Awwww . . .
Maddy: “And we love when you come home. I say ‘in’ too.”
Bigger Awwwww!
Lisa: “Hard or soft?”
Maddy: “Both. As long as it’s with him, I’ll take it every way I can.”
Reid: “What she said!”
Yup, it has been confirmed. I love them to bits and pieces. We stay and chat for a while. I try and get the scoop from Maddy about Mel, but she is sadly tight lipped. Going to make me wait. *sigh* Of course, Reid is enjoying telling me loads of stories about Braden–such a proud daddy . . . so freakin’ cute and makes him that much more drool-worthy. I don’t even realize how long we’ve been talking until I glance at my phone and realize we’ve been there for over two hours just chatting. I give them both hugs and we say our goodbyes and I watch them walk off hand-in-hand.
Acknowledgements
There are so many people who have been an integral part of helping me get this series off and running. My family and friends, the indie author community, countless blogs and promoters, but there would be no point to writing these stories if I didn’t have the most amazing readers out there. With that in mind, I’m dedicating this book to you—my fans. You have been so amazingly supportive reaching out to me with messages and leaving reviews. I am in awe of your love for Maddy and Reid and all of my other characters. You bring these characters to life and I am more thankful than I can express for wanting more of them.
Let Love Be Table of Contents
Master Table of Contents
Let Love In
Let Love Stay
Let Love Heal
Let Love Shine
Let Love Be
Part One: Lost
Prologue—Lucy
Chapter One—Evan
Chapter Two—Lucy
Chapter Three—Evan
Chapter Four—Lucy
Chapter Five—Evan
Chapter Six—Lucy
Part Two: Found—18 Years Later
Chapter Seven—Evan
Chapter Eight—Lucy
Chapter Nine—Evan
Chapter Ten—Lucy
Chapter Eleven—Evan
Chapter Twelve—Lucy
Chapter Thirteen—Evan
Chapter Fourteen—Lucy
Chapter Fifteen—Evan
Chapter Sixteen—Lucy
Chapter Seventeen—Evan
Chapter Eighteen—Lucy
Part Three: Home
Chapter Nineteen—Evan
Chapter Twenty—Lucy
Chapter Twenty One—Evan
Epilogue—Lucy
Acknowledgements
Let Love Live
Other Works
Social Media Links
A Note from Melissa
If you’ve read Let Love Heal, you’ll notice that I’ve repeated the prologue here in the beginning of Let Love Be. I’ve included it for those readers who may be picking Let Love Be up as a standalone. When I originally wrote those words for the opening of Let Love Heal, I didn’t have Lucy’s story completed in my head and since they are such an integral part of her story, they needed to be repeated.
Dedication
For those who are lucky enough to find love . . . again
Prologue
September 30, 1995
The I-beam swings haphazardly in the clouds. Teetering and tottering in the crystal-blue sky, it’s the perfect juxtaposition of artificial and natural—steel illuminated by the sun. Over a ton of metal effortlessly cascades through the air on the whim of a crane. It almost looks like a graceful ballet dancer as it swirls and twists, dips and dives. It’s mesmerizing, actually.
And then disaster strikes.
A deafening crack of a snapped chain sounds through the once peaceful air. The lively chatter of construction workers and architects instantly morphs into chaotic screams. Everyone runs, seeking cover from the impending doom.
As the massive beam plummets to the ground, people scramble, frantically grabbing others along the way to pull them to safety. It all happens so quickly. In the blink of an eye, it seems as if everyone will escape unscathed.
Until they don’t.
The beam changes direction, up ending itself. Head architect, Jimmy Crane, exits the shell of the building. Hardhat on and earplugs in, he’s always one to follow procedure to make sure that his work site is safe. His eyes are pulled away from the clipboard of today’s itinerary as the shadow of a passing figure flashes before him.
His eyes are drawn skyward. The sun blinds him; his sunglasses are tucked into his front pocket rather than perched across his nose. He doesn’t have a second to process anything.
Crushed beneath the massive weight of the steel beam, the last thought that passes through the mind of Jimmy Crane, is of his wife, Lucy and his unborn daughter.
Lucy Crane is consumed with decorating the freshly painted nursery. If ever there was a woman more excited to meet her first child, well, Lucy’s jubilance would put her to shame. Purple frills and pink lace don every surface of the room. It’s a princess’ heaven and a mom-to-be’s dream come true.
Lucy sits on the floor, sorting through baby gifts from her shower last weekend. Holding a glittery onesie with an attached pink tutu up against her eight-and-a-half-month pregnant belly, she whispers quietly to her unborn daughter, “Maybe one day you’ll be a ballerina . . . Melody.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and taps a finger against her lip as she contemplates one of her husband, Jimmy’s, top name choices. “Hmm, no that just doesn’t sound right.” Still going through baby names, Lucy and Jimmy haven’t been able to find one upon which they both agree.
Last night, as they lay in bed, they settled on a short list of names they each liked. Lucy was leaning toward more trendy names—Jessica, Ashley or Emily. Jimmy, on the other hand, wanted his daughter to have a less popular name; she was one of a kind, after all. Well, how could Lucy argue with that? From the moment she’d told her husband of less than a year that she was pregnant, he had absolutely radiated with love and joy. Conceding on his name preference was a small way that she could repay him for how he’s taken care of her through the entire pregnancy.
They’d been high school sweethearts, and in the seven years that they’d been together, they’d shared a lifetime’s worth of love. When Jimmy would place his lips up against Lucy’s swollen belly, and talk to their child, she could swear that her heart would burst at the overly full feeling of love.
On a mission to finish her sorting all of the baby clothes, Lucy snaps out of her happy musings of her husband and their baby. But when she comes across a purple sequined outfit, she can’t help put place it across her belly and talk to her daughter once more. “This is going to look absolutely perfect on you . . . Melanie.”
The name rolls off her tongue and sings to her heart. It was one of Jimmy’s first suggestions, liking “M” names more than any other. Lucy had originally dismissed it, but now, sitting quietly in her soon-to-be-born daughter’s room, the name seems to fit perfectly. Smiling broadly, she says the name once more, “Melanie.” Rubbing her belly, Lucy talks to the kicking baby who is rolling around inside of her. “Do you like that name, little Miss Melanie.” Another kick and roll. “Well then, we’ll just have to ask Daddy what he thinks when he gets home.” Another kick widens Lucy’s bright smile. “Okay now, Melly Belly.” Lucy chuckles softly at the ridiculous nickname she’s just given her daughter. A smile spreads across her face because she knows Jimmy will be pleased with her sudden turn around on his top name choice.
With numb and wobbly legs, Lucy stands to put the piles of clothes away when she hears a knock at the door. Checking her watch, she realizes that it’s past four in the afternoon. She’s been so lost in her baby daydreams she didn’t realize she hadn’t heard from Jimmy all day. Knowing that he is extremely busy trying to manage this massive project, she immediately dismisses her concerns. No phone calls during the day means that he is guaranteed to chew her ear off at dinner.
The man loves his building, that’s for sure.
Brushing her hands over her trendy and modern dark-blue maternity shirt, Lucy flattens out the wrinkles that set in as she was draping onesie after onesie across her belly.
As she peeks through the curtain that hangs across the top window of the door, she smiles cheerfully at her husband’s best friend and co-owner of Crane Building Associates, Ray Richards.
“Hey, Ray. What’s going on?” Lucy steps to the side allowing Ray to enter into the small foyer. Closing the door behind him, she continues talking. “Jimmy isn’t home from work yet, but come on in. Can I get you a beer?” Lucy’s bright voice does nothing to lighten the darkness that is cast over Ray’s face.
Ray shakes his head, declining the beer. He looks into Lucy’s bright blue eyes, and says, “We need to talk, Lucy.” His voice is even and curt. Ignoring her stunned reaction to his cold demeanor, Ray walks past Lucy into the sunken den of his best friend’s new home—a home to which he’ll never return.
Ray sinks into the old, beat-up couch and memories flood his head and heart. This is the couch that they had in their first apartment. It was a rat-hole of a place, but somehow Ray and Jimmy managed to make it work. The couch is a hand-me-down from Jimmy’s parents and has survived remarkably well through their college years.
Burying his head into his hands, Ray can no longer contain the sobs that have been threatening to swallow him whole since he pulled in the freshly-paved driveway.
Lucy waddles over to the couch and, not-so-gracefully, lowers herself onto the cushions. Tenderly wrapping her arm around his broad shoulders, she says, “What’s wrong, Ray? I’m getting a little worried here.”
It’s not unusual for Ray to stop over, but usually Jimmy is there getting ready for a golf outing or a ball game. There’s something about this particular visit that just feels . . . wrong.
Her concern only makes him cry more. He’s crying for the loss of his best friend. He’s crying for Lucy, who he’s come to love as his own best friend through the years. He’s crying for the baby that Jimmy will never get to meet—for the baby that Lucy will now have to raise on her own.
Twisting in his seat, he faces Lucy and wipes the tears from his eyes. Lucy’s face pales as all of the blood rushes from it. She can tell that this is not a routine visit on Ray’s part.
“Lucy . . .” Ray’s words catch in his throat, stuck behind the ball of emotion that’s been lodged there since he witnessed his best friend being crushed by tons of steel.
Lucy covers her mouth with her hands, but her gasp is still audible. “No, no, no, no. . . .” It’s the only syllable her brain can manage. She’s shaking her head wildly as if it will keep away the horrific news that is so clearly etched across Ray’s tanned and youthful face.
Ray wraps his arm around her slumped shoulders and pulls Lucy into a tight squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There was an accident and . . . it’s Jimmy. He’s gone, Lucy.”
With those words, her world changes instantly. No longer able to contain her anguish, her chest heaves in sobs as tears pour from her eyes.
How? Why? What? All of these questions swarm her brain, but the bottom line is none of it matters. Bits of Ray’s strained explanation filter into her consciousness, but she can’t make any sense of it. Something about a beam, about being in the wrong place at the wrong time, about wanting to come here to tell her himself, about not wanting her to have to drive to the coroner’s office alone, it’s all a garbled mess, because none of it is important. The only meaningful piece of information is that Jimmy, her Jimmy, the love of her life, is gone.
Visions that she will never be able to erase start filling her mind. In a vain attempt to escape them, Lucy shoots up from the couch and begins frantically pacing the room. But she’s too weak to stand for long. As pain, anguish and loss eat her alive, she crumples to the floor and wraps her arms around her round belly. Again, the only words she can form are, “No, no, no . . .”
Unable to let her suffer alone, Ray moves next to her on the floor and pulls her into his arms. Cooing softly to her, he tries to calm her. It’s a vain attempt at peace that will never come.
It’s always been Jimmy. He was her first friend, her first love, and now he’s her first true loss.
Calling on an inner strength that she doesn’t truly feel, Lucy tries to stand, but her body rejects the attempt. All she can do is let the sadness swallow her whole, and hope that when it spits her back out, she’ll be alive and whole enough to take care of Melanie.
Chapter One
October 2, 1995
“You better slow down, old man,” Brody puffs out as he powers down the treadmill. Straddling the machine, he places a foot on each side of the belt as it comes to a complete stop.
I swipe a towel over my face, but don’t stop my run. “Nah, I still got a few miles left in me. And I am not old.” My legs are burning, but I can’t stop now. There’s no way in hell I’m letting this probie lay into me for being old.
Brody chugs down his water as he sits on the bench next to the machines. “You’re older than me!”
“Watch it, kid. Keep talking like that to an old-timer like me and you’ll be scrubbing toilets for a month.”
Brody chokes on his water and holds up his hands, surrendering to my empty threats. “Okay, okay, you win.”
“Damn straight, I do.” I’d laugh, but now my lungs are burning too. He needs to get out of this workout room now so I can slow down without losing my pride.
Just as Brody turns to leave the room, I get a killer cramp in my side. He must see me cringe in the wall of mirrors lining the back of the room where the weights are set up, because he smirks and turns on his heels, heading back to my machine.
Still refusing to let him win, I straighten myself, even though it hurts like a bitch. Casually, Brody leans his elbow up against the front of the machine and takes a look at the speedometer, which is set to seven miles-an-hour.
“Seven, not bad. Let’s see if you can handle eight though.” He reaches over the control panel and changes the speed.
Prick.
“Oh, it’s on now!” My legs pump faster, muscles ripping through the pain, but after a minute or so, I acclimate to the speed and catch my groove. It’s not so bad, but if I don’t consciously focus on my breathing, I might just keel over and pass out.
“How are those lungs feeling?” he asks mockingly.
Risking any sense of control I have over my body, I ball up my towel and chuck it right at his head. “Fantastic, newbie.”
Okay, maybe they burn a little bit, but I’d rather collapse than admit it.
Brody has a smug look plastered to his face as he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m so glad you find this amusing. Hey, didn’t Ramirez make you power wash the rigs last month for giving him shit?”
“Yeah, but it’s just so easy picking on you, old man. Plus, there are so many around here to choose from.” I flip him off, mid stride and he just continues watching me run, shit-eating grin spreading his mouth open wide.
I want to hate him. Hell, we all want to hate him, but his jokes are always in jest. As far as probies, probationary firefighters, go, Brody Callahan is an all right kid. At only twenty-four years old, he’s a decade younger than me. With only about two months on the job, I have to admit that the kid knows his shit. Like most of us, he pretty much knew he wanted to be a firefighter from the day he was born. He studied hard and trained even harder, and just this past summer, he graduated at the top of his training class.
Wanting in on all of the action, Brody requested to be placed here at Squad 18, right in the heart of Manhattan. In the twelve years I’ve been part of the FDNY, I’ve seen my fair share of new kids. Brody is by far the biggest wise-ass punk we’ve ever had join our crew.
We loved him instantly.
When I reach eleven miles, and my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest, I hit the power button and Brody tosses my
towel back at me. His chest is all puffed with pride.
“What’re you all happy about over there?” I have to angle my neck up to look at him because I’m currently bent over, hands braced against my knees as I try desperately to seem unaffected by his little game.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I made you sprint an extra mile. That ought to help your marathon next month.” He slaps my back and adds, “See? Maybe a vet like you could learn a thing or two from the new guy.”
That gets a more than a chuckle from me. And hell, he’s probably right. It sure as shit isn’t going to hurt my pace.
I glance up at the clock above the door and finish off my bottle of water. “Day tour is about to start. Better get ready so we can relieve the overnighters.”
Standing by the door, Brody props it open with one foot while he extends his hand, allowing me to walk past him. “Age before beauty,” he laughs sarcastically.
“I doubt you’ll be laughing like that with a toilet scrubber in your hands.”
“Ehh, pissing you off is so worth a few weeks of bowl detail.” He takes a few steps ahead of me and pauses at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the showers. Peering over his shoulders, he says, “I’ll race ya, old man!” And then, he’s off, taking the steps two at a time.
Even if I did want to prove a point, there’s no way in hell my rubber band-like legs could possibly do any kind of sprinting. So, instead of accepting his challenge, I make a mental note to pick up a brand new toilet scrubber when we do the daily meal shopping later in the afternoon.
Holding down the button for the PA system, I call out, “Food’s on!”
Mealtime at the firehouse is pretty much like any meal at home. After all, this is our home. We laugh while we eat and catch up on any and everything that’s going on in our real homes—new babies, middle school concerts, high school graduations.
The Love Series Complete Box Set Page 85
