Author: Elizabeth York
Genre: Romantic Suspense Standalone
Release Date: June 26, 2018 Cover Designer: Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs Photographer: Sara Eirew
When I close my eyes, I still see the way he looked at me all those years ago.
The way it felt to have someone so amazing in my life, especially after my parents abandoned me.
The bond that only a childhood friend could understand.
He was my balance and never let me fall
But I lied to him…
She was my better half
I remember the fear she hid under her smile when I met her.
There were so many adventures we concocted, that we were sure we lived a hundred lifetimes in our minds.
She was the reason I got up in the morning.
She was my gravity and kept me grounded.
But then she lied…
He kept my heart when I broke his.
I was never going to see him again.
He would always hate me, even if he knew the truth.
It would be better this way.
If only he hadn’t kept my heart.
She threw my heart away when I wanted her to have it the most.
I am so full of rage – I never want to see her again.
She ruined every memory that we made with a simple sentence.
My life would be better without her.
If only she hadn’t kept my heart.
At forty-thousand feet the Earth shifted, and planets aligned. My world came into focus and for once I was no longer unsteady and ready to fall. As the winds of the plane drifted over the icy cold ocean my heart warmed when I saw him. Once I saw his eyes and the way he was looking at me I knew.
He was the balance I always needed.
… And she was mine.
London in the Past
“I’m scared,” my voice echoed across the inky night sky. My arms trembled as I hung from the edge of the concrete ledge outside of my window.
“Swing your legs over, latch onto the trellis, and then walk your hands over till you can grab on,” Logan whispered loud enough for me to hear. We only had a couple of minutes before the nuns made their rounds and caught us sneaking out.
I walked my hands one inch at a time across the hardened ledge as sweat sheened my body. My strained muscles were not going to hold me much longer since their idea of physical exercise was doing nothing more than writing notes to Logan every day.
“Logan,” I flinched when a piece of loose cement dug into my hand.
“Let go,” his voice reverberated in the wind as I looked down to see the drop below me. I looked for comfort in Logan’s eyes, but his dark hair was swept across his face as the storm in the distance gained momentum. Dogs barked across the field letting us know that the nuns were putting away the garden tools and would soon be circling the property before they went to bed.
“Logan,” I cried as my hand started to slip.
“Let go, I’ll catch you,” his hushed tones were hard to hear as we tried not to draw attention to ourselves. I winced at the pain and looked back up to see blood running down my forearm. “Drop London,” he quietly yelled as my eyes sought him out. There was a quiet reflection that resounded in my heart seeing him with his arms up waiting for me. At that moment, I put all my faith in him, trusted him completely, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and just let go.
Before I could scream I felt Logan’s arms as he caught me and we both tumbled to the ground as I slammed into him and rolled away. He immediately crawled over and looked down on me ensuring I was fine without a care for himself, his fresh bruising, and the new dirt he now wore on his jean jacket.
“Are you okay?” He asked as he inspected my palm. I nodded, but a teardrop fled my eye allowing him to know I was lying. My body ached and the gash in my hand was on fire.
“Who’s out here?” Sister Katherine yelled loudly. Logan helped me up and we ran through the field till we passed the point of no return and ventured into the neighboring orchard that had been abandoned. No one could find us here. As often as it flooded we knew no one would come for us all the way out past the tree line by the water’s edge.
“Give me your scarf,” Logan demanded. I pulled it out from my belt loops and handed it to him. “Why do you wear your scarf like a belt?” He questioned me with a curious smirk. I grinned through the aches my body felt trying to find the words. I was finally feeling the full impact of the fall. My smile tried to hide the agony, but Logan could see through me.
“It was something my mom always did,” I explained when I could breathe through the discomfort. He pulled a small piece of concrete out of the tear in my palm. Then he wrapped my hand with my pink scarf as he tried to stop the bleeding. I tried to hide my wince as he tied it tight, but I failed. A soft guilty look slid across his face before he looked down at my hand again.
“I think it’s silly. It’s a scarf, not a belt,” he gave me a half smile as his lips crooked up to show me he wasn’t serious. “Your hand should be good until morning and by then we will have figured out how to explain it.”
Elizabeth has been writing for so long she has forgotten how old she is. Accustomed to southern climate she likes drinking her sweet tea on the porch with her laptop in hand. In 2015, she was named Author of the Year and received an award from over thirty blogs and a multitude of authors for her work in the community as well as for the words she wrote. Married to the military and a mother to three this woman knows how to multitask. She can handle anything you throw at her, but enjoys a quiet night with her family or a open book in her hands. Join her journey and see where she will take you next.
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