Book 2 in the The Colloway Brothers series. Each book can be read as a standalone.
When does our past stop picking at our scars and start letting them heal?
Can we see beyond our wounds to the possibilities the future holds?
How do we let ourselves become vulnerable enough to trust the love that’s right in front of us?
Fate. She’s a fickle, wily bitch that slaps us in the face every opportunity she gets. Sometimes it’s a taunt, but sometimes it’s a goddamn wake-up call to pay attention. Take what’s rightfully yours without shame or apology. So when destiny put me straight in Alyse Kingsley’s path once again, I knew this was one slap I wasn’t ignoring. I’d let her get away once. I wouldn’t again. She was mine and I was takin’ her, kicking and screaming if need be.
Alyse ~ Deceit and betrayal. Every single person who was supposed to love me committed one of these.
Incapable of letting people see the real me, I hold them at arm’s length. But Asher Colloway is relentless and it doesn’t take long before I cave to his pursuits. The big question is: can I let him in where it counts most? Before ghosts from my past come back to haunt me in ways I can’t possibly fathom? Before it’s too late?
Asher ~ Trust. Forgiveness. Impossible concepts, having been fucked over by a woman I’d loved before. But those aren’t my only personality flaws.
I have a secret kink.
I want Alyse. All of her. She shows people the shiny, untainted surface. I want the murky, damaged depth. The shadows. I want in all the way. Just when I think I’ve made it, fate cruelly bitch-slaps me again. And this time I don’t see it coming. The question now is: what am I willing to do to keep the woman I love by my side? And can Alyse accept me the way I am, faults and all?
“Slow down, Beck.” I know my news is shocking, but I had no idea he would react so badly. I thought we were in love. We’ve even talked about getting married after I graduate this spring.
“I can’t fucking believe you let this happen, Alyse!” His hand slams the steering wheel so hard you’d think it would break.
“I let this happen? I don’t understand why you’re reacting this way. I know it wasn’t planned, but…”
I’m cut off when Beck takes a corner too fast, throwing me into the passenger door, tires squealing their protest. My head bounces off the window and my elbow now throbs where it slammed into the metal handle.
After I broke my news over dinner, Beck threw three twenties down on the table and stormed out of the restaurant. I barely had time to hop into the vehicle, let alone put my seatbelt on, before he took off at warp speed, no doubt leaving fresh black rubber marks on the pavement.
“Beck, slow down. Please. You’re scaring me.” But he doesn’t. He punches the gas even harder, lurching the car forward. I fumble for my seatbelt, frantic to get it on before we crash. The dark, desolate road we’re flying down— at speeds that would rival a cop chase— is winding and treacherous, especially with the slight sheen of December frost that’s now covering it. There is more than one makeshift cross that lines its deadly path. I don’t want one to be mine.
“This can’t be happening,” he mumbles to no one in particular. He seems lost within himself, which confuses me even more. This news isn’t the end of the world; it only accelerates our plans to be together, just as we’d talked about many times over.
“I’m sure they’ll understand, Beck. I know I haven’t met your parents yet, but you’re a grown man for God’s sake.”
My eyes flick between the speedometer and his angry, clenched face and my heart races. We’re now going over sixty miles per hour in a forty-five zone. He takes another bend too fast and his truck fishtails. The tires spit gravel when he overcorrects, landing the passenger side wheels on the shoulder. We narrowly miss a speed limit sign that’s mocking us to slow down before he finally regains control.
I brace my arms against the door and the armrest to my left, my long fingernails embedded in the leather fabric. Every muscle in my body is coiled and taut, ready for the inevitable collision. Fear courses through my bloodstream, nearly paralyzing me.
“You’re going to kill us if you don’t stop this!” I scream.
For the first time in nearly twenty minutes, he looks at me, and I see a man I am not at all familiar with. Pure panic is written on every inch of his handsome face. I shrink into my seat, wondering what alternate universe I have just slipped into.
“Trust me. I’m better off dead.”
I’m just a regular ol’ Midwest girl who likes Game of Thrones and am obsessed with Modern Family and The Goldbergs. I run, I eat, I run, I eat. It’s a vicous cycle. I love carbs, but there’s love-hate relationship with my ass and thighs. Mostly hate. I like a good cocktail (oh hell…who am I kidding? I love any cocktail). I’m a huge creature of habit, but I’ll tell you I’m flexible. I read every single day and if I don’t get a chance…watch the hell out, I’m a raving bitch. My iPad and me: BFFs. I’m direct and I make no apologies for it. I swear too much. I love alternative music and in my next life I want to be a bad-ass female rocker. I hate, hate, hate spiders, telemarketers, liver, acne, winter and loose hairs that fall down my shirt (don’t ask, it’s a thing).
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