by Trudy Stiles
Copyright © 2016 by Trudy Stiles.
Trudy Stiles, LLC Copyright ©
First published in 2016.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual, locations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.
This book is intended for mature adults only. It is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.
Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations
Interior Design and Formatting by Elaine Hudson York of Allusion Graphics
Editing by Erin Noelle
Proofreading by Julie Deaton of Author Services by Julie Deaton
Poetry by J.R. Rogue
HEATH STRICKLAND, the son of a prominent district attorney, lived his life surrounded by violence and crime. He was an unwilling witness to the corrupt lives his father swore to prosecute and keep behind bars. His escape was his music, which eventually led him to replace the iconic singer of the world famous band, Epic Fail.
NOELLE DURAND lived in luxury, growing up on a sprawling estate, with everything she could ever want or need. Her life, to everyone else, seemed perfect. Perfect house. Perfect things. Perfect family. But nothing at all was perfect. She lived in hell. A hell that nobody on the outside could see.
As a neighbor and childhood friend, Heath would have done anything for Noelle. He would have given up the world to protect her and keep her safe. Their friendship grew into something that neither of them expected. But then she suddenly disappeared, vanishing from his life as if she never existed. He never stopped hoping that one day she would resurface, alive and well. But as time went by, and her family gave up hope, he surrendered his heart to his lost love.
Twelve years later, one phone call changes everything.
EPIC LOVE is the third book in the EPIC FAIL series and can be read as a standalone novel.
This series is a spinoff from the FOREVER FAMILY series.
Content Warning:
This book is not suitable for young readers. It is intended for mature adults only (18+). It contains strong language, adult/sexual situations and potential trigger subject matter.
Take Me Back
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Coming Soon
Additional Content
Playlist
A Note to My Readers
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Trudy Stiles
In Mythology, Luna is one of the names of Artemis the moon goddess. She was known to be the goddess of hunt, wild animals, wildness, childbirth and virginity. She was also known as the protector of young children. Her hunting companion, Orion, won her heart, who she eventually placed in the sky, forming one of the most recognizable constellations seen today.
Take me back to two weeks ago.
My blue oil lamp painting
the fireflies dancing in the ink night sky
of your backyard in amber rose mosaics.
When the moon is asleep I will
find a way to rescue you.
Take me back to two nights ago.
Your eyes afire again with the tales
your father told.
I know his promises taste like a lie
or a line or paper stack of let downs.
When he has forgotten I will
find a way to rescue you.
Take me back to two moments ago.
Setting fairies free to twirl
under the watchful moon, back with her
unwavering glow, moving the tides of
unruly seas and your smile pulled at the
corners of your mouth like a forgotten
treasure.
When all is forgotten you find
new ways to rescue me.
Melanie Durand
Past
SOFT COOING DRIFTS from the bassinet next to our bed, stirring me from my light slumber. It’s been just about three hours since I last fed her and she’s awake again, like clockwork. Tom delicately places his hand on my arm. “Mel, I’ve got this. You need your rest.” His words are a subtle reminder of the news we received this morning, and I’m not about to pass on the chance to hold my daughter.
“No, Tom. I’ll feed her. I want to.” I need to feel her heart beat against mine.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure in my life.”
His eyes soften and he nods.
“I’ll warm up her bottle while you get her ready. Is that okay?”
I sigh and situate myself so I can get Noelle ready for her bottle. “Perfect,” I respond. Tom is doing everything he can to make things easier for me, and for that I’m so incredibly grateful. But I don’t want it to be easy. I want to experience as much as I can with my daughter before–
He presses his lips against mine then slips out of bed, making his way around to her bassinet. I see her hands waving in the air as her feet kick in place. Soft grunts and coos continue as Tom picks her up, carefully cradling her in his arms until he can place her into mine. He looks at his daughter with so much love in his eyes. Every time I witness his intense affection for her, my heart hurts. He’s going to be an incredible father–he already is. She’s going to be showered with so much love, she’ll never want for anything.
He softly kisses Noelle’s forehead and places her into my arms, his hand resting over the crown of her head. “The both of you are so beautiful and perfect.” His words hurt me so much more than he can imagine. Knowing what we now know. I suck in a breath, trying to hold back the sobs that are fighting to escape. “I’ll be right back,” he assures. His eyes are full of love but pained. And we both know why.
The moonlight shines through our large windows and Noelle’s eyes are open wide, her mouth searching for the nipple that’s just a few minutes away. She’s just three weeks old and the warm, summer moon is still in full force. It’s so much brighter than the small night light plugged into the wall next to her bassinet. “Hey, you,” I whisper, stroking her forehead. Her eyes look toward my face, attempting to focus on where the sound is coming from. “Daddy is getting your bottle warmed up. He’ll be back soon.” She makes a small ‘o’ with her lips, another coo escaping. “And Daddy’s right. You’re perfect, Noelle. Our perfect little Christmas in July pres
ent. We’re so blessed.” Tears sting my eyes as she begins to calm down at the sound of my voice, anticipating the warm formula that’s about to fill her tiny belly. This moment is so simple, but so vital. She’ll never remember the bond that we’re forming right now, but I know I will. Forever.
Tom emerges from the hallway and quickly places the warm bottle in my hands. “I tested it, just like you showed me. On the inside of my wrist. It’s perfect.” He’s been so intent on learning every nuance in preparing her bottles and feeding routines.
I touch the nipple to her lips and she quickly begins sucking the warm formula down. She’s an incredibly good eater, rarely fussing. A twinge of sadness emerges as I wish I could be breastfeeding her instead of bottle feeding. But, it’s not something I’m able to do.
Tom places his head on my shoulder, softly stroking Noelle’s legs as she drinks. “I love watching the two of you like this. It’s so amazing to see how trusting she is of both of us. She needs us so much, and she doesn’t even realize how much we need her.”
I nod silently as I look into her wide-open eyes. She’s staring up at me as her mouth pulls the formula into her belly, alternating sucking and breathing through her nose. It’s astonishing to watch. Instinctive and beautiful.
She takes an ounce and I pull the nipple from her mouth, adjusting her into a sitting position as I cradle her neck and head. I slowly rub and pat her back, a loud burp quickly erupting from her body. Tom chuckles, “That never gets old.”
Her lips are already moving as I rest her back into feeding position. She’s ready for more. She sucks down another ounce as quickly as she did the first one, and she’s once again ready to be burped. This time, though, her eyes are heavy, struggling to stay open. I rest her cheek on my shoulder and slowly rub and pat her back. This burp takes a little longer to come, but when it does, she completely relaxes in my arms, fast asleep.
“Do you want me to hold her for a little while so you can go back to sleep?” Tom knows we try to keep her upright for at least twenty minutes after each feeding, so she doesn’t burp or spit up in her sleep.
“No, that’s okay,” I answer, pressing my head back into the pillow and placing my free hand firmly on her back, holding her against me.
He sits silently, looking pensive. He huffs and turns to face me. “Are we going to talk about today?”
I hold my breath, knowing this conversation was inevitable, but not wanting to have it.
“I can’t talk about it now.” Tears fill my eyes and I tense. Noelle can feel it, and she immediately twitches in my arms. “Shh, shh, shh,” I whisper against her ear, my lips kissing her softly.
“When are we going to talk about it? We need to make some serious decisions.”
I’ve already made my decision. “I’m going to fight as hard as I can.”
He chokes on a sob. Something I’ve been dreading since we left the oncologist’s office twelve hours ago. He was stoic and supportive, but now he’s about to fall apart, and I’m not ready for this.
“Tom–”
His hands cover his face as he leans over his lap. “How can this be happening? Why is this happening to you?”
Our daughter rests peacefully on my chest, and I wish I could wrap my arms around my husband to comfort him. To tell him everything’s going to be fine. But I know it’s not.
Dr. Lehman’s voice is still fresh in my head, his prognosis hanging in the air throughout this room.
Tom squeezes my hand as he rocks Noelle’s carriage with his free one. She ate just before we got here so she should be asleep for at least a couple more hours. She’s resting peacefully and looks so content with her fluffy pink blanket tucked around her.
“I’m afraid the news I have isn’t good,” Dr. Lehman says somberly as he pulls his chair around the desk so he’s sitting next to Tom and me.
I wait silently, grasping onto Tom’s hand tighter.
“Tell us,” Tom urges and stops pushing Noelle’s carriage.
“The cancer has spread to your liver, lungs, and pancreas. And the tumor in your stomach is completely inoperable.”
I look away as Tom stands up and starts pacing the office.
“How can it be inoperable? You just found out about it. It couldn’t have been growing for more than a few months.” His voice waivers and I hold my breath, trying to fight back my own tears.
“Your pregnancy sped things along, unfortunately. Pregnancy hormones have been feeding the cancer cells planted throughout your body. Had we known about this before you got pregnant, we could have fought this aggressively. But it’s already metastasized to stage four. I’m sorry, but we have to talk about time, and how much we can realistically give you.”
“What? Time?” Tom shouts angrily. Noelle stirs in her carriage, and he quickly mutes his tone. “I don’t understand.”
I can’t speak. I’m frozen.
Dr. Lehman turns to me and asks, “Melanie, do you have any questions?”
My eyes widen and I shake my head, holding my breath.
“Help us understand how nothing can be done?” Tom begs. He places his hand on my shoulder, softly squeezing to let me know he’s there.
“We just don’t know how long she’s had this cancer in her body. Like I mentioned before, it’s metastasized so far beyond what would happen during a normal progression of the disease. We think you’ve had this much longer than we originally thought. It’s possible that the cancer has been in your body for many months prior to your pregnancy.” He addresses me directly, his eyes are sad, almost apologetic.
We found out about the tumor in my stomach during my second trimester, when severe pains sent me to the hospital. We thought I was going into premature labor, but they told me the progression of my pregnancy, and the displacement of my abdominal organs, exacerbated the pain the tumor was causing me. They gave me the option to terminate the pregnancy so we could focus on fighting the cancer that, at the time, was limited only to my stomach. Or so they thought.
“I wouldn’t have done anything differently,” I admit, stunned. And I wouldn’t. I refused to abort my child. Our child. I had hope that I would be able to deliver her and we’d fight this with everything that we had. But now that it’s spread so much, our hopes are dashed. The end of my life within reach.
“Of course not,” Dr. Lehman says apologetically. He knows that option was never on the table, and he fully supported us.
“What does this mean?” Tom interrupts.
“We need to start treating this aggressively to give you a few more months to spend with your daughter.”
“Months?” I gasp. Not years? Panic sets in, and my heart begins to race. I feel faint. And I think I’m about to vomit.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could give you a better outlook.” His eyes are heavy, and he looks as if he’s about to cry.
“How many months?” Tom presses.
“Without treatment, I would say you would have up to three months. With aggressive treatment, I would like to give you six to twelve.”
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
The room begins to swirl and Tom kneels down next to me, holding my hands tightly.
I look at our daughter sleeping peacefully in her carriage. She’s so dependent on me. She needs me. How can I say goodbye to this precious life that I brought into this world? How can I have so much stolen from me? From us? Time is gone, evaporating as we sit here.
I need to get out of here.
“I wish there was something more we could do. You have no idea.” Dr. Lehman stands up and walks toward us. “I never do this. I never recommend anything unconventional, but maybe you can reach out to a holistic healer. Someone who can help supplement what we’re going to do with drugs and chemotherapy. Maybe that will help extend your time.” Everything he’s saying sounds like nonsense. He’s even grasping at straws, and I’m losing hope every second we sit in this office.
“We need to digest this. We have a lot to think about,” Tom states.
His words are so foreign to me, as if this conversation isn’t even happening. His voice echoes throughout the room and all I can do is stare at my beautiful daughter.
“Mel?” Tom’s voice brings me out of my trance as I shake my head. I can’t believe the news we received today, and I don’t want to continue to think about it.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask him. Beg him. Tears flow down my cheeks and his hands cradle my face, thumbs wiping them before they can land on Noelle’s back.
“I want you to do what will make you most comfortable,” he sobs, his own tears running.
Dr. Lehman explained to us that the chemotherapy is going to be aggressive and strong. My days would be filled with nausea and vomiting. Rapid hair and weight loss would follow along with a lot of pain and sores. I’m scared of what the coming weeks and months are going to be like. Terrified of the unknown, but also terrified that if I don’t follow the medical protocol, I’m going to be gone that much quicker, and I’m not willing to take that chance.
“I’ll do everything I can,” I announce.
“And what’s that?” his voice falters.
“I’ll start chemo right away, but I need some assurances from Dr. Lehman. I want to be coherent before it kills me. I want to be able to hold Noelle, feed her, bond with her. If the chemo is too strong and I feel myself fading too quickly, I want to be able to stop it. I need it to be this way, Tom. I can’t do all of the drugs and medicine if it’s going to cannibalize the time I have left with you and Noelle. I just can’t. I need to be able to control my fate.”
“But–” he interrupts.
“I’m still going to fight. But please, let me have the option to stop all medication if it jeopardizes my time with you.”
He drops his head again as his shoulders shake. “I can’t lose you.”
My own sobs join his as he curls against my side, his hand on Noelle’s back.
