Monday, April 13, 2020

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: FLOWERS ON HER GRAVE by Jennifer Chase @jchasenovelist #crimethriller




We're thrilled to kick off the virtual book tour for FLOWERS ON HER GRAVE by crime thriller author Jennifer Chase. If you would like to follow her tour, visit Pump Up Your Book!


FLOWERS ON HER GRAVE
By Jennifer Chase
Crime Thriller

On the floor, amongst the piles of freshly pressed laundry, lay the woman’s lifeless body, her pale yellow nightdress soaked in blood. 

“I didn’t do it…” came a whisper from the corner of the room. 

Detective Katie Scott has never seen two people more in love than her aunt and uncle as they danced on the decking the night of their wedding anniversary party. But the next morning, when Katie finds her aunt’s body sprawled across the floor, that perfect image is shattered forever.

All fingers point to Katie’s uncle, Pine Valley’s beloved sheriff and protector – after all, his prints are all over the antique knife found at the scene. Grieving, but certain of her uncle’s innocence, Katie is consigned to the cold case division after she’s discovered searching the house for clues. Does someone want to keep her as far away from this investigation as possible?

Ignoring warnings from her team, Katie digs into her uncle’s old case files and discovers photographs of the body of a young girl found tied to a tree after a hike in search of a rare flower. Her body is covered with the same unusual lacerations her aunt suffered. Katie knows it can’t be a coincidence, but every lead she follows takes her to a dead end.

Moments before the sheriff is arrested, Katie realizes that a single piece of thread she found at the crime scene could be the missing link that will stitch old crimes to new. But how can she prove her uncle’s innocence without throwing herself directly into the line of fire? She doesn’t have a choice, he’s the only family she has left…

PRAISE FOR FLOWERS ON HER GRAVE:

Her Last Whisper is a work of crime and detective fiction penned by author Jennifer Chase. Written as the second book in the Detective Katie Scott series, this action-packed thriller sees the return of our anxiety-ridden heroine as she battles both her PTSD and a whole new mystery. When local nurse Amanda Payton is found dead, Katie uncovers a trail leading back to a case that was overlooked some weeks ago. And when a new young woman also fails to arrive at work and is linked to Amanda, Katie soon realizes that she’s uncovering a whole pattern of victims she must endeavor to save.
Gripping, emotive and highly realistic, this is a fantastic and in-depth crime mystery for fans to devour. Katie is a capable heroine, ex-military with lots of sharp mental connections made and a strong stomach, but she also has real-life struggles that many ex-military personnel have and it makes her really endearing as a central figure to investigate the mystery. Author Jennifer Chase doesn’t spoon-feed information either but lets it weave naturally into the descriptions and dialogue, allowing us as readers to piece the clues together with Katie in what is definitely a well thought out plot. The conclusions are exciting but also satisfying when all loose ends are tied up, though it makes for a harrowing journey along the way. Overall, Her Last Whisper is a fantastic and thrilling crime read which is sure to please fans of the genre for its depth and development.
— K.C. Finn for Readers’ Favorite



Amazon → https://amzn.to/2IOsQQW

 











PROLOGUE

Stepping from the main hiking trail, the park ranger took a moment in the shade to catch his breath and stomp the caked dirt from his hiking boots before beginning his search of the camping ground. Just as he was finishing the last dregs of his water, the static from his walkie-talkie interrupted the quiet of the forest around him.
“Rob, are you there yet? Over.”
Pressing the button, he replied. “Just got here. Over.”
“See anything? Over.”
Looking around the campsite, he saw a pot with remnants of soup, two bottles of water, and a blue tent. Everything looked normal, until he saw some blue shreds of fabric tangled in the low-lying bushes. Curious, he walked over to them, leaned down, and pulled one of the long pieces of fabric out of the brush between his fingers. Something dark spattered the end of the fabric.
“Rob? You there? Over,” headquarters asked again.
“I’ll get back to you. Over,” he said securing the walkie-talkie to his belt.
“10-4. Over and out.” And then the radio went quiet.
Rob turned, searching the nearby area. “Hello?” he called out. “Hello?” he said again—this time louder. “Cynthia? Cynthia Andrews?”
No response.
Rob scanned every tree and bush within the vicinity, but there was no sign of the missing grad student. Perhaps the girl’s family was right to be concerned that she hadn’t contacted them in several days.
He let out a sigh and watched as a light breeze swirled dust clouds on the dry earth in the distance. And that’s when he saw it. The shredded remains of a tent. His first thought was a bear attack, but few inhabited this area. His hand twitched at the gun in his holster, readying himself for what, or who, he was about to encounter as he approached.
Camping gear was scattered around the area: a large canteen lying on its side; two extra gallons of water; several packets of freeze-dried foods; a small skillet and a boiling pot. Ten feet away there was an open journal lying next to a pink hoodie. He pulled out a small digital camera and took several photos to see if Cynthia’s family recognized anything as hers—if it came to that. He’d watched enough forensic shows to understand documentation was extremely important for any type of search or investigation.
Reaching for the sweatshirt he flipped it over to find one of the sleeves stained with dark blood, almost brown in color. He dropped the garment on the ground in horror as the forest closed in and a flock of birds burst from the trees above him.
Eyes darting, he noticed large heavy footprints moving north accompanied by a set of smaller, barefoot prints heading in the same direction, as one followed the other—or chased.
He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck and down his arms as he followed the trail through clustered pine trees. Deep into the woodland the footprints disappeared, replaced by divots and drag marks, the obvious signs of a struggle in the dirt.
Where did they go?
The wind, picking up, whipped and whispered through the trees forcing a shower of pine needles and cones to drop around him. He spied an area where small branches had been broken and followed the trail into a clearing where he was surprised to find ropes tied around a large tree trunk in unusual knots.
Slowly, filled with dread, he walked around the tree.
What he saw on the other side would be burned into his memory forever, he thought. The excessive violence. The horrifying, gaping wounds. The terror in her glassy eyes. It took every ounce of strength he had to take in the devastating scene before him.
The young woman, barely clothed in a workout t-shirt that read “No Pain, No Gain” and a pair of panties, had been bound to the tree with ropes across her chest, hips, and thighs. Her arms were fixed above her head, which now flopped forward limply. In between the restraints were wounds, huge slices down each side of her stomach, allowing her intestines to spill out. It was unclear if the wounds were caused by her killer or wild animals. Chunks of her thighs and calves were missing.
Rob stepped back as her hair stirred in the wind and stuck against her face, caught in her slightly open mouth. He ran back to the original base camp and fumbled for his radio. “Dispatch, we need the police up at the first camp area from Dodge Ridge as soon as possible. We have… there’s a…” he couldn’t find the words. He cleared his throat and tried it again, “Dispatch, we have a dead body.”









Jennifer Chase is a multi award-winning and best-selling crime fiction author, as well as a consulting criminologist. Jennifer holds a bachelor degree in police forensics and a master’s degree in criminology & criminal justice. These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent psychopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells. In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling.  She is an affiliate member of the International Association of Forensic Criminologists, and member of the International Thriller Writers.


 


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Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: BEACHSIDE BEGINNINGS by Sheila Roberts @_sheila_roberts #womensfiction




We're thrilled to kick off the virtual book tour for BEACHSIDE BEGINNINGS by USA Today Bestselling Author Sheila Roberts. If you would like to follow her tour, visit Pump Up Your Book!


BEACHSIDE BEGINNINGS
By Sheila Roberts
Women's Fiction

Moira Wellman has always loved makeovers—helping women find their most beautiful selves. Funny how it’s taken her five years with her abusive boyfriend, Lang, to realize she needs a life makeover. When Moira finally gets the courage to leave Lang, the beachside town of Moonlight Harbor is the perfect place to start over.

Soon Moira is right at home, working as a stylist at Waves Salon, making new friends, saving her clients from beauty blunders and helping the women of Moonlight Harbor find new confidence as well as new looks. When she meets a handsome police officer, she’s more than willing to give him a free haircut. Maybe even her heart. But is she really ready for romance after Lang? And what if her new friend is in hot pursuit of that same cop? This is worse than a bad perm. Life surely can’t get any more difficult. Or can it?

With all the heart and humor readers have come to expect from a Sheila Roberts novel, Beachside Beginnings is the story of one woman finding the courage to live her best life. And where better to live it than at the beach?

Amazon → https://amzn.to/37OSdw6

 Barnes & Noble → https://bit.ly/35CrilM

  Harlequin https://bit.ly/2Up9Wqn 

Google Play → https://bit.ly/2UlzrbX

Kobo https://bit.ly/2vTktk2  

 











“Don’t look now, Harry, but I think we found the end of the world,” Moira said as she drove through the monolithic stone gateway that guarded the entrance to the town of Moonlight Harbor.
Harry, hunkered miserably in his cat carrier, let out a pitiful mewl. There had been a lot of twists and turns in the road the last part of their journey and even though the highway had eventually straightened back out he still hadn’t forgiven her. She didn’t blame him. She felt awful over having added to his misery. The poor little guy had yakked up and she’d had to pull over to clean the mess and reassure him.
But who was going to reassure her? This wasn’t her scene. She was a city girl, always had been. She’d grown up in apartments and she liked being able to go to clubs and dance, to go downtown or run out to the mall and spend some of her tip money on clothes. Lang criticized a lot of what she spent her money on (not that she had much to spend once she kicked in for her share of the rent and bought groceries), but he never complained when she came home with something from Victoria’s Secret.
There was sure no Victoria’s Secret here.
And so what if there wasn’t? She didn’t have anybody to look hot for any more. She sure didn’t want the somebody she’d had.
Lang had texted her six times before she’d finally shut off her phone. At first the texts had been contrite – Baby, you know I’m sorry, followed by, Why aren’t you answering? Then he got a little more anxious. Where are you? Then he got pissed. Damn, M, where the hell are you? The last two texts had been so full of cursing and F bombs and threats of what he was going to do if she didn’t quit ignoring him that she finally took Michael’s advice and traded in her phone for a new one in a T-Mobile store in Olympia, going with the cheapest phone and plan she could find.
There was no turning back now. Even if they made up, even if he said he was sorry he’d been mean to Harry, there would come another time when his temper would flare. Maybe she could have risked getting her jaw broken but she wasn’t about to risk any more of poor Harry’s ribs.
A bruised rib the vet she’d found in town had said. He’d given Harry something right there and provided her with pain killer meds for him.
If only there was something she could take to make herself feel better. She sure could have used some chocolate right then. What a mess her life was.
“It’s not how you start,” her high school English teacher, Mrs. Dickens, had once told her, “It’s how you finish. Remember that, Moira.”
Yes, she needed to remember that. She was going to finish well.
Here at the end of the world.
Okay, it wasn’t so bad. “Look at those cute little shops,” she said to Harry. Hard for Harry to do any looking from his cat carrier, so she went on to describe them. “They’re all different colors. Green, not dark green like Christmas but green, like an Easter egg, and orange like sherbet, and yellow like a sunny day. Oh, wow, and a go-cart track. I always wanted to drive one of those things. And there’s an ice cream place. It’s so cute. Pink, like a balloon at a baby shower. No, actually, darker than that. Like a sunset maybe. It’s got a big, old cement ice cream cone in front of it.”
Ice cream, sherbet. She parked in front of the Good Times Ice Cream Parlor. She still had a little cash left and she was hungry. Not simply for food but for hope. If a woman couldn’t find hope in a cute place like this where could she find it?
The lunch hour had passed and there weren’t many customers inside– only two old women seated at a tiny, wrought iron table painted white, enjoying milkshakes. The woman behind the counter looked almost old enough to be Moira’s mother.
The old ladies were staring at her like she had three boobs. Okay, so she had a nose ring and a tattoo of a butterfly flitting up her neck. Hadn’t they seen anyone with a nose ring or tat? Maybe it was her hair that had them gawking. (Although the strange lollipop red of the one woman’s hair was just as stare worthy, and not in a good way.)
Moira’s hair, on the other hand, was a work of art. A color that Michael had created, it was a gorgeous mix of pastels, silver and gold that he’d dubbed holographic opal because of the way it shimmered. Lang had thought it was hot.
What Lang thought didn’t matter anymore.
The woman behind the counter smiled at Moira and said, “Welcome. What would you like?”
A new life. “What’s your specialty?” She could have asked, “What’s good?” but anybody could say that. She liked the word specialty. It made her think of fancy French restaurants and TV celebrity chefs.
“How about some Deer Poop?”
Moira blinked. “Deer Poop?”
“In honor of all the deer we have around here – chocolate ice cream loaded with chocolate covered raisins.”
“Deer?” Just wandering around? The only deer she’d ever seen had been on TV or in pictures.
“Oh, yes. They’re everywhere.”
Wow. Now, that was cool. “Sure,” Moira said.
“Sugar or waffle cone?”
“Waffle.” Live it up, she thought.
“One scoop or two.”
“One,” Moira said, deciding to limit the living it up. Who knew if things would work out here? Who knew how long that paycheck Michael was sending would last? With what she had in her bank account even one scoop was a splurge.
“You’re new to town.” the woman observed.
“I am.” Moira glanced over her shoulder to find the two older women still checking her out. The freak show had arrived.
“I just got here,” she said. “I’m hoping to find a job. Your town looks adorable.” For the end of the world. Where were the people her age? Were there any?
Moira dug out a bill, but the woman waved it away. “On the house.”
“Really?” Wow. The woman handed over the cone and Moira took a bite. “This is …” Anyone could say good. “Tasty.”
The woman smiled. “All our ice cream is. What do you do?”
“I’m a hair stylist. My old boss sent me down here to meet a Pearl Edwards.” Moira was suddenly aware of the two older women whispering behind her. She could almost feel their stares.
 “Pearl, she’s the best. She owns Waves,” said the woman. “Everybody in town goes there. Well, everybody my age and older.”
Old ladies and tight perms. This wasn’t the end of the world. This was hair stylist hell.
You’re here now. May as well check it out.
Now one of the women behind her spoke. “I have an appointment there. You can follow me if you like.”
Moira could have found her own way there, but she thanked the woman and agreed to follow her. People at the end of the world were nice to you, even if they did stare.
“I’ll see you later, Alma,” the good Samaritan said to her friend, and pushed away from the table. Standing up she wasn’t much taller than she’d been sitting down. Moira was five feet five but she stood a good six inches above this woman. There wasn’t much to her, either. She looked like she needed to go on a diet of daily milkshakes. Her sweatshirt was pink and it clashed with her hair and lipstick. I Got Moonstruck at Moonlight Harbor, it informed Moira.
“I’m Edie Patterson,” said the old woman. “Everyone calls me Edie and you can, too. I own the Driftwood Inn.”
The Driftwood Inn. Moira had a sudden vision of a cute little place with driftwood at its entrance. “That sounds charming.”
“Oh, it is. It was one of the first motels here in Moonlight Harbor. My great niece Jenna manages it and she’s fixed it all up and brought it back to its former glory. It’s one of the sweetest places in the whole town. Isn’t it, Nora?”
“It sure is,” agreed the woman behind the counter.
“If you need a place to stay while you’re getting settled I’m sure we can give you a room,” Edie said as she led Moira out of the ice cream parlor.
No way could Moira afford to stay at a motel indefinitely. No way could she afford to stay anywhere. She murmured her thanks and tried not to panic.
“Jenna doesn’t like me to drive,” Edie confided. “She’s always worried I’ll get in an accident. But she was busy giving someone a massage – she’s a massage therapist, you know – so I just went ahead and took my car out when she wasn’t looking,” said Edie conspiratorially, pointing to an ancient car that maybe got fifteen miles to the gallon on a good day. “That’s my car. You follow me.”
It wasn’t hard to follow Edie Patterson. A kid on a tricycle could go faster. They crept out onto the street and inched on down the main road.
It gave Moira time to finish her ice cream and check out the place. The buildings looked like they belonged in a movie from the sixties. And what was that? Some kind of store shaped like a giant shark. It looked like you entered through its gaping mouth, complete with long shark teeth. Now, there was something you didn’t see every day.
And wow! Deer. There were two of them, grazing on the grass in the median. There was something you didn’t see in Seattle.
Seattle. Lang. How many times had he tried to call her by now? He had to be really pissed.
Let him be. He didn’t deserve her. And Harry sure didn’t deserve the way Lang had treated him. She was glad she’d left. Glad.
Except she was sad, too. And she ached a little for what she’d had with Lang when they were first together and everything was good. And she half wished she could have that back.
She was a mess.








Best-selling author Sheila Roberts has seen her books published in a dozen different languages and made into movies for both the Hallmark and Lifetime channels. She’s happily married and lives in the Pacific Northwest. When she’s not hanging out with girlfriends, speaking to women’s groups or going dancing with her husband she can be found writing about those things near and dear to women’s hearts: family, friends, and chocolate.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:


 


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Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: THE PENITENT by A. Keith Carreiro @immortalitywars #fantasy




We're thrilled to kick off the virtual book tour for THE PENITENT by fantasy author A. Keith Carreiro. If you would like to follow his tour, visit Pump Up Your Book!


THE PENITENT
By A.Keith Carreiro
Fantasy

THE PENITENT—PART III Completes the First Trilogy in The Immortality Wars Series as the Battle between Good and Evil Explodes onto Urban Terrain

THE PENITENT—PART III, the third installment in author A. Keith Carreiro’s Immortality Wars series, brings Pall Warren, an elite warrior touched by the hand of God, into a new battle that pits the forces of good against those derived from the evils of man and beyond. As the final book in The Penitent trilogy, Pall joins with former enemies and comes closer to fulfilling his purpose of overcoming the corruption threatening humanity.

In THE PENITENT—PART III, Pall Warren recovers from another bout of the suffering that has plagued his life by helping his friends bury their family members who were killed by a supernatural being with an insatiable appetite for humans. He travels to Gullswater, West Fündländ, in search of John Savage—the accomplished bowman—who was once his foe. The men forged their friendship in combat against Commander Gregor Mordant and his Marauders.

While Pall searches for his friend, Savage meets with his employer, Braucus Peredurus, the King’s minister of affairs, to report his observations of mystical events and otherworldly creatures and then reveals that he has been tracking Commander Mordant, who, as he learns from Peredurus, is a key member of the King’s intelligence service network.

Mordant is loyal to Kosem Mungadai, the respected head of the Church of Equity in the City of Seascale and a practitioner of the occult arts. Savage suspects Mordant is working against the King’s agenda and wants to detain the Commander, but Peredurus orders him not to; however, this command does not stop the bowman from surveilling Mordant. Meanwhile, Pall encounters Merek, a former member of the Marauders and crossbow expert. Merek suggests that Savage has gone to Seascale in search of Mordant.

As tensions rise in the city, Mordant, Mungadai, and Savage cull together fighters to engage in urban warfare during a torrential rainstorm. As the battle begins, Pall and Merek stealthily contribute to Savage’s efforts. While the warriors relentlessly brawl throughout the pitch-black night, Mungadai conjures a squad of supernatural beings to assault Savage and his warriors with the ultimate goal of overthrowing the kingdom and empowering the evil forces he serves.

In writing THE PENITENT—PART III, Carreiro’s goal was to create an epic story that brings Pall closer to fulfilling his destiny by posing the question, “In his quest for meaning, can virtue be used to combat and overcome evil?” For the reader, Carreiro hopes THE PENITENT—PART III offers a sense of “the mystery, wonder, and grandeur that is in this world and beyond that is available to us in the time we are placed here, despite the suffering and challenges each of us faces in our own lives.”


Amazon → https://amzn.to/38H6Lhz

 











Seascale was a beautiful place to be. The Commander reveled in being there. Built on top of a natural limestone promontory, its one hundred five–foot sloping walls were made up of the finest quality limestone. The top of the parapets was up to twenty–five feet wide, the base being half more in its width and extending another twelve levels below ground. Mordant often would spend time walking these walls, talking with the guards posted on them and looking out at the Great Bay beyond them.

He knew that the stone he walked upon was quarried from the other side of the crescent shaped bay. Ages ago, it had been brought by barge to the location where he now stood and built with great skill by the architects and masons of that ancient time. When the sun threw its light on the walls themselves, he thought it seemed to caress them as a lover touches his paramour. As a result of the sun’s fervor on the stone’s clear surface, the walls responded in a light golden yellow blush.














Keith Carreiro is the author of a planned nine-book series called The Immortality Wars. The Penitent—Part III is the third book and the last installment in the series’ first trilogy.

Carreiro is an adjunct professor at Bridgewater State University and Bristol Community College. He earned his master’s and doctoral degrees at Harvard Graduate School of Education.
Acting on his lifelong love of storytelling, Carreiro began writing The Immortality Wars series in 2014.



 


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Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: A PROMISE IN ASH by Elysia Strife @elysialstrife #romanticsuspense



We're thrilled to kick off the virtual book tour for A PROMISE IN ASH by Elysia Strife. If you would like to follow her tour, visit Pump Up Your Book!



A PROMISE IN ASH
By Elysia Strife
Romantic Suspense

A romantic-suspense novel featuring: miscarriage, hot co-workers, cybersecurity threats, and the struggle of defining family.

With only an abusive mother-figure to guide her, Norah has learned everything the hard way. An unexpected pregnancy with her fiancé changed her career plans. But miscarriage and betrayal thrust everything in reverse again. Eerie things start happening at work, and Norah finds herself at the center of the investigation.

Secrets tumble forth from Norah’s father, her ex-fiancé, and the mystery around her adoption, breaking the walls she’s put up to protect her heart. Now, more than ever, she longs for trust, love, and a family of her own.

Bonding with her handsome co-worker, Evan, and his teenage daughter, Ashley, Norah gets a glimpse of cohesive family life. She finds herself falling for Evan and becoming an unlikely source of help and understanding for Ashley. Evan and Ashley have an empty seat at their table, one Norah wishes to fill. Yet the guilt of taking the previous woman’s place threatens to keep them apart.

Can Norah overcome the scars of her past and discover her inner strength? And will the private letter from her father answer her questions or destroy the family, and the man, she’s come to love?


Amazon → https://amzn.to/2wYVKLh









Chapter 1


Merging onto the sweltering Texas highway, headed for Houston, Norah’s mind reeled with the news of her infertility. The one thing she’d dreamt of since she was nine was a family, a stable family, filled with love. Evan, her handsome coworker and a devoted widower, was the only one who knew her deepest desires. He’d question her change in mood. That was certain. But she had more important things to think about today: reviews and sorting the discrepancy in Clerester Enterprises Inc. finances. She could’ve sworn everything was perfect before she’d left early last Thursday.
Pressing the back of a hand to her lips, she choked down a nauseated sob. She didn’t know a single human could feel such emptiness, not so much in such short a time. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. They drooped shut.
It was only for a second.
A car horn blasted to her left. Norah jerked awake and swerved back into her lane, heart pounding in her chest. Driving. You’re driving, Norah. Focus. She pinched her thigh hard, sending an awakening jolt through her body.
The accounting job at Clerester Enterprises Inc. was Norah’s only anchor in life now—a fast-growing, plastics repurposing company. They needed her to be reliable, as did Evan. Evan had begged Norah to help him with his daughter, Ashley’s, Halloween party two years back. Being the amiable one she was, Norah caved. Norah had trouble telling others no—a self-confidence problem. After that raucous, sugar-infused night, Norah wanted to spend more time with them. Evan was a kind man, like her father. Ashley was a jumping bean that spread smiles and laughter everywhere she went. It was impossible not to love every second with them.
Early sunlight danced in golden beams between the buildings of the Houston suburbs. When nature’s warm fingers crawled over Norah’s skin, they didn’t carry with them the same peaceful feeling they did most mornings. Fighting the dolor mood she was in was going to take the strength of a god she hadn’t believed in since she was a child, and her abusive step-mother, Jolene, had moved in.
Monday traffic was packed as usual. She felt smaller, more insignificant. Horns honked, and headlights flashed as if they could move mountains. Norah struggled to keep herself upright against the gravity of the black hole that had become her stomach. She wheezed through the gnawing agony, her weighted breath puffing out her cheeks. Norah popped four more ibuprofen into her mouth.
She looked forward to seeing Evan. After two years with their desks locked together, they knew each other well. Evan was nothing like her fiancé, Ray. Ray wasn’t likely to tolerate any more of her excuses for missing date nights. He had standards. For them to be together, she’d agreed to his stipulations—no children, no house, no van. Norah always hoped he’d come around to wanting children like everyone said people did in their twenties and thirties. Ray was good to her, as good as a man with lots of money but little free time could be. But he didn’t understand how important Norah’s goal of a healthy family structure was. And because she came from a broken one, she always let it slide.
Broken felt normal.
But it’s not what she wanted, and Ray wouldn’t budge.
Pulling off onto the frontage road, Norah cracked the windows of her old Jeep, letting in the salty, gulf air. Her air conditioning needed a recharge again. To her right, a splotch of sunshine-yellow caught her attention amongst the brick homes and industrial, metal barns. It was a small, weathered, stick-framed house. It looked like a lone daisy, repeatedly trampled as it fought to grow through the cracks.
Alone, forgotten, and undervalued but still trying to live. Like me, Norah mused. She thought about that house as she continued deeper into the city. Suburbs traded out for taller commercial skyscrapers, and Norah turned off and down a ramp into a parking garage. The bustling city noise faded, replaced by the echo of her motor through the concrete cavern. Scanning her keycard made the barrier arm lift, and she drove inside.
Norah stopped in a space beside a familiar white van. A head of brown hair popped up on the driver’s side as Evan got out. The sound of a door slamming reverberated through the garage.
Grabbing her briefcase, Norah hastily slid out of the seat and onto her glossy flats, wondering why Evan hadn’t gone to the company fitness center before work. Being a single parent, that was the only time he had to himself. It wasn’t like him to miss it.
“Everything okay?”
Dressed in a casual, heather-gray suit, Evan swiveled at her question. His shoulders shifted as if the position of the jacket stretched around his shoulders was off. But his smile was in place—thrown a little crooked from a dimple in his right cheek. “Hey, yeah. You ready for reviews?”
Norah did her best to mirror his confidence, but too many things ached this morning. Straightening her back evoked a stronger cramp deep in her belly. The sting zipped up into her heart, causing it to stutter. “Sure.”
His forest green eyes dissected her with unusual focus—digging, prying her open. She could feel him dismantling the walls she’d been constructing all weekend to survive today. “Don’t sound very confident.”
She wanted to get upstairs and sit down at her desk. Anything to decrease the cramps she was dealing with from Thursday. Growing impatient, she shifted around him, aiming for the elevators.
“Evan, you know I’m not getting the promotion. Grant has the skills they want.” She covertly swiped a tear from her cheek and tried out a distraction. “You didn’t go to the gym this morning?”
 “Didn’t want to, because of reviews.” His hand wrapped gentle but firm around her arm, stopping her before she could reach the elevator button. Its orange glow pulsed slowly, taunting her.
Norah took a deep breath and cursed in the privacy of her mind. She had to be strong, unmovable. It was the only way to get through her life in one piece. Time had shown her she could endure a lot. Retaliation had only ever earned her punishment.
He dipped his head and caught her eyes. “Please, tell me what’s upsetting you. You never look this pale or walk away from me in such a rush. I’m—concerned.”
Norah swayed, fighting back the rush of hot tears into her eyes. The lump in her throat made every word ache worse. She looked away.
“I lost the baby.”
The burn of the words still made her shiver like the chills from the flu. “I can’t have children.” She peered up into his eyes and watched them soften with pity. “Why does it hurt so much?”
“Oh, Norah.” His arms snugged around her like nautical rope, securing her splintering body against the rock of his. Evan’s mouth pressed to the side of her head, whispering into her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
Evan liked hugs. Ray liked sex. Her first serious relationship, Damon, liked pain-induced manipulation. Jolene liked hitting and humiliation. Until she’d met Evan, only her adoptive father, Phil, had treated her with respect. But he was always working.
Norah couldn’t help but melt into Evan. He was a tender human underneath his suit with scents of body wash and laundry soap instead of an overpowering cologne store like Ray.
“If you need anything—” Evan started.
“Thanks, but I don’t want to talk about it. It makes me cry. I don’t want to cry at work.” She slipped herself from his hug and tapped the button for the elevator, not wanting to waste more time thinking about the mess that had become her life. She needed work, distraction, desperately.
Evan pulled his satchel higher up on his shoulder. “Forgive me.”
She tightened her grip on her heavy briefcase as the doors opened. They stepped inside. Norah shrugged, mechanically repeating what every relationship advice website she’d read had agreed upon. “I shouldn’t have been afraid to tell him about the baby. But I was because I didn’t want our relationship to fall apart. After this, I’m feeling less inclined to stay.”
Leaning back against the steel panels, Evan stole a timid glance at her. His fingers drummed on the polished steel. “Not all men want to be fathers. Some think they don’t until they are.”
“I know plenty of businesswomen who are the same way,” Norah muttered, watching the numbers of passing levels climb on the screen above the buttons. “I suppose I didn’t tell him mostly because of how he complains about childr—”
The elevator lurched to a stop. Norah and Evan braced themselves against the handrails. Lights flickered all around them. Norah blinked slowly from the disorientation and pulse now pounding in her temples.
 “You okay?” he asked.
Her knees shook as she forced them to hold her upright. “I think so.”
“That doesn’t look good.” He pointed at the screen. A fractured image of numbers and symbols danced across its surface in ribbons.
Norah stepped closer. Computer programming code. The streams reminded her of high school, of her friend Cyrus, and getting picked on for always wearing black. “Maybe it got a virus? Can elevators get them?”
“Ah, tech is not my thing.” Evan’s face flushed. “You know that. Social media is no problem as long as you don’t ask me how it was made.”
Norah tamped down a laugh. “Well, it stopped at the lab’s level. I suppose if it’s broken, we can at least get off here and take the stairs.”
After a screeching clunk, the elevator lifted again, and the lights returned to normal.
Norah spread her feet. “Never mind.”
Evan gave her a look of suspicion, then scanned the ceiling as if looking for the cause of the disruption. “How did you know what floor we were on?”
“I count a lot of things.”
He chuckled lightly. “Guess that’s a fitting habit for an accountant to have.”
The elevator slowed to a stop, and Evan and Norah stepped out onto the gray carpet of the main entrance. Throughout the floor, fluorescent ceiling lights flashed as if every ballast had gone haywire at once.
“When did they start renting out the office for raves on Mondays?” Evan asked their receptionist.
Rita swiveled on her barstool behind the tall mahogany desk, her hands formed around her brown eyes like blinders. She squinted over at Norah and Evan. “About twenty minutes ago. It’s honestly giving me a headache. I hope Adrian gets it fixed soon. He and Mr. Frenton came up about five minutes later. They’re in the back.”
“Tech Support is fixing lighting?” Norah felt her nausea rise with new force and did her best to swallow it down. “Any idea why?”
Rita shook her head before resting it to the desktop and folding her arms around her chestnut perm. “It’s only our floors. The Internet’s down too. But no one else is affected,” she muttered to the wood.
Glancing askance at Evan, Norah considered leaving. But the strobes of light made the flecks of gold in his blue-green eyes shimmer as they silently begged her not to.
“Something’s wrong,” he whispered. “I know you want to know what’s up, same as me.”
He was right.
Evan encouraged her down the hall toward their desks. As she passed him, she felt a hand rest against her low back, warm and steady.
She glanced up to see him scouring the people on the floor. His shoulders hunkered forward as if anticipating an attack. When Evan pulled her against him, a tiny tickle of excitement wiggled its way through her discomfort. This touch was new, protective, and heart-stopping.
His grip loosened, worry suddenly strewn in his gaze, the gaze he’d locked on her. “Sorry. Instinct with my girl.”
Norah lifted her brows in surprise.
“Gah,” Evan grimaced. “Ashley. I wasn’t—implying anything.”
“I hope they get it figured out soon,” Norah said low. She was engaged and knew it was wrong to be touched by another man. Still, Evan hadn’t harmed her.
Norah continued across the floor, trying to get away from the stimulation. It wasn’t until they turned down their row of gray cubicles that Evan withdrew his hand to skirt the narrow walkway between their cubicle quad and the next. He set his things down and eyed the stack of papers in his inbox. Evan frowned and mumbled something Norah couldn’t discern.
The lights came on steady, and everyone groaned in relief.
“Finally. That was making me sick.” Laisha, the stock room manager, snorted as she sashayed by pushing a cart packed with reams of paper, envelopes, and printer cartridges.
It was the first time Norah agreed with the woman. Most of Laisha’s words were contorted and filled with gossip she’d overheard from conversations.
Norah sat down and collected her bag in her lap. “See if you can check your email. I managed to proofread those pitches you sent me.”
With a disbelieving shake of his head, Evan signed in on his computer. “You didn’t have to, but thanks.” He paused to lean across their desks. “Are you coming to Ashley’s birthday party next Saturday? She asked me this morning when I dropped her off at school.”
“I’d love to. What is she into these days? I still need to get her a gift.” Drawing her laptop out of her bag, Norah opened it and turned it on. She enjoyed Ashley’s company but always worried she’d say the wrong thing and upset Evan and then have to deal with the backlash at work. Evan was Norah’s only exception to her separation of work and home rule.
He leaned back in his seat with a grin. “Boy bands, makeup, hair stuff, music. Typical teen things.”
Inside, she sighed with relief. Something I know.
“Speaking of hair—” Evan shamelessly eyed the long strands that fell around her shoulders. “I know Ray likes blondes, but what is your natural color?”
Medium sable-brown. “Plain old brown. Need any help with food?”
“What—like honey brown, cherry cola brown, or dark chocolate brown?”
Her fingers paused over her keys, warmth flooding her cheeks. She inspected Evan over the top of her screen.
His eyes twinkled as if smiling at a private conversation. He looked away to open his email. “Sorry. We’re doing pizza. I’m getting the cake delivered. Honestly, that many girls is a bit intimidating. I could use a side-kick.”
“Pushing the fraternization boundary, Mr. Swanson,” Norah teased, stifling a giggle behind a hand. They weren’t actually at risk, working in different departments. But she was engaged, and Evan’s home was filled with photos of Demi and Ashley.
Her stomach tightened, sending a dull ache weaving through her insides. She grimaced and took a steadying breath. Note to self: laughing isn’t a good idea yet.
Norah’s phone buzzed from her purse. Drawing it out, she found a message from her father, Phil.

Good luck with reviews today! Just remember, no matter what happens, you are strong, you are beautiful, and you are loved.

Norah smiled inside and put her phone away.
“Ashley wants you to join. She won’t stop badgering me about it.” Evan’s response was too flat and rehearsed for her liking. Something more was going on. Something with Ashley.
“I hate to break it to you, Superdad, but this side-kick doesn’t own any brightly colored Spandex. I’ll have to come undercover.”
A distinctive thud and clink followed Evan’s stapler as it tumbled and skidded onto her desk. She looked up. In two years, she’d never known him to drop anything. Between karate, the gym, and wrestling in college, Evan was an exceptionally agile individual.
Evan’s hands hung in midair as if his failure to catch the item had stunned him stiff. His lips parted. His eyes met hers as he spluttered his way through an apology.
Picking up the stapler, she placed it back on his desk, wondering what had gotten into him. “Don’t worry about it.” Norah forced a smile through the pain. You just made me feel like less of a klutz. 
Clearing his throat, Evan jerked himself back in his chair. He slammed his mouth shut and refocused on his screen, his light olive skin tinting pink.
 “No swearing?” she asked in surprise. “You must be working hard on your filter.”
His dark eyes hung on hers for an intimate moment. Evan didn’t move except for one finger, which swept over his lips the way it always did when he was deep in thought.
Norah’s heart thumped hard in her chest. She scanned around her, looking for what else might have his attention, denying the notion it was her. Their banter had always been playful, lighthearted, and brief—nothing this intense.
Evan carefully set his paperwork on his desk, leaned forward, and reached for the stapler. His voice rumbled soft as distant thunder. “You have no idea.”













Elysia Strife is a self-published author of science-fiction fantasy and romance novels.

Adopted by two educators, Strife developed a deep love for learning new things. In 2012, she graduated from Oregon State University with two Bachelor’s Degrees in Public Health and Human Sciences: Interior Design and Exercise Sport Science. Her past wears fatigues, suits, and fitness gear, sprinkled with mascara and lace.

“I like to question everything, figure out how things work, and do tasks myself. Experiencing new things is fun but also helps with writing raw and genuine stories. And I’m always trying to push my comfort zones.”

Strife likes the rumble of her project car’s 350-ci V8. She enjoys the rush of snowboarding and riding ATVs on the dunes. But nothing brings her more solace than camping in the mountains where the stars are their brightest.

Strife enjoys connecting with readers and welcomes all feedback and questions.


Website: elstrife.com






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Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: Whispers on a String by Kathleen Stone @kstonewriter #contemporarylit


We're thrilled to kick off the virtual book tour for WHISPERS ON A STRING by contemporary lit author Kathleen Stone. If you would like to follow her tour, visit Pump Up Your Book!

WHISPERS ON A STRING
By Kathleen Stone
Contemporary Lit

What happens when your soul is bound to another before you were ever born? Lonny and Roo have been best friends since they met in high school in 1975 at the age of fourteen. Same last name, same birthdate, they were attached at the hip; rarely was one seen without the other. Together they navigate through their emotional high school years, but nothing prepares the naive teenagers for the real world ahead of them. Now on the cusp of their fiftieth birthday, Lonny finds Roo broke and alone and convinces her to leave with him on a cross country road trip from New York to Las Vegas, hoping to set her on a new path in life. Told exclusively by Roo, follow the friends back and forth through their unique relationship — experience the loss of innocence, career and life choices that separate and unite them, and unspeakable events that nearly destroy them. It’s a love only they understand, as well as the unbreakable bond that forever ties them together. Is it possible they are only capable of loving each other?

Amazon → https://amzn.to/329vHMV

 

 
 



 2011

    It was the kind of headache you get when you've been out in the sun all day... the heat emanating off your skull and the dull throbbing of drums that causes your stomach to go all queasy. I could hear the buzzer for my apartment going off, then my phone started ringing. I could barely focus my eyes as I poked my head out from under the covers to see it was my friend Lonny trying to video chat with me. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, so I ignored it. Then the buzzing from outside and my phone ringing started all over again. I decided that whoever was buzzing my apartment could only be bad news, so I answered my phone instead.
    “Hey Rooster,” Lonny said with his crooked toothed smile, his eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses.
    “Lonny,” I groaned, barely opening my eyes. “What time is it?”
    “Seven o’clock.”
    I wanted to strangle him. He rarely woke up before nine in the morning… why was he calling me at seven?
    I could hear the buzzing to my apartment door continuing in the background and knew it was bad news. Everything was bad news lately.
    “Come on Rooster, wake up. I have a surprise for you.”
    I opened one eye to look at Lonny smiling at me from my phone. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
    “I’m standing outside your door. Don’t you hear me buzzing to get in?”
    I jumped out of bed and grabbed my head, the throbbing so intense it was as if someone hit me with a hammer. I stumbled to the door and buzzed Lonny into the building, then began searching blindly for some clothes. I managed to throw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before he tapped on my apartment door.
    I opened the door to see my best friend standing in front of me, wondering how he managed to get to New York from California without telling me. I put on a smile and pulled him into my arms, hugging him as tightly as I could.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked as I finally pulled away.
    “I’m picking up a car for my daughter,” he chuckled, sitting on a kitchen chair. “And driving it back to Vegas for her.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
    “I wanted to surprise you. Surprise!”
    I searched in the cabinet over the kitchen sink for a bottle of aspirin, dumping four into my hand and swallowing them down with water from the tap. I wasn’t in the frame of mind to explain things to Lonny, and I could already see he was quickly figuring out that I hadn’t been completely honest with him the last couple months.
    “What’s going on, Roo? The shop downstairs is closed up, your apartment is nearly empty—”
    “Lonny please,” I begged. “I can’t do this right now.”
    “You look like shit,” he said, standing. He opened the door to the refrigerator, but made no comment about seeing that it was practically empty. Instead he smiled and said, “Let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

1975

    I met Lonny Winter when we were both fourteen and just starting high school. We seemed to be shoved together at every opportunity, not only having the same last name, but the same birthdate as well. Our names were bound together, attached at the hip, from the day we met, standing in line to get our yearbook photos taken. I giggled as his name was called when it was his turn… Leonard Winter! He turned and glared at me; I was so painfully shy I immediately regretted it. I could feel my face burning as the redness took over.
    He was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.
    Lonny was still in the room when they called my name… Ruby Winter! I could hear him cackling like a kid who just heard the funniest joke of his lifetime. I deserved it, I knew, but it was hard to ignore him. I was so embarrassed, I wanted to run home and crawl into my bed. Instead I joined my friend Molly and some of her girlfriends, and we walked uptown to get something to eat when we were finished.
    When we walked into McDonald’s, Lonny was already there with a group of his friends. I wanted to die. I told my friends I needed to head home and walked out. They were used to my odd, shy disappearances so never questioned me. I didn’t realize Lonny was right behind me on his bicycle.
    “Where you going?” he asked.
    “Home.”
    “Why?”
    “I have to.”
    I was so embarrassed by this cute boy that I just wanted him to go away. I almost started to cry. My heart thundered in my chest as I wondered if that’s what it felt like to be in love. I was fourteen… what did I know about love?
    “Ruby.” He continued to speak as he rode his bicycle slowly beside me. “Sounds like an old lady name.”
    I stopped walking and glared at him with my eyes burning. “Leonard!” I hissed. “That’s my grandpa’s name!”
    He stopped riding his bike and put his feet on the sidewalk. We stared at each other silently for what seemed like hours to me. All of a sudden we both started giggling, which turned into hysterical laughter. It was that moment the spirits aligned to bring us together. The moment we became the Winter twins; looking nothing alike but having everyone convinced we were siblings living in different houses. The very moment I became Roo… but only to him. He was the only one I ever allowed to call me that; the only one who would ever get away with it. When he was feeling particularly funny he called me Rooster, which he knew I hated. He claimed it was a combination of my name and my auburn hair, and it became a term of endearment between us.

2011

    I plopped myself into the booth across from Lonny in the diner a couple blocks away from my apartment. I never understood why he loved it so much; to me it was just another greasy spoon, but I obliged him whenever he was in town. He smiled as the waitress came to our table, ordering coffee for both of us. I stared at my menu, not really reading anything, all the words just a jumble of letters taunting me.
    The waitress brought our coffee and I was still staring blankly at my menu. I could hear Lonny speaking; he knew me better than anyone and ordered my breakfast for me — two eggs sunny side up, english muffin, a side of bacon, hash browns, and a small orange juice. He gave the menus back to the waitress and after she walked away, I finally looked up at him. He was grinning at me. I couldn’t help but smile back.
    “Come on, Roo,” he said, poking my hand with his finger. “What’s going on?”
    “Billy left me,” I managed to croak.
    “Left? When?”
    “Two months ago. The divorce was final yesterday.”
    I could tell he wanted to scold me for not telling him, but he didn’t. “We talk twice a week… why wouldn’t you tell me?”
    The throbbing in my head continued as I tried to answer my friend without bursting into tears. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, hoping for some relief, but none came.
    “I was too ashamed.”
    “Rooster,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
    I went on to explain how my husband of nearly 30 years was having an affair with one of the young tattoo artists in our shop, right under my nose. Eight weeks earlier he closed up the shop, left me, and took her to Arizona to start a new life.
    “I’m behind on the rent. I’ve been selling everything he left behind, everything I own, hoping to go back home.” I spoke just above a whisper. “I have nothing left.”
    The waitress deposited our food plates in front of us and I dug in, unable to remember the last time I had a decent meal. I tried not to look like a homeless person Lonny had pulled in off the street, but I was so hungry.

1979

    Lonny was on the short side for a teenage boy when I met him, but had a growth spurt between sophomore and junior year that brought him to about five foot eight. I always seemed to be two inches shorter than Lonny at any given time. He was always skinny, always funny, always pretty quiet and shy. Most of the girls at school thought he was a silly twerp, but he wasn’t too keen on high school girls anyway. He despised their giggling and screeching, and he really hated the way they seemed to stab each other in the back at the flip of a coin.
    Lonny preferred music over anything. He was a genius on the guitar and would rather spend his time away from school playing or writing music. He was never comfortable playing in front of anyone, so he never joined a band or played for an audience. He was perfectly happy playing in his room or for his friends and mother, but that was it.
    Until senior year, when Billy Downey transferred to our school. Billy and I hit it off immediately when we met in English class his first day, and started dating that weekend. Lonny let me know right away that there was something about Billy he didn’t trust. I knew Billy loved to embellish the truth a bit, but didn’t see that as a reason not to date him.
    Right before graduation there was a student talent show put on by the seniors, and Billy, who claimed to be the greatest guitar player our school would ever see, signed up to perform. Lonny and I snuck into the theater after school one day when they were having rehearsals and Billy’s guitar playing was abysmal at best.
    As we tried to sneak back out of the theater, Ms. Cooke, the choir director, caught us and threatened to assign us detention the following day. Lonny stared at the ground, kicking at imaginary rocks with his foot as I tried to think of something to say. He finally looked up at her and asked, “Got any open spots for the talent show?”
    Ms. Cooke’s face lit up like a neon sign, a smile spreading over her face so large it was almost clownish. “I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow, Mr. Winter,” she replied.
    “Nope. Tell me what time I’m going on. I’ll be there.”
    Ms. Cooke wrinkled her nose, but for some reason, chose not to argue with him.
    Word spread quickly that Lonny was going to be doing something in the talent show. Rumors ranged from magic to gymnastics to juggling bowling pins set on fire. I sat in the theater’s front row watching the different talent acts perform, impressed by what our student body could do. Even Billy sounded better during his actual performance than he did at rehearsal, but he had no idea what was to come. Ms. Cooke added Lonny at the very end of the show, and introduced him as the last act of the evening. I held my breath.
    Lonny walked onstage carrying his electric guitar and a small amp. He looked directly at me and winked, then closed his eyes and let his fingers do the talking. He played that guitar like a man who had been doing it for three lifetimes. He played a medley of genres covering blues, pop and rock. The intensity on his face as he played brought tears to my eyes. I could hear the gasps all around me as people were realizing what a talent goofy Lonny really was.
    It was because of his unexpected performance that evening I eventually lost him.

2011

    I looked up at Lonny when I finished eating every morsel on my plate, and he was holding a piece of toast with butter and grape jelly close to his lips. He hadn’t even taken a bite of his breakfast, but I was already finished with mine. He grinned, the mischievous grin I knew so well. His grin quickly turned into his famous crooked-toothed smile that I adored our entire existence together. I wiped my mouth with a napkin and leaned back, crossing my arms in front of me.
    It had been almost a year since I saw him last, on our forty-ninth birthday. Even though we talked at least twice a week, we only saw each other once a year on our birthday. It was something we had always promised we would continue, no matter what the circumstances were in our lives.
    Even though he hated people gawking at him, Lonny was good at the staring game. I watched his face intently as he ate his breakfast, not a word spoken between us. He never broke eye contact; it was a game he always liked to play with me, ever since we met. Whoever laughed first, lost.
    Lonny had beautiful brown eyes that were more copper than anything else, but when the sun hit them, they almost looked gold. He had the kind of eyes that drooped on the outside edges and when he laughed, his eyes almost completely disappeared. I loved it when he laughed. He had dimples in both cheeks and his teeth were far from perfect, but they were perfect for him.            The day I met Lonny, he had short brown hair with awesomely crooked bangs that rested about an inch above his eyebrows — something he blamed on his mother, who insisted on cutting his hair. She agreed, however, once he got into high school she would leave his hair alone and I don’t think he had it cut once while we were there. He was one of those guys who grew into his look when he let his hair grow; he fancied the shaggy look with the feathered layers that went off to the side, his bangs long enough that he could have them or not, depending on his mood.
    I sat staring at Lonny and he stared right back at me, never flinching. At that moment I just wanted to see his eyes light up the way they did when he was about to laugh. For a guy so close to his fiftieth birthday, he didn’t look a day over thirty. The only telltale signs were a few laugh lines by his eyes and a few strands of gray hair, but even that was barely noticeable. People had said the same about me, but I never believed them. And this day, sitting in the diner playing the staring game with Lonny, I felt about eighty.
    I opened my mouth to speak but Lonny wagged his finger at me. I had forgotten the staring game rules… no talking. He winked, continuing to eat his breakfast. I knew I would win this round, as I was so depressed and without hope that I couldn’t imagine breaking into laughter. I was suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of dread, my chest getting tight and my head about to explode. I don’t know what I looked like, but it was severe enough to get Lonny to break his own staring game rules.
    “Hey,” he whispered, “it’s going to be all right.”
    He put down his fork and wiped his hands, then slid into the booth next to me, pulling me into his arms and letting me sob against his chest.







Kathleen Stone has been a freelance writer since 1999 and now writes full time. Her work has appeared in Doll World Magazine, Apolloslyre.com, The Lake County Journals, Trails.com; USA Today (travel), Livestrong.com (lifestyle), Essortment, eHow, Answerbag, Examiner.com, Suite101 and YahooVoices. She is the author of Whispers On A String and the Head Case Rock Novel Series, which includes Head Case and its sequels, Whiplash and Haven. She also has short stories published in the Secrets: Fact or Fiction I & II anthologies.

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