Synopsis:
Regret . . . she's a snarky little
bitch.
I’ve tried several times to regret
the events that took place on June 5, 2008, but for the life of me, I can’t.
I'd never regret the pain, the suffering, or the heartache because it
ultimately led me to the place I am now. And I can’t regret the place I am now.
What I still can't figure out is this: how is it possible that the single worst
day of my life inadvertently became the very best day?
Five years ago my life was
irrevocably changed.
Seventeen minutes was all it took—
to lose my best friend…
to lose the love of my life…
Seventeen minutes was all it took
for the seeds of hope—the seeds of my future—to be planted in the worst possible
way.
My name is Harley Thompson, and
this is my story.
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Excerpts:
Excerpt #1
Slumping down onto the picnic table, I close my eyes, praying that
this was all a bad dream and I just have to wake up. Realistically, I know it’s
not, but there is always that small window of time right after something
horrible happens when you feel like if you hope and pray hard enough, you can
actually rewind time and undo what’s been done.
I grip my hair
tightly at the scalp and watch as my tears cascade off my face and hit the table
below. I'm not sure how long I sit, but eventually I get up and pace the alley
behind the bar, trying to wrap my head around everything that just happened.
This is why I never told him before...for exactly this reason.
What on earth have I done?
He can’t seriously end our
friendship.
He can’t really walk away.
There is way too much
history for him to do that. Right?
A gravelly, slurred voice interrupts my
thoughts. "Harley? That you?" The hair on the back of my neck stands
up, and I squint through my tears, trying to see whom the drunken voice belongs
to. Relief washes over me at the familiar face. I try to respond, but a deep
sob comes out instead. He moves to my side quickly. "You're crying,"
he says, putting a comforting hand to my back. "Please don't cry."
I normally wouldn't get this close to
someone who isn't Tyson or Quinn, but right now I need the familiarity and
comfort he offers. In a desperate move, I wrap my arms around his middle, bury
my face in his chest, and cry like I've never cried before.
The stench of smoke deeply rooted in
his shirt fills my nostrils and the stale odor of liquor makes me sick as he
whispers calming words in my ear. I should be worried. I've heard that he's gotten into some heavier
drugs recently, but I know I'm safe.
We stand there for several minutes,
neither of us saying a word. His body sways slightly to the left. I grip him
tightly to steady his balance and raise my eyes to his. "Are you okay?"
His red-rimmed, glossy eyes lock onto
mine, but he doesn't respond. I watch as his expression changes. A shiver runs
up my spine as goose bumps immediately cover my body. "Are you okay?"
I repeat, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. Loosening my grip, I attempt
to step back, but his arms tighten around me.
"You always smell so good,"
he slurs, his eyes roaming my face. His hand slides up my back and to my neck.
He wraps his fingers around my hair and tugs, forcing my head to snap back. Leaning
into me, he runs his nose along the side of my neck, and my stomach churns. "I
would have given you anything. But I wasn't good enough for you, was I?" I
don't respond and he yanks my hair again, arching my back. "Was I?" he
seethes.
I’ve never been in a situation where I
feel legitimately uncomfortable in the presence of another human being, but
right here...in this second...I am terrified. Adrenalin courses through my body.
My heart slams violently in my chest and my muscles tense as terror washes
through me. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. A sharp pain rips through my scalp.
My face smacks the ground, and a metallic taste fills my mouth.
Please,
God. Please let me survive this.
Excerpt #2
"Okay. First
of all," she says, waving her fork in the air, "don't ever say that
again! Balls are not strong. Growing a set of balls will not make you stronger.
Now, a vagina, that's strong. Take your vagina, for example. You pushed out a
ten-pound baby without a lick of medicine. That," she shoves a bite in her
mouth, "is a strong vagina. You’ve got like the superhero of all vaginas!"
I'm at a loss for words. Quinn is known for her random rants, but this is way
off-the-wall. I keep staring. What the hell do I say to that? She's right. My
vagina freakin' rocks!
A deep cough sounds behind me and I
turn around to see a woman about my age, slapping her husband on the back. Said
husband is looking at Quinn and I with a horrified expression and an extremely
red face. I can't help but smile when his obviously pregnant wife slides out of
the booth, tosses some money on the table, and high-fives me on her way out of
the diner.
Excerpt #3
His cerulean eyes
and deep voice are hypnotizing and have me completely paralyzed. Using the back
of his hand, he slides his fingers over my cheek. “You’re flushed,” he says
softly as his hands trail down my neck, “and your pulse is racing.” As his
fingertips reach the swell of my breast, he murmurs, “And you’re breathless.”
Fuck me running. This guy is sex
on a stick and I'm horny as hell.
Levi leans down, the
stubble on his square jaw tickling me as he nuzzles the soft spot below my ear.
Dropping my head, I can’t help but watch as his hand descends past my breast
and under the soapy water.
Keep going, you’re almost there.
His hand is no
longer visible, but I can sure as hell feel every inch of skin it’s grazing
under the water. His touch is leaving behind a tingly goodness that is quickly
building the tension back up in my body. I tilt my head up, offering him my
mouth, and he quickly accepts the invitation. Molding his soft lips to mine, I
allow him in and our tongues begin to slide against one another effortlessly.
About K.L. Grayson:
K.L. Grayson resides in a small town outside of St. Louis, MO. She is entertained daily by her extraordinary husband, who will forever inspire every good quality she writes in a man. Her entire life rests in the palms of six dirty little hands, and when the day is over and those pint-sized cherubs have been washed and tucked into bed, you can find her typing away furiously on her computer. She has a love for alpha-males, reading, tattoos, sunglasses, and happy endings … and not particularly in that order.
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