Blurb
Cosset is a lost soul with nothing left
to live for.
Chance Hunter is a man on a mission.
Desperately in love, he is willing to do anything, be anything, and
give everything that he is to show Cosset that life is still worth
living. He is bound and determined to heal her battle-weary heart and
claim it as his own.
Open the pages of New and
watch love happen.
Excerpt
Orlando, Florida
Today is going to be a great day to die.
I am a complete mess, and I know it. I also know what you see when
you look at me. As sure as I'm standing here, I know.
You see a broken down human being, who, at the moment, is more being
than human. Worn, torn, and bedraggled. Lame, not of body, but of
heat and spirit. Frozen in time and place, longing to pick up the
pieces of my life but not knowing how.
Someone nudges me and I move forward, taking the offered bowl from a
smiling volunteer in the soup kitchen line. Finding an empty chair at
a corner table, I sit down, avoiding eye contact with the three
others at the table. I am acquainted with them, but I find no need to
speak, and neither do they. We've shared the same address–the city
park lawn–for the past year. Our stories have been shared countless
times, and the lines etched into our weary faces tell those stories.
Richard, the guy to the right of me, owned an accounting firm that
plunged along with the economy. He went bankrupt and lost everything,
including his girlfriend and his so-called friends. Amy, to the left,
is a seventeen year old runaway who had been kicked out by her drug
addict parents. And sitting directly in front of me is Mark. His
gambling addiction stole his once comfortable lifestyle.
Demons. We all face them every day that we are on the streets, and we
strive to make sure our stories are not forgotten. Like we are.
My story, however, is the most painful.
A year ago I was a writer for a national magazine. I was a wife, a
mother, a friend. My lifestyle was a comfortable one and I had
everything I needed and more.
One afternoon changed everything.
* * *
Coming home to an empty house is surprising, but that feeling
immediately turns to shock as I enter my two-month-old baby girl's
room to find her crib gone and the dresser drawers empty. Running to
my room, a painful wail escapes me as I pull out empty drawers that
had just this morning held my husband's clothes. Shaking my head in
momentary denial, I try to make sense of it all. Then my frozen feet
move. Just as I pick up the phone to call the police, the doorbell
rings, making the call unnecessary.
I am told by the solemn officer that my husband has been in an
accident. Jack, my little Heather, and the woman with them, all died.
I have suspected Jack of cheating for a while now, but to take my
baby . . .
Five long and emotional days later I am informed by the bank that
because of missed payments (a complete shock and a mystery to me) my
home is no longer mine and I need to vacate. Moving through a haze, I
fill a backpack. Taking the five thousand dollars I have been
secretly saving from its hiding place at the bottom of the cedar
chest at the foot of our bed, I stuff it into my pocket and walk
away.
After a three-month binge of drugs and alcohol, the money dwindles
to nothing and the streets become my home.
* * *
Though no longer a drug and alcohol user, my life choices up to this
point are clearly written all over my countenance and I am no longer
able to see the real me. I have forgotten who I am. I am sick of
heart, tired in spirit, and I have no desire to remain among the
living, if you can call barely existing living.
I am insignificant, making no difference in the world, having no
purpose, and no sense of worth.
“I'm done,” I whisper as I step from the curb into the path of an
oncoming black SUV. I am so done.
Check back for release dates.
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