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About the author:
A.M. Myers currently lives in beautiful Charleston, South Carolina with her husband and their two children. She has been writing since the moment she learned how to and even had a poem published in the sixth grade but the idea of writing an entire book always seemed like a daunting task until this story got stuck in her head and just wouldn't leave her alone. And now, she can't imagine ever stopping. A.M. writes gripping romantic suspense novels that will have you on the edge of your seat until the end.
When she's not writing, you can find her hanging out with her kids or pursuing other artistic ventures, such as photography or painting.
Here is a short sample from the book:
This can’t be me.
This blank, empty girl reflected in the mirror isn’t who I am, and yet, even when I think back to a time before him, I can’t remember that girl. Realistically, I know who she was, but I don’t feel her anymore; I don’t connect with her. She is a stranger, though, somehow, I miss her. I miss her like a best friend that I lost touch with, the ache so sharp that it sometimes steals my breath.
I want her back.
I stare at my face. Smoky green eyes that used to shine with so much love and laughter look duller now. The light has left them. Everything about my demeanor screams that I am wounded, damaged. I’ve built walls around my heart so high that no one will ever be able to scale them. I am alone, but after everything that I’ve been through, everything he’s done to me, I think that might be for the best. There are still days, though, when all I can think about is going back and changing things. If I could do things differently, I would. If only I knew then what I know now.
Shaking my head, I attempt to clear away the painful memories that threaten to drown me as tears fill my eyes. With my hands braced on the edges of my bathroom sink, I take a deep breath. Trying to mentally will away the physical evidence of my pain. You would think after crying for four months straight that my eyes would be barren as a desert but that doesn’t seem to be the case. I just can’t do this. I don’t want to cry anymore. I want to be strong.
Besides, I don’t have time to lose it right now, not that it ever happens at a convenient time. Moe is expecting me for my shift at the bar in a few hours and as much as I would love to hide under the covers for the next year, I know that if I call in sick, both of my brothers will be up my ass. Just as I’m convincing myself to get into the shower and get ready for my day, my phone starts ringing on the nightstand in my bedroom. I recognize the special ringtone I set up for him. A single tear runs down my face as my heart starts beating faster and my entire body locks up.
Is it too much to ask that he just leave me alone? That’s all I want. I want him to leave me the hell alone and let me try to heal. Can I just get through one day without a phone call from him? The daily reminder from him usually sets back any progress I feel like I’m making. When I left him four months ago, he vowed that he wouldn’t give up on me. I didn’t take him seriously at the time but he’s proving me wrong. Every single day, he calls. And every single day, I ignore the ringing phone. It’s time to get a new number. Maybe that will finally stop him.
He can’t possibly think that I’m going to forgive him. That after everything he’s done, I would ever give him another chance. That will never happen. I shudder as a darker memory threatens to bog me down again.
Suddenly, I’m angry. So angry that I’m shaking. This has to stop. Today. I’m taking back my life and stopping this torment. I look back in the mirror and watch in fascination as determination hardens my features. I glance at my watch again before rushing into the bedroom and grabbing my phone. I shoot off a quick text to Moe to let him know that I’m going to be a little late then I jump in the shower.
After I’m done, I dress quickly and throw my long brown hair into a ponytail before racing to my car. On the drive over, the anger builds again but I’m still a little nervous about what I’m on my way to do. Who knows if it will even work? But it feels like the only option I have left. I’m so tired of being the victim. No more. Finally, I pull up in front of the Port Allen Police station. I draw in a ragged breath as I survey the brick building.
I know I need to do this and it feels right. This is how I’m going to get my life back. After a quick pep talk, I climb out of my car and make my way across the street. When I step inside, a young officer standing behind a tall desk flashes me a kind smile.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
I nod. “Yes. I need to file a report.”