by Anne Jolin
Robert “Fun Bobby” Karlson completed his twelve-month probation at Equine for Hearts and now works as a club promoter in Toronto. Last month, he was awarded his eighteen-month chip at Narcotics Anonymous and is expecting a baby with his girlfriend, Kailee Pratt, next spring.
Hank “Dirt” Armstrong is currently completing his second twelve-month term at Equine for Hearts. He is attending night classes at the local college where he will graduate with his GED this winter. He hasn’t boosted a car since the day he met Grant.
Josh Farina completed his required six months of community service with Aurora Daniels at Equine for Hearts and was accepted into a school for talented young artists. He now volunteers of his own accord at Equine for Hearts every other Sunday.
Earlier this month, Grant testified at the parole hearing of Marcus Kincaid, the boy who was now a man who murdered his daughter. Based on that testimony, Marcus will be granted early parole in January two thousand and seventeen. He will be released into the custody of Equine for Hearts for a court-ordered period of twelve months. He refers to Grant as his second chance.
Rhys “Crow” White was arrested on parole violations and was required to serve the remainder of his sentence at the Edmonton Remand Center. He is being released today.
The autumn chill lay just around the bend, in the end of September air, and I rubbed away the cold from my arms with the palms of my hands as I watched the side door, waiting.
It had been thirteen months since Rhys was arrested. Which meant it had been thirteen months since the day I was kidnapped.
When he and Grant saved me, Rhys broke parole on three separate counts.
During his sentencing, he pled guilty to all of them and has since served his time without objection.
I wrote to him seven days a week for the entire span of his sentence and every Sunday, I got to see him through a two-inch plastic window for exactly thirty minutes.
Don’t go and romanticise the notion. Loving a man behind bars wasn’t easy. There were at least half a dozen nights a month that I spent crying myself to sleep and at least another three I spent holding Maddy while she did the same.
There were days I exhausted myself defending him to loved ones and even strangers. There were days I spent so sure I would die from missing him. There were days where my body could barely manage the absence of his arms holding me.
But we survived.
Somehow our light found a way to shine through, even in the dark.
My family did the best they could, but it was hard for them to understand. It was only really Grant who seemed to miss Rhys even a fraction as much as I did.
That was okay, though.
With what they’d both done to save me, what Rhys had sacrificed, that had condemned them both to a lifetime of praise in my father’s eyes. In a way, the reason he’d been arrested for the second time was Rhys’ road to redemption.
His road to closure.
And I hoped he’d found it.
The side door opened and my heart leapt forward at the sight of its home.
Home.
He waited as the guards buzzed him into the walkway and excitement stirred in my soul.
This would be another moment in our history, one that would make the norms of our society cringe but the flutter in our hearts rise.
It was our story, after all.
The heel of his motorcycle boots crunched through the leaves on the ground, and the faded black of his Metallica T-shirt caught the light just right.
There, like always, he wore his heart on his sleeve.
I couldn’t wait.
My hips shoved off the truck as he pushed his aviators onto the bridge of his nose, and the last buzzer sounded as he slid that leather jacket onto his shoulders.
My stomach fluttered.
Almost here.
I broke into a run as the last gate opened.
He dropped the manila envelope in his hands to the ground, and I threw myself into his arms.
The way his face buried into my neck sealed off the pain of these last thirteen months.
Our bodies shuddered, and I felt the rhythm of his chest intertwine with mine.
Lifting his head, his eyes searched mine.
I knew what they would find.
Home.
You have to rein in the trials that weigh on your heart. How else, of course, will it find a home?
Home.
This was my home, in his arms.
“I missed the sun,” he whispered against my lips just before he kissed me.
THE END.
The Rock Falls Series
Chasing Rhodes (Book 1)
Choosing Henley (Book 2)
Breaking Bennett (Book 3)
Keeping King (Book 4)
Saving Steele (Book 5)
Willow Bay Stables
Change Rein (Book 1)
Eight Second Ride (Book 2)
Hell On Heels
For my big sister, Sarah, who never tires of spending her days off plotting books with me, thank you! You will always be the Goose to my Maverick. I love you.
For my beta readers, Taylor Holbrook, Larnie Phipps and Alycia Sanchioni, thank you for your constant support and honest critique. It means the world to me to have you ladies in my corner, you helped make this book the best that it could be.
For Linda Chancey, who during the writing of this book helped me to purchase my new home. You are a wonderful person and the world could use more women like you!
For Diego Durden, Carmen Delgado, Roberto Ruiz thank you for providing me with the perfect photo for the cover of this book. You are all incredibly talented and it has been a pleasure working with you.
For Sara Eirew, thank you for another gorgeous cover design.
For Vanessa Bridges and Tricia at PREMA Editing, thank you for taking this book and polishing it to perfection. You are a wonderful team and I am incredibly lucky to get the opportunity to work with you both.
For Stacey Blake at Champagne Formats, my very own rock star, thank you for creating another brilliant masterpiece. You are my favourite part of this process and I absolutely adore you.
For Lydia Harbaugh at HEA Book Tours & PR and the ladies at Give Me Books Promotion, thank you for all your hard work in the promoting of this book. I appreciate all that you do and look forward to many exciting partnerships in the future.
For my angels, the best street team a girl could ask for, thank you for everything: the man candy posts, the pimping, the teasers, and all the love you’ve shown me.
For all the readers, these books are for you, so thank you for reading. I love you all more than you could possibly know.
To my friends and family, my life is richer and more beautiful because you’re in it. Thank you for everything.
MAD LOVE. x
I was born and raised in Ladner, a small farm town just outside Vancouver, Canada.
I never expected to be an author. Writing was something that snuck up on me and rooted itself into my life. It was beautiful to discover that love, and I’m truly grateful to say I’ve found my passion.
If I could leave y’all with one thing, it’s that life’s far too short to not live it out loud. Drown in your passions, hold on tight to the things that inspire you, and chase your dreams relentlessly. I can promise you without a doubt that you won’t regret it. I know I don’t.
Mad love,
Anne Jolin
Website: www.annejolin.com
Newsletter
Facebook
Instagram
Twitter
Pinterest
Snapchat
Goodreads
YOU KNOW THAT family… That family with the big house, the white picket fence, and the adorable dog. The family with the beautiful children, the parents with a happy marriage, and those permanent, perfect smiles constantly affixed to their faces. Do you know that family? Well, I did. I was part of that family for the first twelve years of my life—until the walls and the ceiling of that p
erfectly constructed lie came crashing down. I didn’t make it out of the rubble as the same hopeful little girl. I am jaded, I am closed off, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust a man again.
The girls Googled it once. They determined that I must have intimacy issues and likely abandonment problems. I laughed because who actually Googles a medical diagnosis? But the truth is that they’re right. I probably do. On the eve of my thirteenth birthday, my entire outlook on men changed—and not in a good way.
The hero of my world, my first love, and the man I looked up to left. He packed his bags, kissed me on the top of the head, and walked out the door.
People get divorced all the time. I know that. I could have stomached it if I’d known my parents weren’t in love anymore. Even at thirteen, I could have survived that. I would have wanted them to be happy even if that meant not staying married. It wouldn’t have mattered, because at the end of it all, I still would have had both my parents.
Well, that isn’t what this was.
My dad never abused us—physically or verbally—and he told me every day how much he loved me. He came to every lacrosse game and dance recital, celebrated every birthday, and supported every dream. My parents went on date nights and danced in the living room, and they were happy. We were happy.
That is why it was nearly impossible to comprehend that my perfect daddy left us for another family. He traded us in. He abandoned us. He never came back.
It’s been twelve years since my father broke my heart. Twelve years since the one man who was genetically programmed to love me left me.
I’ve been absolutely scared shitless of loving another man ever since.
Six Months Later
OH GOD. THIS is it. I’m dead. My tombstone is actually going to read ‘Te-kill-ya, it killed her.’ I never should have let the girls convince me that breakup drinking was a good idea. When is drinking ever a good idea? Ugh. I’m never drinking again. Lying on my side, I’m attempting to work up the courage to open my eyes and suffer the light of day. Okay, I can do this. I can open my eyes. I’m thirsty and I need to pee. This has to happen. Wake up, Hannah! Little mental pep talk over with, I decide to take the plunge. I start with squinting open my left eye and then slowly my right. I’m momentarily blinded by the sunlight streaming in from the window above the bed. Wait. What? I don’t have a window above my bed. My eyes fly open, much to the dismay of my pounding head and I start to take in my surroundings.
The first thing I notice is a large framed poster of Parkway Drive, the Australian metal-core band, hanging on the wall. Next to it, a tall, black dresser with an array of colognes strewn across the top and in the corner is what seems to be an old acoustic guitar. I don’t know this room. Fuck, I think I’ve officially screwed up something fierce. I groan out loud, and my mental ass-whooping comes to an abrupt halt when the arm underneath my head moves. Oh my God. An arm! A muscular, tattooed arm is under my head. I take a deep breath and begin a quick inventory of my clothing—or, in this case, my lack thereof. I’m naked. Great! Good job, Hannah. You’ve been single for barely a month and you’ve already landed your first one-night stand.
Operation Get Out of Dodge starts now! I slowly roll onto my stomach, and by slow, I mean a turtle could do this faster, shell and all, but I do not by any means want to wake up the owner of that arm anytime soon. Once I’m on my stomach, I steal a quick glance at him. He’s lying on his back, head facing away from me and the sheets are lying dangerously low on his hips. Well, looks like he’s naked too! I’m giving myself another mental chastising for my naughty shenanigans when he shifts in his sleep and the sheet inches lower. My mouth goes dry. I’ve lost all train of thought and I can’t help but stare. His body is stunning. A beautiful red-haired siren sitting on a rock in the water is artfully covering the left side of his torso and across the entire width of his chest, a menacing lion stakes its claim. I move my way down his body, his chest rising and falling slowly, and take in his chiseled abdomen. He looks powerful, even in his sleep, much like I imagine the predator tattooed on his chest would look like in real life. I take one last look at the sexy V leading beneath the sheets and sigh. He has the V... I smile at myself and dish out a mental high five. The owner of the arm is incredibly good-looking.
All right, ogling time is over. Plus, ogling someone while they sleep seems kind of creepy, even if you have already slept with them (but don’t remember). I ease off the bed and decide that locating my phone seems like step number one because I have no idea where I am and I’m sure I didn’t drive here. I find my iPhone lying on the floor, half underneath the bed. Ignoring the missed messages lighting up the screen, I type out a quick text to my older sister, Beth.
Me: I need a ride. Can you pick me up? I’ll call you in ten minutes and let you know where to meet me.
Second step, clothing. Of course I couldn’t have worn a sundress or something so that I only had to locate one item. I have to be a lover of layers, although most Canadians are given that the weather changes every five minutes. After searching high and low, I’ve found my jeans, boots, left sock, bra, sweater and jacket. Still at large is my right sock and my shirt—whatever, I could do without those. Another two minutes and I’m dressed. I don’t think I’ve ever dressed myself that fast in my life. I’m more of a ‘rip everything out of the closet until my room looks like a bomb went off’ kind of girl. Step three, find Michael. There’s no way Michael is going to be collateral of my one-night stand with the owner of the arm, whether he’s delicious or not. I know what you’re thinking... No, Michael’s not a person; he’s my handbag. I’m actually not a very preppy girl, for lack of a better word, but since my cousin, Wyatt, came out of the closet a few years back, I’ve taken a major liking to designer handbags. The one currently evading me was my green Michael Kors hobo, and come hell or high water, I am not leaving this place without it.
I am checking behind a large, leather chair in the opposite corner when I hear shuffling across the room. Oh God, please don’t let the owner of the arm be awake, I think as I turn back towards the bed. My one-night stand shifted in his sleep, again, and is now lying on his side facing me. FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuckidty, fuck! Screw Michael. I’m out of here. Right fucking now! I turn swiftly on the heel of my boot, ready to make a run for it, when I trip, sending my iPhone flying across the carpeted room. I send a panicked glance towards the bed. Still asleep. Whew! Man, someone’s looking out for me today, I think as I crawl towards my phone. Well, I thought wrong... I am no more than three feet from my phone when it starts to ring, loudly. Curse me and my stupid need to have everything at maximum volume all the time! I lunge for it, but in my haste, I only manage to send it flying farther away from me as my sister’s ringtone, “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye begins blaring from the tiny speakers. I’m going to kill Beth when I see her! Kill her right on the spot for choosing that terrible ringtone. I reach the phone and silence it. Still on my hands and knees, I look towards the bed, hoping the owner of the arm is a heavy sleeper. It was a false hope.
Looking back at me is a pair of pale-blue eyes I’ve only seen once before. Shit. I just had a one-night stand with the Charlie Hunnam lookalike.
