After Marine hacker Ian Maclean is mistakenly declared dead by the US government, he’s happy to correct them the moment he escapes captivity. He wants nothing more than to get home to the wife he left behind. Discovering she’s been cheating on him since the moment he deployed wasn’t in the plan. Devastated, he walks away from everything, even his name.
With the futures they were counting on destroyed, Ian and River find themselves starting over. Ian reminds River of things she’d much rather forget, but pushing him away is harder than she expected. Ian wants a second chance at happily ever after, but the more he gets to know River, the more he worries she isn’t trying to figure out how to live again, but how to die.
Chapter 1
River
A nurse in teddy-bear-patterned scrubs cries out down the hall behind me, but I can only spare her a brief glance. Time is my enemy, and it is a fickle thing, without any regard for the desires of those subjected to its whims. Christmas morning comes at a crawl for every child who can’t wait to open their presents, while it races forward for stressed-out parents who haven't finished their shopping. It's almost like Time is duty-bound to provide us with the exact opposite of what we wish.
And no matter how we beg or cry or plead, it stoically refuses to rewind.
The fluorescent lights over the nurse's station create a halo-like effect behind her, but the nurse is no angel. If she was, she could take my pain away. "Miss! Please, come back. You can't just leave!"
But I have to. My head feels disconnected, like my brain is yards away from my body, and every thought takes an excruciatingly long time to process. I focus on just putting one foot in front of the other, making my way to the door marked with the glowing red exit sign. I vaguely remember a man in a white coat patting my arm, his eyes heavy with pity and concern. “You'll be all right, I promise,” he said, lying. He'd gestured for the nurse to inject something into my IV, and not long afterward, my eyes drifted closed. For how long, I couldn't say.
I'm not sure of many things right now, but I do know I won't ever be all right again. I'm trapped in the most brutal contradiction: I desperately do not want to go on living in a world cruel enough to take away everything I care about, but I'm too stubborn to give up and die.
No matter how much the very act of breathing hurts my heart, there are things I still have to do. And there's somewhere I have to be.
So no matter how the good-intentioned nurse yells, I can't stay another moment.
A tall man passes me on the opposite side of the hallway, and I briefly worry he'll try to intercept me, but luck is on my side. He's far more occupied with the phone pressed to his ear and the giant bouquet of balloons billowing around him, pronouncing, “It's a girl!” He makes a sharp turn into a patient suite and shuts the door behind him.
My stomach cramps violently, and I'm worried I might puke on the pristine linoleum as I stumble into the push-bar that opens the door. I count the steps as I go down them, trying to calm my rapid breathing, afraid I'm going to hyperventilate.
Counting centers me, as it always has, and I manage to shut out everything except the one thought that matters most: I have to get to Dean.
River
A nurse in teddy-bear-patterned scrubs cries out down the hall behind me, but I can only spare her a brief glance. Time is my enemy, and it is a fickle thing, without any regard for the desires of those subjected to its whims. Christmas morning comes at a crawl for every child who can’t wait to open their presents, while it races forward for stressed-out parents who haven't finished their shopping. It's almost like Time is duty-bound to provide us with the exact opposite of what we wish.
And no matter how we beg or cry or plead, it stoically refuses to rewind.
The fluorescent lights over the nurse's station create a halo-like effect behind her, but the nurse is no angel. If she was, she could take my pain away. "Miss! Please, come back. You can't just leave!"
But I have to. My head feels disconnected, like my brain is yards away from my body, and every thought takes an excruciatingly long time to process. I focus on just putting one foot in front of the other, making my way to the door marked with the glowing red exit sign. I vaguely remember a man in a white coat patting my arm, his eyes heavy with pity and concern. “You'll be all right, I promise,” he said, lying. He'd gestured for the nurse to inject something into my IV, and not long afterward, my eyes drifted closed. For how long, I couldn't say.
I'm not sure of many things right now, but I do know I won't ever be all right again. I'm trapped in the most brutal contradiction: I desperately do not want to go on living in a world cruel enough to take away everything I care about, but I'm too stubborn to give up and die.
No matter how much the very act of breathing hurts my heart, there are things I still have to do. And there's somewhere I have to be.
So no matter how the good-intentioned nurse yells, I can't stay another moment.
A tall man passes me on the opposite side of the hallway, and I briefly worry he'll try to intercept me, but luck is on my side. He's far more occupied with the phone pressed to his ear and the giant bouquet of balloons billowing around him, pronouncing, “It's a girl!” He makes a sharp turn into a patient suite and shuts the door behind him.
My stomach cramps violently, and I'm worried I might puke on the pristine linoleum as I stumble into the push-bar that opens the door. I count the steps as I go down them, trying to calm my rapid breathing, afraid I'm going to hyperventilate.
Counting centers me, as it always has, and I manage to shut out everything except the one thought that matters most: I have to get to Dean.
Win a $25 Amazon gift card!
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