by Marie Wathen
“No,” she growls through the phone.
Nausea hits my stomach and I bite back the overwhelming feeling that I’m about to be sick. Through a soft sob, I confess, “I feel like I’ve lost me. As stubborn as I was about keeping myself away from him for so long, it didn’t do any good. I fell hard, Anna. God, I’m such a loser.” I mumble, covering my hand over my mouth, biting back hard tears at this point.
“He didn’t deserve you. He is the stupid one in this scenario. My god, where in the hell are you? I’m calling someone to come get you. Tell me where you are!”
Sniffling and sucking up the tears and snot messing up my face, I tell her, “With Jama and Z.” Then I hang up just as I lose my battle against getting sick.
Obnoxious banging on the bathroom door makes my head hammer. Slowly, I lift up off the floor to answer it.
“What?” I whine, holding my palm against the side of my head. A rather large woman wraps a wide hand over my shoulder, pulling on me and then shoving me out into the hallway. My eyes flash wide at her exaggerated force as I crash against the opposite wall, barely keeping myself upright.
“There you are!” Jama exclaims, racing down the hall. “Are you all right?”
Peeling my eyes away from the sealed bathroom door, I nod. The movement causes my stomach to roll again. Luckily, Jama recognizes the green hue signifying my impending sickness and pushes me out the back door of the club. After helping me bend over and propping my ass against the brick wall, she runs back inside the club. A few moments later, Z accompanies her back out.
“Damn, girl,” he states, gripping my underarm and waving Jama around to take the other. “We need to get you home.” With that, I’m ushered out to his car and after what feels like a couple of minutes they are hauling me up the stairs to my apartment.
“I’ve got her, if you want to go home,” Z tells Jama.
Shaking her head, she says, “No, I’m good with staying here.”
“Well, I feel responsible, since I got her to down so many shots, so I’m staying, too.”
Before they can finish sorting out the sleepover arrangements, I rush into the bathroom and hug the toilet. Not long afterwards, both of them knock on the door, but I keep them out by begging and crying like a first-time drunk before passing out.
The sound of my front door, banging off the adjacent wall, precedes a loud voice shouting my name, startling me awake. I peel my eyes open, finding my face glued to the toilet seat and my arms, draping over it numbly. An argument erupts, coming from the next room – my bedroom. From the sounds of it someone is way too pissed off for such an early hour. Pushing up to my feet slowly, hoping to prevent another round of worshipping the porcelain throne, I shuffle over and reach for the doorknob.
The deep male voice booms again and I freeze, stilling my hand on the lock, because I would recognize that voice anywhere and never expected him here. “You fucking arsehole, what in the hell do you mean sleeping with her? Get out!” Morgan demands furiously.
Another shout follows a mumble and then I hear what sounds like fighting. I open the door and cross my bedroom, following the sounds, which are now coming from my living room. Entering the space, I’m instantly blinded by bright morning sunlight filtering through the large picture window.
“I swear that I didn’t touch her, dude.” Z’s voice isn’t quite as loud, but his reply is just as powerful. “She fell asleep on the bloody toilet.” I glance over my shoulder at the rumpled up sheets on my bed and shudder. Did we sleep together? Wait. I don’t recall Z having an English accent last night.
Lifting a hand to block the sun from my eyes, I spot Z, fully naked except for a pair of light gray Diesel boxer-briefs, lying face down with an extremely disheveled Morgan, pressing his knee into the center of my new friend’s back. Morgan leans down with his mouth hovering near Z’s ear while securing both of the poor guy’s arms behind his back with one hand. Gripping a fist full of hair tightly in his fingers, Morgan lifts his face off of the sofa cushion. “What in the fuck were you doing in her bed, Z?” he growls menacingly, drawing out his name.
“If you would pull your head out of your ass, Morgan, and tell Breesan the truth, I wouldn’t be here, nursing the wounds that your dumbarse inflicted.”
My head is already spinning from the major hangover, but their words and familiarity are making it buzz with confusion. How do they know each other, and why does Z think Morgan is responsible for my heartache?
“I hope psychology isn’t your major, you little twit,” Morgan counters snappishly, thrusting Z’s face into the couch and wedging his arms painfully higher. “Because you don’t know a damn thing,”
“I know that if you don’t do something soon, Morgy, you are going to lose that hot piece of ass to some random dude.” Z chuckles deeply while wincing through the pain as Morgan growls and squeezes even harder. Then the idiot continues taunting back stupidly, “It wasn’t that difficult to convince her to trust me. A few smooth words, some dirty dancing and several drinks later, she was in no condition to defend herself from anyone wanting to shag her.” What a douche bag!
Also rudely awakened by the commotion, Jama watches with wide eyes from her spot on the recliner positioned across the room while the puzzling scene plays out. The cussing under their breath continues and I stare between the two men, seeing utter hatred darkening across Morgan’s face and becoming more serious by the second. Inexplicably, he looks like he might actually kill Z because he believes that we had sex last night.
“Get off of him, Morgan,” I demand, too loudly for my throbbing head.
Both men still, hearing my urgent request. After mumbling another explicative, Morgan slowly lifts away from the injured guy. Z chuckles and flips over, rubbing long fingers over his sore wrists and tossing me a roguish wink. Morgan isn’t a skilled fighter like his twin, but from the intensity that I’m sensing, he might just whip Z’s ass if he keeps pushing. Twisting around to face me, Morgan’s appearance is conflicting. With his eyes downcast from guilt, his chest heaves wildly while he clenches and unclenches his fists repeatedly, like he is furious.
“Why are you here?” I whisper warily, afraid of what emergency brought him. Then I remember my drunk-dialing from last night and realize that Anna must have called him when I hung up. When he doesn’t respond, and because he refuses to look me, I ask tersely, “And, what damn business is it of yours if I have a man in my bed?”
Swaying a little from the residuals of my late night overindulgence with my palm pressing against my temple and my fingers threading through my hair, I tilt my head and stare at the man before me. Silently, holding out for an explanation, I observe him curiously. In tailored designer Italian peppered with deep wrinkles, he looks like he’s been in them for days, which is completely out of character. Also rather strangely, he has thick growth covering his sharp jaw line, and he appears sleep deprived. This much chaos is definitely the result of something more than just a quick trip from the island. Something deep inside my chest urges me to soothe his troubled soul, and I instinctively stretch out a hand toward him. Slanting his head slightly, he stares at my fingers.
“Morgan, what is going on?” I whisper, even more confused and feeling a rush of anxiety moving through me rapidly. Stepping within inches from him, I bite down painfully on my lip to hold back my freak out.
Gradually, his eyes lift up, meeting mine morosely. The pain of betrayal, which I see within those oh so familiar deep emerald pools, tells me that he has been hiding something rather magnanimous. I see him–the one I depended on to tether me, but couldn’t, when my world shattered into dust. Through quiet desperation, a dark spindle of unadulterated hurt, like that of a wronged lover, combined with an all-consuming love flares out, directly at me. The force of it nearly knocks me down onto my ass. He sees me faltering and reaches out, clutching my arms and drawing me into a tender embrace. My breath hitches as I stare unbelievingly. Standing here in this moment, totally mystified, but euphoric at the sight of hi
m, the pain that I’ve suffered over the past month vanishes like needles from a dandelion blown into the wind. It can’t be. My heart beats wildly inside my chest. I close my eyes and swallow hard before peeking up at him again. The shift of hopefulness I notice in his eyes is the sole reason I hold onto my sanity. In a move that I never expected, I fall profoundly and irrevocably harder in love than I ever have before.
Marcus.
To be continued…….
Thank you for joining me again on Willow Island. I know that some of you despise cliffhangers, so I make a promise to you now that this is the last one is Breesan’s story. Risking All will be her final book. Don’t forget to leave your reviews. I NEED THOSE! ~ Marie
About the Author
New Adult Author of the All Series, Marie Wathen is a wife, mother of two and a Lola of four (her version of grandmother). When she isn’t writing, her other career is on the nightshift. Marie is a fourteen year veteran dispatcher at her local Sheriff’s Office. The SO is where she met her husband Barry, patrolman. Born and currently living in Central Alabama, she enjoys a serene life in the country, but lives for the excitement of traveling to large cities.
Besides writing, some of Marie’s other passions include reading, traveling, and family time that includes southern home-cooking and Italian feasts. Although Marie has been a storyteller her entire life, Be All is her first publication. Marie’s genre includes, but is not limited to, Romantic Suspense. She is currently collaborating on a Romantic Paranormal Thriller that will release in 2014. Also, look for No Details, a short story in the Novel Grounds Anthology, All Our Love.
Marie loves connecting with readers who enjoy her books.
Facebook: Marie Wathen Author www.facebook.com/MarieWathenAuthor
Page For fans of The All series only www.facebook.com/WillowIslandMafia
Join the street team: Marie’s Mafia www.facebook.com/groups/581565041951467/
Website: http://mariedwathen.wix.com/mariedwathen
Twitter: @mariewathen
Email: [email protected]
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7075309.Marie_Wathen
Acknowledgments
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the support of certain individuals, and it never would have made it to publication without some special people reading it, giving me invaluable advice and great encouragement.
For everything, my gratitude to the following:
Readers, I am forever grateful that you give my books a chance.
Barry, Kayla, Kaitie, and the Kyles: Thank you all for dealing with my insanity and not giving me too much hell about it. I’m so thankful to have you all and my g’babies in my life. Thank you Kaitie and Kyle, for helping me with this cover. It is absolutely gorgeous and couldn’t have looked any better without your beautiful face, and of course, Kyle perfect hand. I love you Forover (inside joke), more than all the words, and having your support trumps everything <3
Auderia DeStafino, aka LOVE! My dear, sweet friend, bless you for tolerating me! This wild ride just keeps getting better and better. Don’t know when it switched to the crazy train, but I have a feeling that it will be fun no matter where we end up. We always have the best time together. Because sometimes the shit just get’s cray and we need some crab cakes, ‘cause that’s what she ordered. Thank you for keeping me sane, for loving it, for dealing with me, for coffee time, for great ideas, for blog takeover, for traveling because of my books and for begin an amazing friend. I love you always! And to Devan Rhayne, I’m so stinking proud of you ASFAF babe!! You are the coolest!
To my big, loud Italian family: Thank you DeStafinos for all the special moments and stories that will live on in my heart. Miss you Uncle Phillip <3
MY BETAS! Heather Terranova Armstrong, Laura Barcenas, Venture Cecena, Jennifer Persianni-Coates, Merilyn Dignum, Angela Pratt, Simone Nicole, Emily Sorby, Terri Sullivan. Thank you for tolerating the grammar (which is getting better, but still needs your sharp eye), embarrassing spelling mistakes (Eff you WORD.doc for missing those bitches), the pain in the ass revisions (even though you say you don’t mind, I know it would drive me nuts), letting me harass you with tons of questions and giving me the guts to publish yet another book. Your friendship is priceless <3 Best Damn Betas Eva!
MY STREET TEAM! Marie’s Mafia <3 (Angela, Barbara, Dusty, Emily, Judith, Julie, Lesa, Lindy, Lori, Rebecca, Sue, Terri, Tracy & Venture. I am so blessed to have such a motivated group of ladies, who love this series enough to pimp it at every opportunity. With your excitement, the world is sure to know all about the sexy Walker Twins. I love you, Mafia babes. A special thank you to my Mafia Mama, Rebecca Gegenheimer, for heading up this endeavor! You are the best!
My Kick Ass Pimpsistas! I Feel the Need, the Need to Read, Breezy BeautyandBooks, Little Red’s Book Review, Momma’s Secret Book Obsession, Turnthe Page, Dauntless Indies, Megan Novel Grounds, For The Love of Books, Panty Dropping Book Blog, Rumpled Sheets Blog, Ramblings of a Book Lunatic, I love booknerds, NWA Gossip Girl, BookWhisper, Crazy Cajun Book Addicts & Reading Past My Bedtime. I hope I didn’t forget anyone, but I’m certain that I did. If you’re pimping me and hosting giveaways for my goodies, please let me know. I love giving shit away and pimps gotta get theirs, too. I cannot tell you enough times how important you all are to me – it’s just so much more than two little words like Thank you can cover. Without you supporting and sharing, I would still be talking to myself on a lonely Facebook page. You all have my highest respect and eternal friendship. I thank you! xo
To my editor: ERM Editing, thank you for doing an amazing job. Also, thank you Kristen and Becky at Hot Tree Editing for the partial edit. I LOVE winning stuff like edits!!!
To my cover artist: Arijana Karcic, with Cover It! Designs, thank you for another stunning book cover. You’re marked as a badass in my book for eternity!
To my book model: I love you, and thank you for allowing me to show the world just how beautiful you are.
Thank you, to Misty and Victor Binkerd, owners of the beautiful Sterling Castle, for allowing me and my crew to photograph your property and using it on this cover. www.thesterlingcastle.com
So many Indie Authors inspire me daily through the interwebs that I can’t name each of you, but if we’ve ever had a conversation you should count yourself in this form of appreciation. I do this because you did it first and because of your words, both written and encouraging. Rachel Higginson, again I thank you for inspiring my writing with the Star Crossed series–it alone launched Breesan’s story.
To all the Facebook & Twitter friends, thank you for liking, tweeting, commenting, sharing, encouraging, buying and loving the ALL series, and then begging for more adventures on Willow Island. I am beyond blessed because of our relationships. I adore you all. I read, laugh and sometimes cry reading each of your Amazon and Goodreads reviews. Bless you for taking time out of your busy lives to honor me.
Thank you especially to my God for this life, these and all the other unmentioned characters and storylines, both real and fictional, that you created and brought into my life.
