Forever Yours (A Novel in 3 Parts) by Alisha Kay, Shilpa Suraj, Andaleeb Wajid

 

 

A fake engagement has gotten disturbingly real…

When a pretend engagement ends in a very real combined bachelor/bachelorette weekend in Goa, three couples find their lives going from chaotic to disastrous…

Hatefully Yours by Alisha Kay is the quintessential enemies to lovers story with a very interesting twist.
Aditi and Manan hate each other but love their mutual best friend, Karthik. Planning his bachelor party is a trip to hell sprinkled with accidental kisses that taste of heaven. Past misunderstandings, present attraction, and a future built on hope all tangles together to make this weekend one to remember.

Sinfully Yours by Shilpa Suraj is the story of a one night stand turning into nights that they hope never end.
Sidharth is Bollywood’s biggest hit-turned-overnight-flop. His best friend Sanjana’s bachelorette in Goa is the perfect place for him to hide out and drink his sorrows away. Until he passes out in the arms of the extremely hot pixie who moonlights as a bartender in a shack in Goa. And Dani is left with an armful of drunk movie star who is as messed up as he is hot.

Deceitfully Yours by Andaleeb Wajid is the story of what happens when a fake relationship starts to feel very, very real.
Sanjana and Karthik just wanted their parents to stop talking marriage to them. So, they faked an engagement and now their parents are not talking marriage but planning a wedding instead. When their friends throw them a combined bachelor and bachelorette party, they use the opportunity to plan their breakup. Except behind all well laid plans lies the path to disaster.

Three love stories, three oddball couples, one epic weekend in Goa…

Will they find their heart’s twisted path or focus on the brain’s straight-but-boring one? Will they gamble on their happily-ever-after or choose to leave Goa as they came, single and not ready to mingle?

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Short Excerpt from Hatefully Yours by Alisha Kay

She was going to kill Karthik. He could at least have warned her that he had invited Manan to join them.

It was high time Karthik pulled his head out of his ass and accepted that he couldn’t make his best friends like each other by forcing them to spend time together.

Aditi sighed at the thought of yet another uncomfortable encounter where she tiptoed around Manan, while he scowled at her as if she was a mass murderer. She was so done with this crap. She’d catch up with Karthik some other time when this big galoot wasn’t around.

She stood up and tried to walk past Manan with her head held high. Only to be brought up short by the strange sound coming from his mouth.

She froze in fury and turned towards him slowly.

“Excuse me? Did you… did you just cluck at me?”

The corner of Manan’s mouth turned up lazily as he nodded.

“Like a chicken?” she clarified.

“Uh-huh. If the shoe fits,” he said with a shrug.

“What shoe?”

“You’re running away. Like a scared chicken,” he explained helpfully.

Aditi wanted to slam her purse into his smug face, but she remembered, just in time, that she did not believe in violence as a solution to any problem.”

Alisha Kay writes funny, exciting and steamy stories, with spunky heroines who can rescue themselves, and hot, woke heroes who find such independence irresistible.

The first book in The Devgarh Royals series, The Maharaja’s Fake Fiancée, won the grand prize at the Amazon KDP Pen to Publish Contest 2020.

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Short Excerpt from Sinfully Yours by Shilpa Suraj

She laughed, a bright sound in the dark night and Sid couldn’t stop himself anymore. He wanted to soak in the joy, the sheer light that beamed out of her. He leaned in close, closer than he should have but other than a slight widening of her eyes, Dani didn’t move. She just kept watching him, a small smile on those soft, lush lips. 

“May I?” he whispered. 

She nodded, her eyes gently closing in anticipation. 

And Sid kissed her. Her lips met his in acceptance, in warmth, in sensation that drowned them both. He sank into the kiss, his arms going around her as she burrowed into him, one hand clutching his hair and pulling him closer. 

He responded in kind until it felt like they were impossibly close, no space between them. Nothing in all his years of gadding about like a wandering tomcat had prepared him for this. For her. 

And then a wave crashed over them, wetting them and bringing them out of their dreamlike haze. 

Sid started to laugh even as he pulled a spluttering Dani to her feet. She leaned in close to him, shaking her wet hair like a little puppy. Droplets hit his face and his smile faded. One finger trailing her cheek, he captured her lips again. 

Bliss. This was bliss. 

Shilpa Suraj wears many hats - corporate drone, homemaker, mother to a fabulous toddler and author.

An avid reader with an overactive imagination, Shilpa has weaved stories in her head since she was a child. Her previous stints at Google, in an ad agency and as an entrepreneur provide colour to her present day stories, both fiction and non-fiction.

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Short Excerpt from Deceitfully Yours by Andaleeb Wajid

‘You’re scared of butterflies?’ he asked in a low voice that sent her pulse racing.

She nodded. The moment was intact. He continued to explore her skin lightly, making her hunger for more. 

‘I’m terrified of them,’ she whispered. 

‘How odd,’ he whispered back. 

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t odd at all and that butterflies were just prettily coloured furry large insects that flew about and more people should be terrified of them. But she lost her train of thought as he gripped the back of her head gently and pulled her down.

Their lips were just a few breaths away from each other when he whispered. 

‘Butterflies are beautiful. Like you.’

She wondered if he could feel her stomach flip at his words.

‘They’re scary,’ she said. ‘But I can be scary if I want to.’

He smiled at her words and then his hand pressed her head closer and their lips touched. 

Andaleeb Wajid is the author of 27 published novels and she writes across different genres such as romance, YA and horror. Her horror novel It Waits was shortlisted at Mami Word to Screen 2017 and her Young Adult series, The Tamanna Trilogy has been optioned for screen by a reputed production house. Andaleeb's novel When She Went Away was shortlisted for The Hindu Young World Prize in 2017. Andaleeb is a hybrid author who has self-published more than 10 novels in the past two years.

Andaleeb on the Web:
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Whisper a Kiss by Laura Haley-McNeil

 

He broke a promise to save her life.

Hunter Whitloch’s Wall Street career is on the fast track until he learns about his boss’, Egon Gregory, underhanded dealings. Hunter’s and Egon’s confrontation means Hunter must turn a blind eye or return to Crystal Creek and walk away from a lucrative career and the only woman he’s ever loved⸻Egon’s daughter, Bryce. He won’t let her make a choice between him and her father, so he makes that choice for her.
Bryce watched Hunter walk out of her life and never expected to see him again⸻until he shows up at her father’s funeral. The mystery deepens when Bryce learns her father asked Hunter to return to New York⸻the night her father died. The authorities have ruled Egon’s death a suicide but attempts on her life unearth more questions than answers⸻namely who can she trust? The man who abandoned her a year ago, or her father’s right-hand man who wants to seize control of the company from her?
Hunter has to return to Crystal Creek, but he won’t leave Bryce as bait to someone who wants her dead. But Crystal Creek isn’t the haven he expected, and soon he and Bryce race against the clock to find out what secret died with Egon, and how to endure the pain that has them fighting to protect their hearts and their lives. 

Book Links:
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Welcome to Crystal Creek!
Hunter loves Bryce more than anything, but to protect her, he had to walk away.
Now he’s back.

Chapter One

Hunter Whitloch stood on a knoll in the sweltering June heat and looked over the New York graveyard. The small group of elegantly dressed mourners gathered around Egon Gregory’s casket didn’t hide his daughter, Bryce. She tipped her chin, her blonde hair skimming her shoulders, and stared bravely ahead. Hunter would’ve known she was here even if they’d been surrounded by thousands of people. He had a sense when Bryce was near.
He pushed down the stirring of sensations rising in his chest. He hadn’t seen her in a year, but his feelings for her hadn’t changed.
Dressed in black, a thin veil covering her face, she clutched the hand of Egon’s closest friend, Percy Wright. Hunter wondered what Percy would say when he saw Hunter had attended the funeral. Probably not much. When Hunter had worked for Gregory Enterprises, Percy rarely spoke to him.
Hunter felt a vague disquiet, drew in a breath, then strolled down the hill. He’d come to pay his condolences to Egon Gregory, the man who had taken him under his wing and taught him how to earn a few million. That knowledge would’ve satisfied Hunter if he hadn’t discovered the machinations of the underbelly of Gregory Enterprises.
Maybe Hunter was the only one with a conscience.
Once he discovered how Egon Gregory made his billions, he couldn’t condone the underhanded deals and walked away from a career most people would’ve killed for⸻including Hunter.
When he reached the gathering, he felt the stares, listened to the murmurings. Some smiled. Others frowned. He heard the minister’s prayer, but didn’t catch the words. His gaze shifted to Bryce, to the elegant curve of her neck, her graceful poise, and the emotions he’d buried surged to the surface. 

He closed his eyes and uttered an oath. He was a fool to think his feelings for Bryce Gregory could have vanished when he left New York with a promise never to return—yet here he was with his memories in tow.
Feeling a stare, he looked up to see the disapproving glower of the woman in front of him. He tried to smile. He hadn’t thought he’d said anything, but Bryce had that power over him. What he thought, and what he felt, always reminded him there was no way to get Bryce out of his system.
The minister closed the service with an amen. Others echoed the closing, then a soft murmuring waffled through the crowd as the mourners shook hands and embraced. Several formed a line in front of Bryce and offered their condolences. Hunter recognized most in attendance⸻Sylvia Fisher, Calvin Spratt, Jarrod Morris⸻chums Hunter and Bryce knew from college.
Bryce clutched a handkerchief in her small, white hand. Her smile sad, she dabbed her tears and nodded her gratitude.
The crowd thinned, but Hunter didn’t move. He could only watch Bryce who, even when she grieved, looked beautiful. She moved to the casket. Slipping a rose from the funeral spray, she laid it on the crown. Her head bowed in sorrow, she turned away. As if feeling someone watched her, she lifted her gaze.
Her brown eyes looked straight at him.
“Hunter?” She blinked in surprise.
A muscle worked in his jaw. He should’ve told her he was coming or at least asked if he could. Showing up was a tactless decision to pay condolences to the man whom he’d admired and with whom he disagreed on almost everything. A year had passed since he’d tossed his resignation letter on Egon’s desk. The older man had been surprised at first, and then laughed.
Hunter wasn’t laughing. Egon had been charming in a ruthless sort of way. The bottom line ruled his world. His list of enemies grew by the day.
“Hello, Bryce,” he said, his voice low and husky. Saying her name was like catching his heart on a jagged corner.
“I … I didn’t …” Her voice filling with the sorrow he felt, she shook her head, her eyes swimming in tears.
“I just wanted …” His voice faded. The old, familiar feelings churned in his chest.
Someone behind Hunter cleared his throat. He almost felt relieved. He’d paid his condolences to the kingpin of the financial world, but that education taught Hunter that the man he admired also lacked a heart. Hunter wouldn’t be party to the schemes that destroyed more people than they helped.
With a slight nod at Bryce, he stepped away from her. He didn’t miss her bleak glance, but there could never be anything between them. When Hunter resigned, Egon had made him swear he’d never have anything to do with Bryce again. Hunter had agreed. He wouldn’t drag Bryce into this tug-of-war between him and her father.
But walking away had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. How he had the strength, he didn’t know.

He sucked air through his teeth. He felt all over again the desolation that had surged through him when he’d left. He had thought he was strong enough to see Bryce again without her closeness opening old wounds.
The couple who had stood behind Hunter stepped to Bryce. With a look of shock, she pulled her gaze to them, fresh tears in her eyes as she hugged the woman and clasped the man’s hand.
“Hunter Whitloch, what a surprise.” A man’s rough voice brought Hunter’s head around.
“Percy.” He stared into the pale blue eyes of Egon’s right-hand man. The way the man looked at him made him catch his breath.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, especially under the circumstances.” Percy’s patrician features firmed with arrogant condescension.
“Why is that?” Hunter asked, feigning bemusement. Percy had always been cagey about what he did and didn’t know.
“I don’t have to tell you what you already know.” The skin around Percy’s eyes tightened with impatience.
“If not you, then maybe someone else,” Hunter said graciously. “Of course, I would honor Egon with my last respects. Though we didn’t agree on much, I still admired the man.” He admired anyone who came from nothing but managed to build an empire.
Percy gave a soft snort.
Hunter blinked slowly but remained silent. Percy thrived on confrontation and seemed to feel great satisfaction when he could put someone on the defensive.
Looking past Percy to Bryce, Hunter watched her turn away from the casket looking bereft. A hollowness rose inside him. The first day he met Bryce in college, he saw that hurt look in her eyes. That she hadn’t been born a boy to please her father seemed to hurt most of all.
Percy’s gaze followed his. When he saw Hunter watched Bryce, his mouth curved. “Old feelings die hard.” He gave a dry laugh.
“Or they become immortal,” Hunter said and watched a young man he didn’t recognize approach her.
Whatever the man said made Bryce smile sadly and shake her head. The man nodded slightly and withdrew.
On the other side of the casket, Calvin Spratt paced nervously. He slipped a finger inside his collar and cast furtive glances at Bryce. When the young man left Bryce’s side, Calvin took a step toward her until another couple moved in. Their murmurings filled with regret, they seemed to share fond memories of Egon from another time and place.
Calvin stopped short, frustration in his eyes. He looked around until his gaze met Hunter’s. He gave a slight nod and moved toward him. When Percy faced him, deep lines etched into Calvin’s face. Giving a dismissive wave, he turned away and strode through the headstones to the cars parked along the narrow lane.
“He better leave,” Percy said, a satisfied look on his face. “He’s the reason Egon is dead.”
Hunter’s pulse picked up its pace. “How is that Calvin’s fault? The internet sites said Egon died of natural causes.”
“They copied my press release.” Percy narrowed his eyes at him. “If you read that, then you don’t know.”
“What should I know?” Hunter frowned at him.
“Egon was found in his office, a gun in his hand.”
Hunter’s pulse jumped.
A soft gasp sounded. Hunter’s head came up, and he stared into Bryce’s dark eyes. Her face snow-white, she touched delicate fingers to the base of her throat.


About the Author:

A native of California, Laura Haley-McNeil spent her youth studying ballet and piano, though her favorite pastime was curling up with a good book. Without a clue as to how to write a book, she knew one day she would.
After college, she segued into the corporate world, but she never forgot her love for the arts and served on the board of two community orchestras. Finally realizing that the book she’d dreamt of writing wouldn’t write itself, she planted herself in front of her computer. She now immerses herself in the lives and loves of her characters in her romantic suspense and her contemporary romance novels. Many years later, she lived her own romantic novel when she married her piano teacher, the love of her life.
Though she and her husband have left warm California for cooler Colorado, they enjoy the outdoor life of hiking, bicycling, horseback riding and snow skiing. They satisfy their love of music by attending concerts and hanging out with their musician friends, but Laura still catches a few free moments when she can sneak off and read. 

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Six Word Stories by Doug Weller

 

Stories, Poems, Memoirs, and Jokes, told in only six words

Short Stories, Poetry

Date Published: February 16, 2022

Publisher: Hebe Publications

Six Word Stories is the latest collection of stories told in only six words. Following on the success of Six Word Wonder and Six Word Stories, hundreds of new stories, poems, memoirs, and jokes are shared here for your amusement.

The collection brings together the best micro fiction from all over the world.

The book also contains a condensed version of the Six Word Wonder Workbook - offering fun, practical steps to writing your own six word wonders.

Six Word Stories is a sparkling collection of stories, jokes, memoirs, and poems, all written in only six words. Find horror, romance, thriller, hilarity, and tragedy all bundled up in a few tiny words.This collection of micro-fiction gives readers a chance to get an instant dose of story. Six Word Stories by Doug Weller includes the winner of the Six Word Wonder Contest, with over 3000 stories were entered. As well as publication, the winner receives a $100 prize as the Six Word Wonder 2020.This is the follow-up books Six Word Wonder and Six Word Story by Doug Weller. Hundreds of six word stories to surprise, entertain, and amuse.

Here are a few six word stories to spark your interest:

Undertaker paused when he heard tapping

Today, I remembered I had dementia.

Slowly completed father's bucket list.

Dear diary, he's outside the door. . .

These stories and many more are played out over nine movements in Six Word Stories.

About the Author

Doug Weller is a writer of psychological thrillers and creator of the Six Word Wonder. His mission is to entertain, educate, and amuse.His new book, Six Word Story, bring stories, jokes and poetry together. Each written in only six words.Six Word Wonder is a social media sensation, with over 10,000 followers on Instagram @sixwordwonder. You can find Doug at https://dougweller.net

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Trust Me by Kelly Irvin

Trust Me

by Kelly Irvin

February 7 - March 4, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

When her best friend is murdered the same way her brother was, who can she possibly trust?

A decade ago, Delaney Broward discovered her brother’s murdered body at the San Antonio art co-op he founded with friends. Her artist boyfriend, Hunter Nash, went to prison for the murder, despite his not-guilty plea.

This morning, Hunter walks out of prison a free man, having served his sentence.

This afternoon, Delaney finds her best friend dead, murdered in the same fashion as her brother.

Stay out of it or you're next, the killer warns.

Hunter never stopped loving Delaney, though he can’t blame her for not forgiving her. He knows he’ll get his life back one day at a time, one step at a time. But he’s blindsided to realize he’s a murder suspect. Again.

When Hunter shows up on her doorstep asking her to help him find the real killer, Delaney’s head says to run away, yet her heart tells her there’s more to his story than what came out in the trial. An uneasy truce leads to their probe into a dark past that shatters Delaney’s image of her brother. She can’t stop and neither can Hunter—which lands them both in the crosshairs of a murderer growing more desperate by the hour.

In this gripping romantic suspense, Kelly Irvin plumbs the complexity of broken trust in the people we love—and in God—and whether either can be mended.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Suspense
Published by: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: February 8th 2022
Number of Pages: 384
ISBN: 0785231935 (ISBN13: 9780785231936)
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Christianbook.com | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER 1

APRIL 22, 2010
SAN ANTONIO ART CO-OP
SOUTHTOWN, SAN ANTONIO

The cloying stench of pot told the same old story.

With an irritated sigh Delaney Broward quickened her pace through the warehouse-turned-art-co-op toward her brother’s studio at the far end of the cavernous hall. On his best days Corey had little sense of time. Add a joint to the mix and he lost his sense not only of time but of responsibility. It also explained why he didn’t answer his phone. When he got high and started painting, he wanted no interruptions. His lime-green VW van was parked cattywampus across two spaces in the lot that faced Alamo Street just south of downtown San Antonio. He might be physically present, but his THC-soaked mind had escaped its cell.

Marijuana served as his muse and taskmaster. Or so he’d said.

The soles of her huarache sandals clacking on the concrete floor sounded loud in Delaney’s ears. “Corey? Corey! You were supposed to pick us up at Ellie’s. Come on, dude. She’s waiting.”

No answer.

At this rate Delaney would never get to Night in Old San Antonio, affectionately known to most local folks as NIOSA. Everyone who was anyone knew it was pronounced NI-O-SA, long I and long O, the best party-slash-fundraiser during the mother of all parties where her boyfriend would be waiting for her. “Hey, bro, I’m starving. Let’s go.”

Delaney’s phone rang. She slowed and dug it from the pocket of her stonewashed jeans. Speaking of Ellie. “I’m at the co-op now. He’s here.”

Share as little info as possible.

“He’s stoned again, isn’t he? I’m sick of this.” Ellie’s shrill voice rose even higher. “I swear if he stands me up again— ”

“Us. Stands us up.”

“Stood us up again. That will be it. I’m done. I’m done waiting around for him. I’m done playing second fiddle to his self-destructive habits. I’m done with his starving-artist, free-spirit, pothead schtick. The man is a walking stereotype. I’m done with him, period.”

Delaney mouthed the words along with her friend. She knew the lyrics of this lovesick song by heart. The childish rejoinder “It takes one to know one” stuck in her throat. “We’ll be there in twenty. You can tell him yourself.”

Ellie would and then Corey would kiss her until she took it all back. With a final huff Ellie hung up.

The door to his studio— the largest and with the best light because the co-op was Corey’s dream child— stood open. “Seriously, Corey. Think of someone besides yourself once in a while, please.” Delaney strode through the door, ready to ream her brother up one side and down the other. “You are so selfish.”

Delaney halted. At first blush it didn’t make sense. Twisted and smashed canvases littered the floor. Along with paints, brushes, beer bottles, and Thai food take-out cartons.

Wooden easels were broken like toothpicks and scattered on top of the canvases. Someone had splattered red paint over another finished piece— a woman eating a raspa in front of a vendor’s mobile cart, the Alamo in the background.

Delaney’s hands went to her throat. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the odor of human waste gagged her. A fiery shiver started at her toes and raced like a lit fuse to her brain. Her mind took in detail after detail. That way she didn’t have to face the bigger picture staring her in the face. “Please, God, no.”

Even He couldn’t fix this.

She shot forward, stumbled, and fell to her knees. Her legs refused to work. She crawled the remainder of the distance to Corey across a floor marred by still-wet oil paint, beer, and other liquids she couldn’t bear to identify.

He sat with his back against the wall. His long legs clad in paint-splattered jeans sprawled in front of him. His feet were bare. His hands with those thin, expressive fingers lay in his lap. Deep lacerations scored his palms and fingers.

Her throat aching with the effort not to vomit, Delaney forced her gaze to move upward. His T-shirt, once white, now shone scarlet with blood. His blood. Rips in the shirt left his chest exposed, revealing stab wounds— too many to count.

Delaney opened her mouth. Scream. Just scream. Let it out.

No sound emerged.

She crawled alongside her big brother until she could lean her shoulder and head against the wall. “Corey?” she whispered.

His green eyes, fringed by thick, dark lashes that were the envy of every woman he’d ever dated, were open and startled. His skin, always pale and ethereal, had a blue tinge to it.

Delaney drowned in a tsunami of nausea. “Come on, Corey, this isn’t funny. I need you.”

Her teeth chattered. Hands shaking, she touched his throat. His skin was cold. So cold.

Too late, too late, too late. The words screamed in her head. Stop it. Just stop it. “You can’t be dead. You’re not allowed to die.”

Mom and Dad had died in a car wreck a week past her eighth birthday. Nana and Pops had taken their turns the year Delaney turned eighteen. Everybody she cared about died.

Not Corey. Delaney punched in 9–1–1.

The operator’s assurance that help was on the way did nothing to soothe Delaney. She sat cross-legged and dragged Corey’s shoulders and head into her lap. She had to warm him up. “Tell them to hurry. Tell them my brother needs help.”

“Yes, ma’am. They’re en route.”

“Tell them he’s all I’ve got.”

CHAPTER 2

TEN YEARS LATER
NASH RESIDENCE, SAN ANTONIO

Real men didn’t cry. Not even during a reunion with a beloved truck.

Swallowing hard, Hunter Nash wrapped his fingers around the keys, concentrating on the feel of the metal pressing into his skin. He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Mom. For keeping it all these years.”

His mom didn’t bother to try to hide her tears. She wiped her plump cheeks on a faded dish towel, offered him a tremulous smile, and bustled down the sidewalk that led from the house on San Antonio’s near west side where Hunter had grown up to the detached two-car garage in the back. It had housed his truck for the past eight years. Almost ten if he counted the two years it took for his case to go to trial. He had no place to go in those years when he’d allegedly been innocent until proven guilty. His friends no longer friends and his job gone, he had no need for transportation.

The door to the garage was padlocked. Mom handed him the key. “My hands are shaking. You’d better do the honors.” She stepped back. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I did my time, Ma.” As a model prisoner he’d earned time off for good behavior. It was easy for a guy to behave when he spent his days and nights scared spitless.

“I know. All those nights I’ve lain in bed worrying about you in that place, whether you were safe, if you were hurt, if you were sick.” Her voice broke. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“Me neither.”

It wasn’t over. In fact, it was just beginning, but she didn’t need to know that. His determination to prove his innocence would only worry her more. A divorced mother of four, she’d raised her kids on a teacher’s salary and an occasional child support check from the crud-for-brains ex-husband who showed up once every couple of years in an attempt to make nice with his kids. She deserved a break.

The aging manual garage door squeaked and protested when Hunter yanked on the handle. He needed to do some work around here, starting with applying some WD-40. The smell of mold and old motor oil wafted from the dark interior. Hunter slipped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust. A layer of dust covered the 2002 midnight-blue Dodge RAM 1500, but otherwise it remained in the pristine condition in which he’d left it the night he said goodbye and promised he’d be back. “My baby.”

More tears trickling down her face, Mom chuckled softly. “After you finish reintroducing yourself, come back inside. I’m making your favorite chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, pineapple coleslaw, and creamed corn. Your brother and sisters are coming over after work. Shawna’s bringing a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Melissa’s contribution is three kinds of ice cream, including rocky road. She said it seemed appropriate. I hope you haven’t lost your sense of humor. And you know Curtis. He’s all about the beer.”

The last thing Hunter wanted to do was celebrate with his sibs. Mel and Shawna had visited faithfully at first, but less as the years rolled by. Curtis never showed, even though Fabian Dominguez State Jail was only a few miles down the road from San Antonio.

Nor did Hunter want to explain why he’d sworn off alcohol. The conditions of his parole included monthly pee tests— no alcohol or drugs, but that part of his life was over anyway. It had been easy to comply in prison, obviously. Whether he could maintain his sobriety in the beer drinking capital of the country remained to be seen. He’d do AA if necessary. “Mom— ”

“No buts. They’re family. They love you. You need to live life, enjoy life, make up for all you’ve missed. You haven’t even met most of your nieces and nephews. Did you know Mel is expecting another baby in August?”

“Yes, I— ”

“Today we celebrate your new job and your new life.”

His bachelor of fine arts with an emphasis in drawing and painting from Southwest School of Art might once have allowed him to teach art in one of the school districts, but not anymore.

It didn’t matter. The prison chaplain had hooked him up with Pastor James. The preacher ran a faith-based community center that served at-risk youth. He’d hired Hunter to teach art to those who’d already had their first brush with the law. He figured Hunter could teach life lessons at the same time he introduced them to art as a way to channel their anger at the hand life had dealt them. Learning what happened when a guy got off track would be the lesson.

Even though Hunter hadn’t gotten off the track. He’d been shoved off it. By an eager-beaver, newbie detective; a green-as-a-Granny-Smith-apple public defender; and an assembly-line justice system.

He would get by in this world that had hung him out to dry. Especially knowing Mom had his back. She had that don’t-mess-with-me teacher look in her burnt-amber eyes. Like her sixth graders, Hunter knew better than to argue. It felt good to know she remained in his corner. When everyone else had hit the ground, scattering in opposite directions, she never budged in her belief that son number two could not be a murderer. She’d brought him up better than that.

“You’re right. Give me a few minutes.”

She patted his chest and stretched on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Her lips were chapped, and the wrinkles had deepened around her mouth and eyes. Her long hair had gone pure white during his years away. “Take your time, sweetheart.”

Hunter gritted his teeth. After years of looking over his shoulder, bobbing and weaving around hard-core convicts who’d as soon shank a guy in the shower as look at him, he didn’t know how to cope with nice. With sweet. With love tempered with wisdom and a hard life.

“One day at a time.” That’s what the prison chaplain had told him. “Get through the next minute, the next hour, the next day.” That’s how he did eight years at Dominguez. This couldn’t be any harder. He opened the truck’s door and slid into the driver’s seat. The faint odor of pine air freshener greeted him. And citrus.

More likely that was his imagination. Delaney’s perfume simply could not linger that long. Move on. She has. She did. To her credit Delaney held on as long as she could— until the guilty verdict. Then she was forced to move on. She couldn’t be blamed for that.

Hunter picked up the sketch pad on the passenger seat. In those days he kept one everywhere. Just in case. The first page. The second. The third. All drawings of Delaney. Sweet Laney eating a slice of watermelon at a Fourth of July celebration. Laney rocking Hunter’s newborn nephew in a hickory rocker on the front porch. Laney in a bathing suit sitting on the dock at Medina Lake. Laney with her soulful eyes, long sandy-brown hair, and air of sad vulnerability worn like a pair of old jeans that fit perfectly. That too-big nose, wide mouth, and pointed chin. Corey might have been the angelic beauty— totally unfair— but Delaney’s face had character. She had a face Hunter never ceased to want to draw and paint.

And kiss.

He turned the pages slowly, allowing the memories to have their way with him. Meeting at a party Corey had thrown when Delaney was a senior in high school. Their first date, ribs and smoked chicken with heart-stopping creamed corn, potato salad, coleslaw, and jalapeños at Rudy’s Country Store and Bar-B-Q followed by dancing at Leon Springs Dance Hall.

She had danced with the abandon of a small child. As if she didn’t care who watched. Her face glowed with perspiration. Her green eyes sparkled with happiness. His two left feet couldn’t keep up, but she didn’t mind. She twirled her peasant skirt as she flew around him, her hands in the air, her curves beckoning.

Hunter closed his eyes. Her softness enveloped him. Her sweetness surrounded him.

He needed to see her again. He needed to talk to her. Somehow he had to prove to her that she was wrong about him. Whatever it took. He laid the sketchbook aside. “Come on, dude, let’s take a ride.”

He stuck the key in the ignition and turned it.

Nothing. Not even a tick-tick-tick. He tried a second time. Nada. “I’m an idiot.” He patted the steering wheel. “Not your fault, man.”

The truck hadn’t been driven in years. The battery was dead. He might be able to jump it, but more likely he’d need a new one. Batteries cost money.

One thing at a time. He’d waited this long.

Hunter slid from the truck and eased the door closed. “I’ll be back when I get my act together.”

In the kitchen Hunter found his mom peeling potatoes. She pointed the peeler at him. “You can’t imagine how good it feels to have you home.”

“You can’t imagine how good it feels to be here.” He landed a kiss on her soft hair. She smelled of Pond’s cold cream. The same old comforting scent. Life had changed but not her. “I’m gonna take a walk. I need to blow the prison stink off.”

“Enjoy. They redid the walking trail at the lake and installed new outdoor fitness equipment.” She waved the paring knife in the air. “But don’t stay too long. You have company coming.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pantomimed a mock salute and headed for the front door.

One thing at a time. One step at a time. That’s how he’d get his life back.

***

Excerpt from Trust Me by Kelly Irvin. Copyright 2022 by Kelly Irvin. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Kelly Irvin is a bestselling, award-winning author of over twenty novels and stories. A retired public relations professional, Kelly lives with her husband, Tim, in San Antonio. They have two children, three grandchildren, and two ornery cats.

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Instagram - @kelly_irvin
Twitter - @Kelly_TrustMe
Facebook - @Kelly.Irvin.Author

 

 

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Heart of Swine by Freddy F.Fonseca

 

Dystopian, Humor

Publisher: Obex Publishing

A Ridiculously Realistic, Deadly Serious Comedy - With a Superhero Pig

Think you're living in an environmental dystopia?

Wait until we start thawing a frozen planet with pig farts.

That's where the story begins and it doesn't get any less wild. At once ridiculous and chilling, rising surrealist talent Freddy F. Fonseca explores the dark, porky underbelly beneath humanity's seemingly ever-more-virtuous race toward sustainability - and the genius puppet-masters who watch our feeble bamboo-straw-buying attempts and smile, while flattening another rainforest.

Oh yeah, and there's our hero. The last remaining pig on Earth just happened to be blessed with superpowers. Which he would use to avenge the extermination of his species, were he not to get tangled up in an all-too-human web of greed, lust, and indifference.

The anarchic and ambitious Heart of Swine has breath-taking scope and a wry, not totally resigned smile. It incautiously pulls away the covers to reveal how half-assed humanity's efforts to clean up after itself have been. It's funny and coarse, sure, but the writer is deadly serious. The epic failures we continue to see around the world on a personal and political level are taken to frightening lengths. And reading Heart of Swine is like a Rorschach test for one's outlook on the future - although it's hard to think, especially after finishing this book, that everything's going to be just fine.

About the Author

Freddy F. Fonseca graduated with a First Class Honours in Creative Writing and English Literature from LMU and has a MSc in Environment, Politics and Society from UCL.

The writer strives to create stories that reflect the complexity of human nature and question the unhealthy entanglement with materiality.

​What pushed Freddy to write Heart of Swine is the fact that too many don’t understand their accent.

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Not Paid Eleven Cents and Hour to Think by Jim Gibson

 

Memoir (Military)

Date Published: January 22, 2022 (Hardcover coming March 2022)

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

Jim Gibson was flying to the other side of the world, barreling toward what he feared could be the end of his life. In 1968, five hundred American soldiers were dying every week in Vietnam. Outfitted in brand new, scratchy, combat jungle fatigues and boots, the twenty-year-old Army Private and trained Combat Medic found himself on a plane to a place he had never been, to fight a war he didn’t believe in. Young men like him were being drafted against their will every day, called into a war that made no sense to them. Vietnam, they thought, was a war orchestrated by relics; old white men and corrupt politicians willing to expend countless lives for personal gain. Still, it was no use to resist. There was nowhere to go, and the FBI made sure there was no place to hide.

About the Author

Jim Gibson was born in Santa Barbara, California in 1948. Growing up he was fascinated by the world around him, a curiosity that drove his love of reading at a young age. He has carried this passion for reading and desire for understanding throughout his whole life. In Not Paid Eleven Cents an Hour to Think, Jim recalls his fourteen months in Vietnam as an Army Medic and ambulance driver. In exploring his past and the lessons he learned, he considers what we must do to carry on. Mr. Gibson, now a happily retired grandfather, occasionally teaches abstract painting and other art classes in his community. He resides in Orange County, California.

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