-thru on the way home. Fuck that refrigerator.”

Maby drops rotten dairy into the garbage and drags the trash can to the fridge, where she proceeds to dry heave and shriek, discarding month-old leftover containers and liquefied fruits and vegetables.

“Doesn’t Mom come over to help you clean?” she asks.

Sticking another smoke between my teeth, I toss the empty pack across the room and stand, stretching my stiff joints and tense muscles. This place is a fucking mess, but so is my life. With my reason for existing out of reach, there’s no point in keeping up with pointless creature comforts, like tidiness and nutrition. I live off fast food and nicotine, hoping it kills me before misery does.

“Obviously she hasn’t been by for a while.” I light my last cigarette as I stride through the kitchen to the backyard.

Green eyes the same color as mine follow me out, casting the same disappointment everyone I care about shares with me during these dark days. “That’s probably because you’re a grown-ass man. What the hell, Teller? When’s the last time you’ve washed a load of laundry?”

The right side of my mouth curves into an imposturous smile. “It’s easier to buy new socks and underwear than to wash the ones I have.”

Maby’s jaw drops long enough to taste the decay secreting from the fridge. She coughs and turns toward the sink as she chokes, cupping her hands under the stream of water and bringing it to her lips. “Burn this place down. It’s the only way.”

I exhale my slow suicide overhead and laugh. “It’s not that serious, Maby. Look out here. The gardener and the pool guy still make it by every week."

“That’s great.” She joins me outside, inhaling a lungful of clean air as she says, “At least your neighbors won’t suspect you’re one bag of trash away from being on the next episode of Hoarders.”

“The fish tank’s clean.” I drop the smile when it begins to hurt my face.

Maby rolls her eyes, taking a seat under the pergola. The large beams pitch parallel shadows across her body, leaving half of her face washed in sunlight and the other in the shade. "I’d tell Ella to petition for custody if it wasn’t.”

That’s the second time she’s mentioned my demise since showing up unannounced, wrecking my four-week pity party with her concern and sisterly affection. Why can’t she let me rot like the oranges in the refrigerator? Did I fuck with the apples? No, I let them die with dignity. Show me the same respect.

Maby thinks it’s a good idea if I talk about my feelings and be open about what I’m going through, but what the fuck does she know about having your heart torn from your chest with a drop of a ring and a swing of a bat? Husher hasn’t left her side since the day they met, and now she’s promised forever to the poor bastard. My sister owns no wisdom that can save me.

I’m fucked.

I’m half a soul without Ella. Half a man.

Half.

I’m just half.

“Look,” I say, kicking a pebble into the grass, “it was nice seeing you, but I have to be at the hospital in an hour, so you need to go.”

Leaning back in her chair, Maby lifts her feet up and makes herself comfortable. “I think I’ll stay here with you for a while.”

I flick my smoke into the pool and shake my head. “Not happening.”

“Did you seriously just do that?” She scoffs. “Pull yourself together, man. Do you not realize how lucky you are to live in a house like this and own a pool like that? You’ve always been an ungrateful prick, but for fuck’s sake, wake the hell up.”

If Ella wasn’t an eight-hour drive away, I might not feel so empty. But she is, and I do. This isn’t like the other times we’ve argued and taken breaks for a few days. She boarded an airplane and left me with no indication of ever coming back. We’re not kids anymore. I can’t drop my entire life to kick down her door and beg until she forgives me. Letting the food go bad and the laundry pile up is one thing, but I have patients and a motherfucking goldfish who needs me here.

“Can you watch Phish for a while?” I ask, attempting to rid myself of one obligation.

“Why? Are you going somewhere?” My sister follows me upstairs to my bedroom and immediately opens the curtains to let more bastard light in. Tiny particles of dust drift in the air as I pick up a pair of scrubs from the floor, searching for the cleanest pair.

“My plane leaves Friday morning.” I drop denim to my ankles and expose my boxer briefs, unable to keep a smile back when my only sibling yelps and spins around.

“You’re going back to St. Helena,” she says over her shoulder.

“Is that a question?” I ask, tying my scrubs.

“Do you plan on sleeping in the front yard again?” Maby trails behind me to the bathroom. She leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest.

I turn on the faucet and splash cold water onto my heated face, unsurprised she knows about that. Apparently, my runaway speaks to everyone but me.

I wonder how long it would take to drown if I filled the sink and sank my head in? The liquid would fill my lungs instead of this heart fuck, and I wouldn’t have to listen to Maby talk about Ella anymore.

That sounds like a motherfucking win-win.

“I plan on doing whatever’s necessary until she talks to me.” A flash of heat fills my stomach when I think about the day she left.

When she dropped her engagement ring to the floor like it meant nothing.

When I took a bat to her car.

“Should I be worried?” Maby asks. She hands me a towel to dry my face.

“Not sure.” I look at myself in the mirror. Purple sleeplessness hangs heavy beneath my eyes, and my hair’s overgrown, sweeping the tips of my ears. I haven’t shaved my face in a week, and there’s blood on these scrubs.

Maby sees the stain when I do and asks if I need help finding a clean uniform.

"Forget it," I say. I push myself away from the counter and leave. “I’ll grab a pair from the hospital.”

Her footsteps click on the wooden stairs as she hurries to keep up with me, but I can’t be in the fucking house a minute longer. The walls scream loneliness. The bedsheets are bitter. Every corner carries memories of the brunette girl who’s tangled in my veins, mangled around my lungs until I gasp for air the same way I do in the middle of the night when I remember Ella’s not here.

Panic shoves me outside, where my eyes close against the low sun streaming through tree branches and browning leaves. The cool evening temperature bites my sweltering skin, and the scent of damp grass, wilted flower petals, and the water flowing through the gutter offers me something real to concentrate on. Inhaling through my nose, I hold fresh air in my lungs and close my eyes as oxygenated blood flows through me and my head clears

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About the Author

Mary Elizabeth is an up and coming author who finds words in chaos, writing stories about the skeletons hanging in your closets. 
Mary was born and raised in Southern California. She is a wife, mother of four beautiful children, and dog tamer to one enthusiastic Pit Bull and a prissy Chihuahua. She’s a hairstylist by day but contemporary fiction, new adult author by night. Mary can often be found finger twirling her hair and chewing on a stick of licorice while writing and rewriting a sentence over and over until it’s perfect. She discovered her talent for tale-telling accidentally, but literature is in her chokehold. And she’s not letting go until every story is told. 
 
 
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