by Tessa Teevan
We finish up the standard exam with him agreeing that he could see more degeneration and suggesting we not wait as long in between visits.
After I make the appointment with sweet, old-ass Charlotte, I sit in the waiting room, eager to get the text from Winnie that says they are outside. Winnie is my best friend, colleague, and soon-to-be sister-in-law.
Some say that if you let people go and you’re meant to be with them, then they will come back. I say that if you have a smoking hot college roommate you love, then hook her up with your adorable brother and you’ll never have to worry about that leaving shit.
My brother Coop—Cooper if you are our Grandma—fell in love with Winnie the first time he saw her. But then again, in a way, I did too.
She is dramatic and wild. Her body totally embodies her personality. And she has crazy curly brown hair, an ass that won’t quit, and big brown eyes that make her irresistible. That’s why she made a great actress with no training at all.
We are both writers. That’s how we met in college. We had the same major, and admissions paired us up as roommates.
Following graduation, we landed a couple of jobs as pages at one of the biggest television stations in the country, ABN. Don’t ask me how that seriously lucky turn of events unfolded, because I will never tell. Neither will the two-pump chump, Derek, the lead page at the time, who I ironically met on my birthday my senior year.
Then after slumming it for a year or so, we both were promoted to different floors in the building and on different shows. I was hired on as a junior writer for a late-night talk show, and Winnie was hired to a sketch comedy show to write and perform. We made friends with people, both of our shows came and went, and born was Just Kidding.
That is our show. Winnie and I would like to take credit for the entire show, but it actually is a three-way—me, Winnie, and Wes Ruben. Winnie and Wes worked on the same show before Just Kidding and had great on-camera chemistry.
If they were in a scene together, then it was gold. Their characters were always fan favorites and that made them a hot-ticket commodity in the entertainment business. When they approached me as a writer for the spin-off of their canceled show, I was more than happy to say yes.
First of all, I was unemployed. So that was a no-brainer.
Second of all, I knew working with Winnie and Wes would be fun, profitable, and an opportunity that wouldn’t ever come around again.
If I were a betting person, I’d bet they will both be on the big screen in leading roles within the next five years. They are that good.
My phone buzzed with a text from Winnie.
She asked, “Birthday Slut, are you ready yet? We are 3 blocks away.”
I reply, “I’m not Birthday Slut anymore. You can call me Birthday Bitch from here on out. I’m walking out the door.”
“Oh, I bet Birthday Slut is in there somewhere,” she coyly replied.
So, there was a time before Kurt and I got together that I may or may not have had some casual sex. I wasn’t a whore or anything. I dated and had casual boyfriends. Nothing too serious. Dating within the business is like that. Here one minute and kiss my let’s-be-friends ass the next. Every year on my birthday, if I was dating someone, I would break up with whomever and not look back.
Then, Winnie and I would go out and Birthday Slut it up. Well, I would. She faked it by just going home with Coop and telling me she called him by a different name. She has the best logic.
Look for Fade In on Goodreads and M. Mabie at her website, on Facebook or on Twitter .
Sneak Peek of Axel by Harper Sloan
Available Now
Prologue
God… please let him be late. Traffic? Boss needed help? Hell, at this point I would even pray for his shoe being untied.
ANYTHING to give me just five extra minutes.
Taking a frustrated breath, I remember… I gave up pleading to the heavens years ago. Ten years to be exact. The day he walked out of my life. The day the sun stopped shining and my world turned gray. The day that my dreams turned into nightmares. I miss my dreams, the sun, and I miss him. So fucking much, even though I know I shouldn’t. After all, what good does it do to miss a ghost?
Come on… come on…. I silently beg the light to change. Why is it that the only time I’m running late, every single light catches me? “Fuck! Just fucking change!” I just know if I am not home in the next ten minutes all hell will break loose. Finally, as soon as the light turns green I slam on the gas. All I need to do is hurry and everything will be fine.
Right?
I roll into the driveway at 5:45, throw the car in park and rush into the house. Thankfully I had enough foresight when I left earlier to start the slow cooker. “Okay, Okay…” I mutter to myself, while rushing around the kitchen island to the table. If I didn’t hurry… nope, I can’t go there. There would cause me to lock up in fear, and cutting it this close, I can’t lock up.
“Deep breath, Iz… just breathe.” I remind myself, setting the bowls of chili down. As quickly as I can manage I set the table, make sure the glasses are spot free and the silverware is perfectly aligned. I was not going to make those mistakes again. Rushing back to the kitchen, I make sure I’ve washed and dried all the cookware, and signs of my slow cooker use. I have just enough time to make sure that my ‘face’, as he so lovingly calls it, doesn’t look like I just rushed my duties.
At 6:05, on the dot, I hear the garage door rolling up. Breathe. A few moments later, he walks in. Of course, he would never be running late. God forbid he would make it home a minute past his normal scheduled time. The world might end, sky might fall, and pigs might start flying.
No, not my husband; he is never off his game.
“Good evening, Isabelle. How was your day?” He asks, while unloading his arms of his coat, briefcase, and keys. He makes sure his coat is hung perfectly; wrinkles wouldn’t dare mess with him. Even they know not to poke the bear. After he disposes of his cell, wallet, and other pocket shit, he finally looks up at me with his cold, dead eyes.
Permission to speak has silently been granted.
“Good evening, Brandon. Things were normal as always today. Did some laundry, ran the errands you asked me to do, and got home around three. I know you said your parents are thinking of coming this weekend, so I wanted to make sure I had enough time to get the spare room situated before I started dinner.”
Lies, all lies … just enough to hopefully make him think I wasn’t out.
“Hmmm,” he states, while rolling his sleeves up. “So,” he looks up with his evil smirk and those dead eyes. “That wasn’t you I just saw speeding down Oak Street like the bats of hell were on your bumper, Isabelle?”
Fuck. Me.
“Brandon, I swear it’s not what you think.” I squeak out. Shit, this is going to be bad. “Dee stopped by, she’s in town and just wanted to say hi, catch up a little. I haven’t seen her in six months- -”
His smile stops me cold, immediately I start backing away. Oh shit, I know that look.
“Now, now… Isabelle. What have I told you about Denise? Hmm? If I remember correctly, it was something along the lines of you are not to talk, call or take calls from her, and you are definitely not to FUCKING SEE HER!”
He’s starting to step closer now. Frantically I look around for an escape, but he’s blocking my only exit. “You have been told, and I would have thought you learned this lesson six months ago. Isn’t that how long you said it’s been? What do I need to do for you to get it through your dumb fucking head? Jesus Christ, you’re a stupid fucking bitch.” His eyes are so cold as he steps right into my space. “What part of you being mine, and only mine, did you not understand the last time I was forced to explain this to you. I will not share you with fucking anyone. Do you hear me, Isabelle?” He sneers my name like its very presence on his tongue disgusts him. I’ve hit panic mode now, he has me backed into the wall, no escape in sight. “No fucking person in this goddamn world is allowed you. Only. Fuc
king. Me!” He continues, his eyes bugging out and his spit hitting me in the face. “You’re nothing but a stupid fucking slut! Isn’t that right, Isabelle? I should have walked the other way that night at Fire. I should have known a bar slut from a mile away. But, no! It’s all your fault my dick wouldn’t walk the other way.” He rears back and slaps me hard across my cheek. I squeeze my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms to keep from screaming out. I can feel the blood running down my neck from the cut his ring must have caused on my jaw. I might be stuck, but I’ll be damned if I will let him break me.
“What did I fucking say, Isabelle? NO DENISE! No afternoons chatting like little fucking bitches. You’re to be here, cleaning my fucking house, cooking my fucking dinner, and spreading your fat fucking thighs for my dick!” He reaches out and grabs a bowl of chili, throwing it with all his strength against the wall. I watch chunks of meat, beans and sauce run down my happy yellow walls. “And what in the fuck is this shit? I told you, you fucking bitch, I wanted lasagna. Does that look like lasagna?” I should have seen it coming, but my attention was still focused on my happy yellow walls and the globs of dinner still rolling down. I was just turning back to him when his fist hit my temple, momentarily making my vision blur. At least that seems to have knocked some sense into my sluggish brain. I dart to the right, quickly trying to escape the second fist I know will soon be following. Too late, always too late, I catch the second one in the ribs, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Brandon grabs my thick hair and with a twist of his wrist, I’m right back at his mercy.
Mercy I know he doesn’t have.
Throwing me into the hallway, with what feels like the strength of ten men, he’s quick to follow with a kick to my stomach. “You stupid bitch. You just can’t listen. I own you, all of you. No one else. No one else touches what is MINE. Especially not fucking DENISE! I warned you what would happen. No, I promised your dumb ass what would happen if you went near her again.” Kick… slap… punch… kick. “You’re never going to learn are you?” He’s panting with exertion and it’s taking everything I have not to let the blackness overcome me. Even if I know numbness would be following quickly.
I lost track of how long he stood over me, screaming and beating, alternating between his feet and his fist.
Freedom, that’s all I crave now.
I close my eyes and pass out.
When I wake up, the house is dark. Every bone, muscle, and hair on my head hurt. I can’t take a deep breath without wanting to die. I can feel wetness on various parts of my head and body. Fuck. It’s never been this bad. I can’t hear anything out of my left ear, what the hell happened to my ear? Fuck, I need to move. Clutching my arm around my middle, I slowly climb to my feet. I take a look around, out of my very swollen eyes, and see that dinner is still sitting on the table. The broken bowl, chili dried to the wall, and even the spotless cups are sitting there mocking me. With a slow and silent step I glance into the living room. No sign of Brandon. Shuffling, more like dragging myself to the kitchen, I see his keys are gone. Holy shit! He’s not here. Never, not once in six years has he left me alone in the house after a ‘lesson’.
I walk along the wall, holding on for support until I reach my purse, unzipping the side zipper; I reach in and take out my phone. The phone Brandon doesn’t know I have. I’m not allowed to have a phone, and he disconnects the house phone and takes it with him when he leaves. I can barely see enough to turn the phone on. I slide my finger across the screen and unlock it. Finally, after a few wrong buttons, I place the call.
“Hello? Hello, Iz? Iz, are you there? Is everything okay? IZ??” I can hear her, she’s practically screaming. But I can’t get the words out. She knows I wouldn’t be calling this late. Hell, she knows I wouldn’t call at all.
I take a shallow breath, and rasp out the only word I need to bring my salvation.
“Help...”
Then the blackness pulls me under.
Chapter 1
(Izzy)
I haven’t always been this weak person… this broken woman. I used to dream, and when I did, I dreamt big. I had plans, plans of a future so bright it would blind you. I can still remember the day those dreams, those grand plans, and that future as bright as the sun went poof.
I just didn’t know it at the time.
At the time I thought everything would be okay. After all, what seventeen-year-old girl doesn’t think she’s invincible?
That, coincidently, was the same day I decided fate hated me. No, she didn’t hate me… she loathed me. People say karma is a bitch, but I have news for you, karma doesn’t have anything on fate when she is after blood. Not a single thing.
I wish I knew what it was that set fate on the path of my doom. Maybe it was just being born? I like to think I was at least okay there. My parents loved me, they prayed for me, and I was everything to them. So, no, I don’t think that was the day.
Or it could have been the day I stole Maggie Jones’ pudding cup. But Maggie was a bully, never nice and always stuffing her face, so I like to think I did her a favor.
I once stole a chocolate bar from the grocery store, but seriously? Fate would have been after every little teenage shit if that was the case. Point fingers all you want, but where I come from it’s like a rite of passage.
No, I think fate decided she hated me the day I walked into Dale High School freshman year and my path collided with Axel’s. It would make sense that the reason she hated me was the reason for all my pain.
The reason I’m convinced fate will never shine in my favor again. Why would she? She took it all away. Wiped out every single thing I had ever loved in one swift kick.
One day I might figure it out, the reason fate hated me, Isabelle West. But, until that day I damn sure will be careful with my dreams and my plans; my heart and my soul.
Fate might hate me, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping one day she forgets about her favorite chew toy. When that day comes, I hope karma has some fun with that bitch, fate.
Sneak Peek of Catch My Fall by Ella Fox
Available Now
Prologue
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
Ernest Hemingway
The punches flew through the air, almost no time passing between the loud sounds of fist hitting skin again and again. I screamed for it to stop, for everything to stop, but my screams did nothing, did not even cause a pause in the beating. Wherever he had gone, he couldn’t hear me.
Forcing my sore and broken body up off the tile floor, I stumbled over to where they were. Lurching forward, I grabbed his arm with both hands as I tried to pull him away. My hands on his skin seemed to bring him back to reality, at least for a moment, but I feared that he would go back to that dark place again if I didn’t ground him somehow.
I heard the distant sound of sirens, and although ten minutes ago I had been praying for that sound, now I was terrified. There was no doubt in my mind that the police would arrest him and take him away from me if I didn’t calm him down and get myself together enough to tell the police exactly what happened. Even scared and injured, I knew that I needed to force myself to stay strong for him. I’m more afraid of losing him than I am of anything else.
His eyes… the beautiful eyes that I’ve come to love so much were full of rage and pain, and I knew he was far away in his head. Letting go of his arm, I lifted both of my hands up and cupped his face, forcing him to look at me.
I could barely croak words from my sore and swollen throat, my screams having depleted my voice to almost nothing. Still, I managed to force the necessary words out, needing him to listen to me so that the police wouldn’t find him wide-eyed and raging.
“Stan, you have to pull yourself together. I need you. I. Need. You.”
My words broke through whatever fugue state he was in, and my heart broke as he crumbled. He dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face against my stomach before he
forced out one word.
“Mimi…”
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, storylines, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner.
Copyright © 2014 Tessa Teevan
Cover Design by Robin Harper of Wicked by Design
Cover Model: Joshua Saari
Cover Photography: Josh Norris. Copyright © 2013 Josh Norris Photography
Table of Contents
Title Page
Quote
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
