Holding a Hero

by Layne, Lyssa

  “Nix. I’m not sure I trust him. Yes, he was nice to us prior to the revelation, but there is something about him… I don’t want to influence your decision. I’ll stand by you no matter what you decide, but honestly, Star, how do you feel?”

  “I’m crying and I don’t even know why. I’m trying to feel something but I can’t. I’m numb. It’s not hate, anger, sadness or loss. I feel nothing at all and it freaks me out.”

  “It’s only been a few hours. Take the time you need. It’s not like you were expecting to find him here. It’s quite big news.”

  She turned around to look at me, our faces only an inch apart. “Thank you.” Her lips brushed against mine, awakening the hunger in me. I urged myself to keep control.

  “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to be the one you need.”

  “I thought I was okay with not knowing him, but now that I’ve met him, it has totally flabbergasted me.” She chuckled. “For years, I pretended he had died. I was making all these scenarios in my head but since I turned eighteen, I stopped thinking about him, stopped hoping that he would show up. I think I had put a definite cross over that dream.”

  US: http://amzn.to/1W3QrgS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  If this story shines, it’s all because of Debbie Williams and her hard work. I’m sorry I put you through this but I promise it won’t always be so complicated. I’ll never be able to thank you enough on this one.

  Tracey Millen who helped me through the process and supported me as usual. A big thank you to you too. You are my rock!

  Sandra Chevrier who used to listen to my blabbering after work on our way home. Merci and I miss you beaucoup!

  Megan Noelle, your help and mental support mean so much to me. Thank you for everything you’ve done to help me with this story. I owe you one. Maybe more than one…

  Kari March and her magnificent talent. She created the perfect cover. I’m sorry for all the edits I asked you. Peace?

  And lastly, thanks to my family for their continual support.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jude Ouvrard is an author who writes from the heart, and reads with passion and devotion. Jude enjoys stories of drama, true love, tattoos, and everything in between. While writing is her therapy, reading is her solace. Life doesn't get better than books and chocolate, and maybe a little bit of shopping.

  A romance lover, Jude writes about love, pain, heartbreak and matters that will challenge your heart. A book can tell an unexpected story, no matter which directions it takes. Jude embraces words that have haunted her for years.

  Jude is a working mom who dedicates her time to a law firm and writing books. She has an energetic five-year old superhero son, and a supportive boyfriend of thirteen years. Her family is her rock; she could not survive without them. Born a country girl, she transformed into a city woman who now lives in Montreal, Canada. Although French is her first language, Jude decided to write in English because she liked the challenge.

  Jude Ouvrard is the author of two novellas, Under the Sun and Wonderland, and three novels, Lost Dreams, Body, Ink, and Soul, and Ophelia. She is currently working on a new project.

  "Drama, true love, tattoos...and everything in between!"

  Www.authorjudeouvrard.wordpress.com

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  @JudeOuvrard

  Join my street team on facebook: www.facebook.com/groups/judesbooks/

  119 DAYS

  RaeAnne Hadley

  Other books by RaeAnne Hadley

  Mechanics of Murder

  A Wrench in the Plan

  With Love; Now & Forever

  Shadows

  Love's Everlasting Song

  119 Days

  Copyright © 2014 RaeAnne Hadley

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  There are so many people who I want to thank in this book. First and foremost my fans, who never gave up on me when I had given up on myself as an author. You helped heal my writing soul and showed me that my stories were worth telling. To my family, who has always been there to support my dreams and crazy notions.

  I want to thank C. Lingenfelter and Tilila Gunderson for editing this story and molding it to be the best tale it can be.

  I thank the couple who gave me permission to write this tale. It’s the first book in a series of great stories I was thankful they would share publicly. Small circles and all.

  ONE

  October 17, 2002

  What the hell am I doing? I laid my head against my arm, trying to ignore the pounding in my head and the horns honking as they drove by. I wasn’t surprised by all the attention. I mean, how often do you see a woman in a wedding dress pumping gas into a beefed-up-decked-out pickup truck adorned with horse stickers? They would have their story for the day to share around the office coffee pot. I didn’t care. It didn’t change the fact that I was functioning on about four hours sleep, a slight hangover and running late for my own wedding to a man who only one-hundred and nineteen days ago was supposed to be just a one-night-stand.

  Panic hit my gut as I thought about getting married again. Five years ago, when my first marriage ended, I swore that I would never get married again and I had honestly believed that. But here I was, standing in a wedding dress less than an hour away from doing it again. Was I making another mistake? Was this going to end horribly? I knew I was working myself into frenzy of fear. Afraid that I was going to climb into my truck and drive to another state, I took a deep breath and thought of my future husband. He was handsome, kind, romantic, supportive, everything I had ever dreamed of when I became old enough to dream of guys. I was Celeste Howard, soon to be Celeste Mison, wife of an amazing man. With that thought, my body relaxed and I smiled. I was not making a mistake. I may be impulsive, reactive and I hardly ever think of long term consequences but he was my real life knight-in-shining armor.

  I put the nozzle back into the machine, screwed the cap back into my gas tank and jumped into my truck. I was getting married today and I felt it was the right decision. As I drove off towards the chapel, I cranked up my Michelle Branch music and sang along. I may be thirty-two years old but today was the first day of the rest of my life.

  TWO

  April 2001

  It was three-thirty in the morning and my alarm screeched from across the room. I had to put it there because there had been so many times I had hit snooze and fallen back asleep only to wake up late for work. I couldn’t let it happen again. My family depended on me.

  I work at a Dodge dealership in town as a service advisor. I am the one you talked to, or yelled at, when you took your car into the shop for service or repairs. I am working in a lower position than what I previously had at another dealership but the headaches of being a manager wasn’t worth it. I would make this work and as I said earlier, my family depended on me.

  My family consists of four horses, eight barn cats, three dogs and my wonderful father. When I moved out of my husband’s house, I rented a little singlewide mobile home located on the horse boarding facility where I had my Quarter horse. I spent the next year mourning the failure of my marriage, wondering what I was doing with my life and dreaming of the day when I could live my life the way I wanted. Even though I hated my job, it paid good money and after a year I was able to buy my own home. Instead of listening to the words of wisdom from one of my customers and buy a town home or condo, I spent my money and my credit and bought a new mobile home. I had it set up in the park where my mother lived.

  After the excitement of picking out the colors in my home and moving into a new place, I realized that I was lonely. There was only one man who I trusted in my life, who was my best friend and I felt he should be living with me. I knew that it would make both of our lives so much better. It only took me a week to convince my Dad to move out of the retirement home he lived in and come live with me. I’m not sure how we came to this agreement but he ended up getting one of the bedrooms and the entire living room. I ended up
with the master bedroom where I had ample room to set up my entertainment center along with my bed and dresser. We lived there for about six months when we both realized we missed our country lifestyle and it was becoming expensive to board my horse. We decided to buy a little ranch and sell the mobile home to my sister. We found a small fixer-upper house with acreage that was perfect for us because of the four-car garage and incredible horse barn. The house was small but hey, neither one of us was ever going to get married again so who cared?

  The situation worked out perfectly for us because we both loved to work outside, both loved horses and we were both very impulsive and persuasive. We could convince each other that there was a pot of gold at the end of each rainbow and that a rainbow was going to land on our back porch. Then we’d support each other with fanciful hopes and dreams. Granted, things didn’t always work out the way we planned but we were both optimistic people and moved on to the next great idea. Growing up with Dad was great because I could talk him into almost anything, and did. It started with getting my first horse, then another and as I grew, getting my first car (truck in my situation), then another. He did spoil me and I loved him for it. But I also loved him for who he was and the time he spent with me. We had always been great friends so when I got my divorce and wanted a roommate, it made perfect sense that we would end up living together. He took care of the house while I went to work and made the money.

  Even though I was working fourteen to sixteen hours a day, we were still able to get copious amounts of work done. Of course, the amount of money I was bringing home every month helped tremendously too. We had new siding and windows put on the house, built a new hay barn, foaling stall, three box stalls and a round pen for the horses I hoped to add. Life was pretty darn amazing and Dad and I enjoyed our new lives. Up until the accident.

  November 18th, 1999, while I was at work, I stepped off of the ledge of a curb wrong and my knee gave out, throwing me to the floor. Unable to stand on that leg I was sent to a doctor where tests showed I had torn my ACL. Recommended repairs? Surgery. Of course, all of this was under workman’s compensation and things had to be approved. I didn’t know at the time that it would take over nine months to approve the surgery. They say hind-sight is 20/20 and I believe it. If I had known about the hassles of workman’s comp insurance I would have kept my mouth shut at work, gone to my own doctor claiming I slipped at home and had my personal health insurance take care of the surgery. I could have been back on my feet within six to eight weeks. As it was, I had to see numerous state doctors so that they could all verify that I truly had a torn ACL. I was anxious to get back to work and recoup the money I had lost as workman’s comp wages were more than sixty percent less than what I had been making. They finally approved the surgery and after a few weeks of bed rest and therapy, I was released to go back to work.

  I was full of excitement and anticipation on my first day back but it all crashed to the ground when I found out they had replaced me. I had been demoted to a severely lesser paying position. Crushed, hurt and angry I left the dealership and moved on to another one, accepting the service advisor position and leaving the assistant manager position far behind. Without the pressures of being a manager, I decided to also take some online classes at the local college to get my mechanical engineering degree. Hopefully, it would lead me in a different direction after I graduated.

  Having been in the automotive industry for as long as I had been, I should have known that repair facilities are all the same; take, take, take and very little is given back. It only took them seven months to show their true colors.

  I was currently working fourteen-hour days when Dad got sick. I came home from work last week and found him with a laceration on his forehead along with a large goose egg. He said he had been working outside when he got dizzy and passed out. Knowing he didn’t take good care of himself, I made him go to the doctor’s office so they could check him out. He was supposed to get results today and was going to call me at work. I was just organizing the day’s schedule when he called and gave me the news. The doctor found that an infection which had started in his ear had moved into his skull, slowly making its way to his brain. He needed surgery right away. I wrapped up my scheduling so that I could talk with my manager and make arrangements at work. I explained to my manager what was happening and that while I was still able to work, I needed to cut my hours back to ten or twelve hours per day. I stood in shock as he flew into a rage, and, in front of everyone, told me that if I couldn’t commit to the hours he required then I couldn’t commit to my job. He gave me my lunch hour to think about it. Furious I went out to my truck, smoked two cigarettes in less than five minutes before I called my sister. I knew she could help me.

  Thirty minutes later I pulled the service director along with my service manager into my service manager’s office and after closing the door, told them both I was putting in my notice immediately. If a company gave me an ultimatum to choose between my job and my family, I would pick my family member every time. The service director was very kind and very apologetic. The service manager just sputtered and tried to backtrack. He said that he really didn’t mean to come across as giving me an ultimatum; he just wanted me to consider how important this job was to me. His words fell on deaf ears as I gathered my things and walked out the door. Little did I know that I was a month away from meeting my future husband.

  THREE

  “Good grief, what the hell have I gotten myself into?” I muttered to myself as I wandered into the production area of the company my sister worked at. I was going to be making computer boards at a wage I made working in a fast food joint when I was in high school. On the plus side, I wasn’t going to have the stress or hours that my previous career demanded of me. Other than the stress of making my bills every month and keeping my grades up, this mindless, repetitive job was going to allow me some much needed mental recuperation time that I needed. I wanted some time to figure out what I was going to do next in my career life because I didn’t think repair shops were it.

  I walked into where I was supposed to suit up in my ESD jacket and slip on grounding straps to my shoes. An ESD jacket stands for electrostatic discharge and keeps PC boards, which stands for printed circuit boards, safe from static electricity. A woman already dressed in work attire and safety glasses smiled at me.

  “You must be Celeste, Melody’s sister.”

  I smiled back. “Yes, I am. I’m supposed to be training with Stefanie today?”

  “Yep, I can show you where her classroom is. My name is Karen. Just button up your jacket and put your safety glasses on and we can go on out. Have you ever worked on computer boards before?”

  “No but I have my degree in automotive, and electrical was a mandatory class. I’m also taking online classes to get my mechanical engineering degree.”

  “Automotive? Really? That’s so cool! Well, the electrical should help you out along with your mechanical knowledge. You’ll be working with a lot of tools. Here we are.”

  I looked over at my new trainer and felt a clenching in my gut. My trainer, though wearing a smile on her face, looked like she chewed up and spit out new recruits like me. I knew right then and there that I did not want to be on her bad side.

  “Hey, Stefanie, this is your newbie today, Celeste. She’s Melody’s sister.” Karen introduced us.

  I saw Stefanie’s eyes squint judgmentally for a fraction of a second before a cautious smile stretched her lips. “Melody is really good. You two are sisters? You sure don’t look alike.”

  I was used to hearing this because my sister and I looked nothing alike. She was six years older than I, about five foot-six, with darker skin and black curly hair. I was fair haired and blue eyed and five foot-eight. We had the same mother but different biological fathers. But we never thought about the “sperm donor” who was her biological father. He had been an abusive husband, both physically and mentally, and my mother left him soon after my sister was born. When she married my Dad, they had bee
n dating for quite a few years and he had stepped right in as the father figure for my sister. There was never a sense that she wasn’t my full sister, that she wasn’t his biological daughter. The love was through and through. It still didn’t stop the questioning looks when we announced that we were sisters.

  “That’s because I’m the milkman’s daughter.” I tried to joke but either she didn’t get it or she didn’t find it amusing. I felt the latter was more accurate.

  “Well, no more wasting time. I have one week to teach you what it normally takes three weeks to learn. I first need to test you to see where your skills are at and go from there. Have you ever soldered before?”