Spotlight: Yoga One For Me by Eden Bloom

/

(Misty Falls, #1)

Publication date: October 30th 2022

Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Synopsis:

They say you can’t outrun your problems, but that won’t stop me from trying…

Josie

It takes my boyfriend proposing for me to realize I need a new life plan, and fast! So I grab my yoga mat and hit the road. I talk my best friend into swapping places while I sort things out. Her small town of Misty Falls is incredible, and exactly what I need to rethink my life choices.

Everything is going great until I run into her brother Rake — literally — and my dinner ends up all over his clothes. Even covered in mashed potatoes, he’s gorgeous. Not that I care. The last thing I need is a relationship after just fleeing one…

Rake

The moment Josie dumps food on me, I know I’m done for. Between the tornado of a person she is and the unexpected surprise that she’s my sudden roommate, I’m in for a ride. But I’ve got too much at stake to let her become a distraction. My lifelong dream depends on staying away from her.

Even if it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Yoga One For Me is a sweet and funny romcom that will warm your heart. It’s a full-length standalone novel that takes place in a charming small town overlooking the beach. Once you step foot in Misty Falls, you won’t want to leave.

Excerpt

I put down the yoga mat and check the fridge. It’s fully stocked with enough food to feed a football team. Raine went all out, and I only left her some bags to dump in the Crockpot. I owe her big time.

My mouth waters as I rifle through the contents of the fridge. I’m going to double my weight if I try to eat all of this before it goes bad. Most of it will end up in the freezer.

As my stomach roars, I make myself a plate of food and fill a glass with iced tea. Then I head for the dining room, my mouth watering.

I round the corner and crash into something. No, someone. A very tall and very muscular someone.

His eyes widen as my food smashes against his white button-down shirt and my black iced tea runs down his khaki pants, making it look like he wet himself. Maybe he did — I can be scary.

I scream. Smack his side with my plate. He’s surprisingly solid. “Get out!”

He backs up, holding out his hands. “Me? I live here. You get out!”

My pulse thrums in my ears. “No, I do. This is my house for the summer.”

“Says who?” He pulls mashed potatoes from his shirt and flops them onto my plate. His wavy, dirty-blonde hair blocks his face, and he brushes it aside getting food in it.

I get lost in his eyes for a moment. Until I remember that he’s an intruder, and my life is in danger. “Leave! Before I call the police.”

“Did you catch the part about me living here?”

I throw the potatoes back at him. “I don’t know who you are, but Raine said I’d have this house to myself.”

He’s really hot. Maybe he’s one of the guys she’s seeing, and he doesn’t realize she’s in Nevada. That makes sense. But why would he think he lives here?

“Where’s she?”

“If you live here, you should know.” I fold my arms.

He tilts his head, and while he looks menacing he also takes my breath away. “I don’t keep track of where my sister is.”

His sister? He’s Raine’s brother.

Crap. He really does have every right to be here.

Though we’ve never met, now I recognize him from the pictures I’ve seen over the years. He’s even taller and more gorgeous in person.

It takes me a moment to find my voice. “You’re Rake.”

“In the flesh.”

“You still have to leave. This isn’t part of my contract with Raine.” There is no contract. At least not on paper. But she did promise me the house to myself. That’s like a contract. In a way. Fine, it’s a stretch. But I’m going with it.

Rake’s brows furrow. “Leave? I need to shower, thanks to you.”

“After that, you can go.” I storm to my room, taking my useless plate of squished food with me. I’ve lost my appetite anyway.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Eden has always lived in the Pacific Northwest, and it's her favorite place to write about. She loves hiking in the great outdoors, sitting by lakes, watching waterfalls, and of course reading romantic comedies. There's nothing like love and laughter to to lift a person's spirits, and that's a gift she hopes to share with all of her readers every time they open one of her books.

Connect:

https://www.instagram.com/edenbloomauthor/

https://www.tiktok.com/@edenbloomauthor

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22992514.Eden_Bloom

Spotlight: The Control by M.W. Layne

/

Publication date: June 5th 2023

Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller

Synopsis:

I didn’t kill my professor. But someone did…

It’s the dead of night when I regain consciousness in my psychology professor’s office. I don’t know what I’m doing here or why my favorite teacher is slumped over, dead at his computer with his head caved in.

When I stumble over to him on shaking legs, I bury my face in my sleeve to mute the smell of death. But as I lean in to see what he was working on when he was killed, the psych profile on his screen is what makes me wretch. The assessment is about one of his students–someone he describes as mentally ill, losing control, and capable of extreme violence. I scroll to the top of the document, and when I get there my stomach freezes because the name I see is my own.

Jim Straub.

I stagger away from my professor’s cold body, eyes filled with tears. He was my teacher and trying to help me. There’s no way I was the one who murdered him. But if it wasn’t me, who was it? And more importantly, why did the killer let me live?

The Control is a psychological thriller–a dark story of nightmares, deception, and love that will keep you guessing until its unforgettable, twisted ending.

Excerpt One from “The Control” by M.W. Layne

With two fingers, I lift Mooken’s icy hand from the keyboard, treating it like a disgusting bug I have to touch. I’ve watched enough television shows and read enough mysteries to know better than to disturb a dead body. But I need the letters on his screen to stop.

They remind me too much of how Mooken used to make his awkward hmmm sounds in the middle of his lectures when pondering a point his students weren’t getting.

Being this close to a dead person, my body revolts at the heavy cocktail of copper, feces, and urine in the room—a combination I’ve never encountered before.

Well, once before. But that was so long ago I sometimes wonder if it wasn’t another one of my nightmares.

But my stomach tells me the scene in front of me is real. My guts convulse and threaten to spew everything from inside of me, and I swallow hard, choking back my sickness…barely.

I bury my nose in my sleeve, breathing through my mouth. Other than the shallow in-and-out of my air, the room is quiet.

Inside my head, however, things are very loud.

Along with the loud buzzing, my father is telling me to run.

Leave now and save yourself, boy. Before they blame you for all of this.

I ignore him and stare down at Mooken.

After five minutes, his screen starts to fade to black, but I move the mouse, and the screen returns to full brightness.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I lean over my professor’s body like I’m showing a dead man something he might find interesting. I hold the mouse lightly in my hand and scroll up. There are so many pages of mmmms that the document appears to stand still as I scroll. I climb through a hundred pages of that single, lonely letter before I make it to the substance of the file and slow down to skim its contents. I scan blocks of Mooken’s text, reading snippets from the bottom up.

classic signs…

early schizophrenia…

chronic sleep deprivation…

acute depression…

disruptions in personal affairs…

My head throbs as I continue further up the document.

delusions…

romantic interest…

auditory and visual hallucinations…

sleep paralysis…

irrational anger and suspicion toward therapist…

potential for extreme violence…

formal evaluation recommended…

I speed to the very top of the document to see who Mooken was evaluating, and my stomach freezes when I read my name.

Jim Straub.

But this can’t be. I didn’t kill the professor. I know this for certain.

Professor Mooken was my teacher and trying to help me. That must be why I came here tonight—to get his help.

Not to kill him.

The delete key stares at me, cooing, tempting me to erase my name—to fix this.

But I can’t do that—not yet, at least.

I disable Mooken’s screen saver, stagger to the other side of his desk, and sink back into the leather chair.

When I check the clock on the wall, fifteen minutes have passed.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and on reflex, I check it. As happens so often lately, it’s a missed call from my father, who suffers from dementia and calls and texts daily.

I love and miss my dad, but I can’t deal with him and his altered, severe personality right now.

My present situation is too dire, although there are still a few hours before other professors and students begin entering the building to start their days.

I squeeze my eyes shut to help me remember the events that led me here, but when I do, I hear my father giving me advice again, yelling at me, ordering me.

Leave.

“Not yet,” I say through clenched teeth. “I need to remember what happened first.”

Excerpt Two from “The Control” by M.W. Layne

A minute later, the birds and insects around me all go silent.

It’s a subtle warning others may miss, but I’m always listening. I pay attention to my surroundings and what the world has to tell me.

The creatures have done their job warning me. Now it’s up to me to discover the threat.

Before I consciously process the slapping of feet behind me, my nape hairs stand on end. I don’t have to turn around to know that someone is approaching more quickly than normal. I speed up and take a sharp turn at the next street. And as soon as I’m around the corner, I walk faster, almost running. When I turn down the next street, I look back and finally glimpse my pursuer.

I recognize Tony—the local from our experiment—and his wiry frame immediately.

Despite the distance I’ve put between us, the snarl that distorts his weathered face is enough to tell me he is not here on pleasant business.

Maybe he resents being duped in our laboratory drama. Perhaps he thought he was making headway with Amber, and he’s angry that she was part of the act. Whatever his reason, I increase my pace, walking as fast as possible without running. When I do, the cadence of his feet hitting the asphalt behind me speeds up as well.

I’m not a runner. I never have been.

But as my adrenal glands flood my bloodstream with a huge batch of epinephrine, I break into a full sprint. When I look back, Tony’s in full pursuit. But luckily, he’s not in that great of shape, despite being rail-thin. His heavy breathing is louder than the sound of my pounding heart.

Even so, the next time I check behind me, his form is bigger as he continues to gain.

I turn another corner and move onto the sidewalk that runs along Rugby Road. The Greek-inspired fraternity and sorority houses blur by on my right as I jump onto the shoulder to avoid the crowd of students as I approach Beta Bridge.

As my heart slams inside my chest, my surroundings snap into clear focus.

The graffiti on Beta Bridge is newly painted in spring motifs of flowers and Easter eggs.

A female student steps on an earthworm without realizing it, smearing its body on the concrete as she crosses the bridge.

I inhale the sour odor of wet mud from Mad Bowl—the field on my right where popular guys, muddy and drunk, play rugby in the wet grass.

My brain processes all of these things in a single instant. And I silently thank evolution for the chemicals in my bloodstream allowing me to maintain this pace for much longer than usual.

But I don’t kid myself. My body is only responding this well to being chased because Tony is the dog and I’m the rabbit running for my life.

When I glance behind me, Tony has taken to the street, running against traffic, and has halved the distance between us. I should stop and let him say what he wants to me—allow him to vent his anger in front of all these student witnesses.

Being in public should keep me safe from any serious harm. Besides, even though he’s angry, he’s not a psychopath—not if Mooken’s questionnaire is as good as he claims at screening out psychopaths, sociopaths, and people with other serious mental issues.

While thinking about all of this, I spend a second too long looking over my shoulder and almost wipe out when I run into someone.

The person grabs me by my shoulders and spins me around, and I struggle to move past him. I’m an unwilling partner in this dark dance with him, and the sounds of bassoons and kettle drums from Beethoven’s Ninth flood my head as I ball my right hand into a fist, ready to fight if he won’t let me go.

But before I can throw a punch, Eugene speaks.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

When Mike writes twisted psychological thrillers, urban fantasy, or stories with a darker bent, he publishes it under the pen name “M.W. Layne" to differentiate it from his other books written as Michael W. Layne. Both Michael and M.W. apologize for any confusion this may cause readers, but this makes it easier to decide which set of books you can let your kids read. Michael W. Layne, yes! Great for any age. M.W. Layne, maybe not until they're in their teens…

Connect:

https://writerlayne.com/

https://www.instagram.com/michaelw.layne/

https://www.facebook.com/MichaelWLayneAuthor/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21257987.M_W_Layne

Cover Reveal: Cosplay and Confrontation by Sarah Zane

/

Publication date: September 26th 2023

Genres: Comedy, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

Synopsis:

Pride and Prejudice meets the legends of King Arthur in this sapphic rivals-to-lovers, sweet romantic comedy packed with plenty of banter and tension.

Obstinate and headstrong cosplayer Elaine Knight prided herself on two things; her quality cosplays and being a good judge of character. Gwendolyn Reid took both of those from her. They used to be best friends, until Gwen broke their best friend’s heart and skipped town. At least with Gwen out of the way, Lanie was a shoo-in to win the upcoming cosplay contest.

Except now Gwen’s back.

Gwendolyn Reid should be thinking about meeting her fans, winning the cosplay contest, and dancing at the ball. Instead, all she can think about is Lanie, their unresolved issues, and her unrequited feelings. Unfortunately, there’s no denying that the only feeling Lanie has for Gwen is hatred.

Lucky for them both, it is a truth universally acknowledged that rivals are bound to fall in love.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Sarah is an author of happy endings for traumatized queers. She is a bisexual feminist and a licensed therapist. Her books often deal with themes of feminism, trauma, sexuality, and mental health. She lives in New England with her husband and 2 black cats named Gatsby and Mr. Darcy. When she isn't writing, she can be found perusing a book in her home library that features over 400 books, making chaotic book themed videos for TikTok (aka Booktok), taking forest walks, visiting castles, planning exotic trips she can't afford, or cuddled up with one of her cats crying over fictional characters or yelling at them about how badly they need therapy.

Connect:

https://beacons.ai/libraryofsarahzane

https://www.tiktok.com/@libraryofsarahzane

https://www.instagram.com/libraryofsarahzane/

https://www.facebook.com/libraryofsarahzane

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22308720.Sarah_Zane

Spotlight: Feeling Ballsy by Beck Erixson

/

(Love is Awkward)

Publication date: August 1st 2023

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Synopsis:

Elin Axelsson is unmistakably the worst goalie in her women’s indoor soccer league. Yet each week, she laces up her cleats, pumps up her teammates, and gives it her all. At least playing soccer means being able to spend more time with her all-star goalie boyfriend, Nate. And her best friend of fifteen years—who’s a total ladies’ man—Hawk.

But when Elin catches Nate cheating, she dumps his ass, and finds herself thrust back into the weird world of online dating. At least she has Hawk to lean on. He has a new woman every week, and is a dating expert. But after a few awkward first dates with other people, Elin starts noticing Hawk in a different light. Except, that can’t happen. She can’t risk losing him, or their fifteen-year friendship if things go sour.

That is, until they manage to fall tongue-first into each other’s mouths. The two form a pact to prevent diving hormones-first into more bad relationships. They’ll hook up with each other, and compartmentalize their friendship. But there are rules: Elin sets the pace, no sex with others while the pact is in effect, and if either develop romantic feelings for the other, they must bail out to protect the friendship. It’s the perfect arrangement!

Until it isn’t.

Excerpt

Our gazes split as I pretend to stretch my neck, crinkling the melting bag of ice, and severing a replay of the moment at the fire pit we both refuse to acknowledge.

He leans in, and a tiny giggle flutters up my chest and out through my lips.

“What?” He asks, pulling his torso back, his voice squeaking high. “Does my breath smell?” Furrowing his brow, he huffs into his palm. With a deep sniff, he shakes his head.

I swallow down a larger chuckle. He looks over my shoulder as he bites his lower lip. Do what happened the other night. It’s simple.

I cough to cover another laugh and clear my throat. “Let’s try again.”

Hawk crosses his arms and tilts his head like a confused puppy. “Are you going to laugh at me again?”

I shake my head. “No?” Maybe.

“Well, that’s so convincing.” His voice hits a puberty high crack. “It’s only me.”

I nod and take in a deep breath. It’s only me? Does he realize what that even means? There is no one I trust more than him. Despite that, this is still new territory. There’s this tiny nag in me throwing up blocks, worried about being tossed aside when he’s bored of me.

My lips part and hover close enough to feel the gentle exhale of air from his mouth. I peek open an eye to find he’s staring back at me. Another obnoxiously loud laugh erupts from my mouth, and a pang of worry seizes my heart.

I suck in my lips and bite down as I open my eyes. Well, crap. He looks so … confused?

“You’re not okay with this, are you?” He scratches at his cheek and glances down.

The bag of ice drips on my shirt and ceases the trembling tickle in my chest. “It’s not that. It’s every time I see your face I laugh.”

“I’m that horrible looking to you?” His tone suggests a joke, but one drenched in a heavy ouch.

“Shut up. You know you aren’t ugly.” I shake my head.

“True. I’m in the realm of hideous.” He flashes a wide grin and runs his tongue over his lips. “Would a bag over my head with lip holes help?”

“You. Are. Ridiculous.”

He covers his face with wide fingers. “Better?”

“Stop making fun.”

All I want to do is see if the fire pit was a fluke, and forget all the other nonsense. Instead, I can’t stop giggling like I’ve never been with someone before. I lean in, kiss the back of his hand, and lean back.

“Oh, baby.” He rolls his eyes back, pulls his hands down his cheeks, and lets out a groan.

“This. This is why it’s weird.” A full belly laugh pulls through, filling the air. “You’re, you.” Knowing it’s him kissing me is different from seeing him kiss me. When the structured lines of his face get close, my nerves flare a warning and a protective shyness takes over.

“Wildflower, I only want to kiss you. I need to kiss you.” His hands land at his sides with an exaggerated smack and his tone shifts to serious. “Do you actually want to do this?”

The way he says “Wildflower” melts me. I nod repeatedly and pout my bottom lip. My chest holds the tingles, the desire, the pull to him. “I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like each time we get near, one of our magnets flips over, shooting us far apart.”

“Oh. Talk dirty to me with science. Two poles of a magnet repelling.” He leans back and gives an approving nod.

The issue isn’t the repelling, it’s the pull. The thing I’m stuck on from the night we kissed is, he kissed me. He scrambled the natural balance of our friendship, messing with the normally clear division line. We crossed into the unknown and he was burned. Literally. I don’t want to get burned or set our friendship ablaze in a grand bonfire. And yet, I want to be kissed—by him. None of this is logical.

Buy on Amazon | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Beck Erixson writes about the beautifully awkward world of navigating the journey to true happiness through friendships, love, and family—be it blood, found, or chosen. Her stories enhance the importance of positive interconnection, even when we feel lonely. She lives on the Jersey Shore, and can often be found either writing by the river, or in it in some way. Her short stories have appeared in Many Nice Donkeys, and Full Mood Mag.

Connect:

https://beckerixson.com/

https://twitter.com/berixson

https://www.instagram.com/beckerixsonauthor/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/34934710.Beck_Erixson

Spotlight: A Hospital in the Clouds by Mhairead MacLeod

/

Publication date: April 27th 2023

Genres: Adult, Historical, Historical Romance

Synopsis:

CAN ANNA OUTRUN HER PAST?

Reinventing herself as a nurse in the tropical frontier of Australia, healing her soldier-lover, raising her unruly daughter – these are just a few of the challenges Anna Sinclair, a young suffragette, faces while on the run from the law back in Scotland.

As she struggles to establish her own hospital, her past draws closer and risks exposure of her shameful secret, along with the loss of everything she holds dearest.

Will everything she desires be achieved, or crumble around her?

Excerpt

1

When I saw Tom Austen that March morning of 1918, I knew there was something about him I recognised, something shared. It was in his expression as he let me dress his foot, rotten and black around stumps of cartilage where his toes had been surgically removed. He held in the pain, hissing through clenched teeth.

I drew the screen and squeezed a fresh cloth into a warm basin of water. ‘Here, Lieutenant Austen, I’ll help you off with your things.’

His shirt was damp with sweat, his pants soaked with urine.

‘Do you need to use the bedpan?’

‘Too late.’

As I pulled off his pyjamas his hand went to cover his crotch.

‘You should be used to this by now,’ I said, handing him a towel.

I wiped his face, the fair chin stubble uneven from alopecia, then massaged the washer gently down his chest, across red shrapnel scars and under his arms.

‘I was quite a hairy bugger until the war,’ he said.

‘Why didn’t you stay in England until your recovery?’

‘Must have been homesick. And Australian nurses are much prettier.’

We’d heard that old line from the soldiers many times, as if they were determined to assure us they were still virile men inside those broken bodies. We nurses usually played along – it was our job to heal, after all. But it was more than a job, more than just providing moral support and sympathy. We were part of their new family, we sisters who cared for them day and night. But the men we tended in the Injured Veterans’ Ward of the Cairns District Hospital were only a few of the hundreds who’d been shipped up to regional centres. It made room down south for the newly-arrived from Passchendaele, Pozières, Villers Brettoneux, Lagnicourt – exotic names these men had no trouble pronouncing.

‘How lucky am I, eh? Shelled with phosgene. Didn’t realise what was happening. Thought I’d landed back home in a vat of newly picked corn – that’s what it smelt like. Didn’t feel it at first, then couldn’t breathe for the life of me. Crawled around, found my gas mask. Got patched up and sent back. Took another hiding from Fritz. Now this bloody trench foot.’

He made his butchering sound like a jaunty boy’s adventure, but I knew the truth. One night when the other men were asleep, I had found him, drawn back into that dark underworld, his body curled into a tight ball, his shoulders shaking.

A fly crawled over the bed, attracted by the rot that even disinfectant swabs couldn’t wash out. I flicked it away. ‘Your lungs are healing, Lieutenant. Our tropical weather will help. And you will get better, you hear?’ There was a liver-coloured wound at his neck, fading into scar tissue. At first, I suspected shrapnel damage, but when I looked closer, it resembled the more rounded scar of a bullet. ‘How did you get that?’

He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at me. ‘I can see what you’re thinking. So, don’t say it.’

‘Say what?’

‘That I’m really quite a lucky chap.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘Then you’d be the first. That’s the platitude they come up with.’ He coughed, and the pain from his burned lungs made him slump back as he squeezed his eyes tight, shutting everything out. ‘Bloody carbolic floors,’ he said.

It was supposed to be a quick wipe down before I changed the basin and cloths for the next patient, but I slowed the process a little, the water wringing and splashing, sponging and soothing the pale landscape of violence. I patted dry the tattooed profile on his bicep. ‘She’s a pretty one. With her dark blue hair flying around.’

‘On leave with the battalion when I had that done. Got myself blotto. Didn’t have a girl to write home to, so I thought I’d carry one in my arms.’ He gave a chuckle then coughed again. ‘It’s just not the sort of thing … an officer is supposed to do. Is it, nurse?’

I guessed a warning about STDs would embarrass him, especially from someone his own age, and he’d probably have heard the standard lecture many times. Instead, I said with a smile, ‘You’d know how to set a good example, then.’

‘I’m the least qualified in the world to do that.’

‘Sounds like false modesty to me.’

‘No. Hard to explain – and if I tried, it would probably be bulldust.’

Buy on Amazon | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Mhairead MacLeod was born in Scotland and now lives in Australia. Her first novel, The False Men won two manuscript awards. The manuscript for A Hospital in the Clouds has been short-listed for and won screenwriting manuscript awards. Before she became a writer Mhairead was a lawyer, which has proved useful for researching her historical fiction.

Connect:

https://www.mhaireadmacleod.com/

https://www.facebook.com/mhaireadmacleodauthor/

https://www.instagram.com/mhairead_macleod_author/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17086811.Mhairead_MacLeod

Cover Reveal: Defying Evil: A Dark Romantic Thriller by Abbie Roads

/

(Blood is Thicker Than…, #1)

Publication date: October 17th 2023

Genres: Adult, Romance, Thriller

Synopsis:

He’s the son of a serial killer.

She’s his father’s only surviving victim.

He’s obsessed with her.

She’s frightened of him.

Before it’s all over they’ll need each other to survive.

Cain Killion’s life has revolved around blood. From a childhood of torture by his father, to his gruesome ability to solve crimes. When a current case is directly connected to his past, there’s only one person with answers.

But she isn’t talking, and the bodies are stacking up. The only solution… Kidnap her.

Defying Evil is the first book in the Blood is Thicker Than Series of dark romantic thrillers. It features a man tortured by his past who never thought he was capable of love. If you devour edge of your seat thrillers and romance novels, you’ll love a series that combines both in a roller-coaster ride of mind games and tragic love.

Read this dangerously dark romance today!

Trigger warning: Depictions of violence.

Previously published until the title Saving Mercy.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Abbie Roads is the best-selling author of the Fatal Dreams Series and the Fatal Truth Series. Her novels have been finalists in many prestigious contests including The Golden Heart, The Greater Detroit Booksellers Best, The Oklahoma National Readers’ Choice Award, The Write Touch, The Strut Your Stuff Contest, The Aspen Gold Contest, The Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, The Heart of Excellence Readers’ Choice Award, The Midnight Sun, The Kathryn Hayes Contest, The Chanticleer, The Daphne du Maurier, The National Readers’ Choice Award, The New England Readers’ Choice Contest, The Beverly Award, and The Maggie Award. Her debut novel Race the Darkness was Publishers Weekly Top 10 Pick for Fall and Never Let Me Fall is an Amazon Editor’s Pick.

By day Abbie Roads is a mental health counselor always focusing on the bright side. By night she writes on the dark side, putting her characters through the wringer before she gives them their happily-ever-after. She loves a good inspirational quote and is a fan of true crime.

Connect:
https://www.abbieroads.com/
https://www.facebook.com/abbieroads2
https://twitter.com/Abbie_Roads
https://www.instagram.com/Abbie_Roads/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8179024.Abbie_Roads