Vanished · Jax and Riley · AtoZ Challenge

Jax #AtoZChallenge

What the hell is she doing here?

And why does she keep showing up unannounced at my door?

Granted last time, I was lying in a hospital bed. And this is where I work. So not exactly my private space or anything. But still. This can’t mean anything good.

I glance at Macy, still holding open the door Riley had just busted through and who seems just as confused as I am.

Understandably confused. One, because we’re closed, just locking up. And two, because Riley is an Abbott and they aren’t exactly on the guest list.

“Uh. Hi, Riley.”

“Jax.” She’s unsteady on her feet but lifts her little chin as if lecturing in one of her classrooms. “I would like to speak with Lucas.”

I stare at her dumbly, just blinking as I try to figure out what is happening.

When I don’t respond Macy informs her Luke isn’t here. She spins at the sound of his voice and falls into him. Macy is chuckling as he reaches out to steady her and I shoot him a look. He clears his throat, trying to disguise his amusement.

Riley is demanding we go hunt down Lucas so she can talk to him.

That is so not happening.

I hear Mace mutter something about Riley being feisty and I am quick to deny it. “Not usually.” Something is obviously wrong and not just the fact that she’s clearly drunk off her ass.

I cross the room to her side and lead her to the couch. “Mace, can you grab some water for her?” I toss over my shoulder.

“On it.”

Riley is glancing around the room, taking in all the artwork. She’s never been here before. Never visited our tattoo shop Vanished. Lucas isn’t exactly a fan of his family. Although I think Riley is starting to chip away some of his walls. I’d like to see him give them a chance. At least give her a chance. But I’d never tell him that. Not my place. My place is behind him, supporting him, having his back.

That’s the way it’s always been.

I crouch down in front of her. Despite her drunken determination when she stormed in, now she looks uncertain and avoids my eyes.

“Haven’t seen you for a while,” I offer, giving her a half smile. It’s been about three months actually. I haven’t seen her since I got out of the hospital. She visited pretty regularly when I was there, carefully avoiding Luke after one marginally brutal interaction. But she would come by and keep me company and smuggle me my favorite foods.

She finally looks directly at me, her eyes red and blurry. Shit. She’s been crying.

“You look good,” she whispers. “Better.”

“Good as new.”

Macy reappears with a bottle of water that he hands over and then leaves us alone again. My leg is starting to cramp so I move to sit next to her on the couch. Making sure to keep a respectable distance. Luke may not like his family but she’s still my best friend’s cousin.

Even if she is cute.

I don’t normally do cute. Or sweet. And Riley, with her retro style dresses and giant gray eyes and genuine smile and enormous purse with KitKats, is both. She’s a teacher. At a Chicago public school. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about her character I don’t know what will.

And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about those gray eyes over the last few months.

But she’s also an Abbott. So I keep my distance. Literally and figuratively.

Or at least I had been. But I’m not an asshole. I’m not going to turn her out on the street when she’s drunk and obviously upset.

“So,” I say, settling back into the leather couch. “What’s new with you?”
Sniffling, she stares at her shoes.

“I finished work early tonight. One of my after school meetings was canceled so I thought I would bring Daniel some dinner. Surprise him. But when I got there… he was… he-”

I glance at the rock on her finger.

“Wasn’t alone?” I finish gently.

She shakes her head, silently starting to cry again.

Dammit.

Now what am I supposed to do?

“Want me to have Mace go over and scare the shit out of him?” Macy is the largest of all of us, built like a warrior. Luckily he usually has a smile on his face or he’d be one scary dude. Now, he’s just scary when he wants to be which isn’t very often. But I imagine would terrify her skinny tax attorney fiance. Or ex-fiance. Cheating fiance.

Thankfully, this causes her to laugh, sniffling through her tears. She takes a sip of the water. Suddenly she jumps to her feet, swiping at her cheeks and the tears under her eyes. “Let’s go dancing!”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You want to go dancing?”

“Yes! Let’s go? Where should we go?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Teach.”

She crosses her arms and glares at me. “And why not?”

I open my mouth to explain, or at least try to explain without pointing out she’s drunk, but before I can her face falls. “Oh. Because of Lucas.”

Surprisingly, I hadn’t been thinking of him. Luke is suspicious of Riley, thinks she’s often acting as an emissary for his cousin Ethan and his uncle but she’s growing on him. And he would definitely want her taken care of in this situation.

“That’s not why,” I tell her. “But if you go out to a club with me and Macy there’s a good chance some paparazzi is going to find us and take your picture. I can’t imagine the school board would be excited about that.”

“Oh.”

She looks so disappointed I can’t help but feel like I let her down somehow. I should just make sure she gets home okay. But I also suspect that’s one of the last places she wants to go right now. And showing up at her uncle’s house will lead to questions, I’m sure.

I shove a hand through my hair in frustration. I know what I’m about to do and I know it’s a bad idea.

I keep my distance from Riley. That’s what I do. What I should do.

Instead I find myself saying, “You want to go somewhere for a drink? I’ve got an idea.”

The kick in my chest at her smile is further evidence I’m making a mistake.

Too late now.

See this interaction from Macy’s perspective here.

And if you’re curious about Jax and Riley’s first meeting you can find that here and here.

AtoZ Challenge

Ian #AtoZChallenge

“We the jury find the defendant…Not Guilty.”

I hear the various reactions behind me. Cries of stifled joy from those who believe these twelve strangers got it right. Clicks of cameras going off rapid fire as the press capture this moment. Gasps of disbelief and outrage from those, like me, who know this man is guilty.

But as my boss frequently reminds me, knowing it and proving it are not the same thing.

I remain stone-faced, showing no emotion as the judge and foreperson wrap up the formalities of the court before the judge finally ends the proceedings. Her gavel slams down, releasing a killer back into the community.

Because I failed. I failed to prove my case and convince the jury no one other than this man, Phillip Mann, had killed his girlfriend ten months ago.

Grimly I gather up my files and briefcase. As I stand and turn my eyes fall on him. Phillip Mann. He’s watching me with a smirk on his face, gloating in his eyes. He knows he beat me. I swallow my own rage, barely keeping my composure. I’m supposed to be sitting on the scales of justice, operating in facts and evidence, losing my shit in front of all these people shatters that belief and trust.

I’ll do that later, when I’m alone.

Ignoring the monster being congratulated fifteen feet away from me I instead turn to Carrie’s parents. Her mother’s presence has been strongly felt during the case, proud and grief stricken sitting in the gallery every day of testimony. Her father silent and stoic but red eyes reflecting his pain.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more. I’m sorry for your loss.” They give me jerky nods, her father finally cracking in public, a rough sob bursting out of him. They leave, arms wrapped around each other, sniffling.

I meet the eyes of Detective Melrose, standing at the back of the courtroom. He knows we blew this one. This is on both of us. He raises his chin, acknowledging our shared defeat.

Next to me, my assistant Dean seems to be taking the loss even harder than I am. His dark eyes are troubled, a gray pallor over his mahogany cheeks. The inexperienced DA made a critical error, costing us valuable evidence on a legal technicality. It happens. But it doesn’t ease the vicious blow of guilt when you are the one responsible. I place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in some attempt at reassurance.

“Take the rest of the day. We’ll meet in the office in the morning.” He nods, acknowledging my instructions.

Outside the courthouse, I make a brief statement to the press. I say nothing of substance. There’s nothing to say. This is the system. Do I wish we had successfully gotten justice for Carrie? Of course. I am as convinced today as I was two months ago, when we began this trial that Phillip killed her, that he belongs in prison. But there is no point in saying that to the cameras. There is nothing I can do now for Carrie or her family. The media isn’t that interested in my boring platitudes, they rush passed me to Phillip Mann and his legal team as they exit to the front steps.

I walk away without looking back. I don’t want to hear what they have to say.

The only thing keeping me together is the knowledge that it’s not over. I won’t let it be. Not yet.

Hours later I’m at my favorite dive bar, deep in my thoughts a bourbon in front of me.

I look up from my glass and see Dylan Melrose sliding onto the stool next to me. He signals the bartender and orders a pint of beer.

“What did you find out?”

“You were right,” he says. “Carrie isn’t the only one.”

My hand squeezes into a fist, channeling my rush of emotions – rage, relief, determination.

“Then we get him for those.”

Dylan nods at me, the same determination on his face.

“We’ll get him.”

We first meet Ian last year in Xander’s story.

Want more of Dylan? Click here and here.

AtoZ Challenge · Macy and Hunter · Vanished

Hunter #AtoZChallenge

Lighting flashes across the sky, illuminating the clouds outside my window. Seconds later the crash of thunder vibrates through the room. I love a good thunderstorm. And it’s newly spring in Chicago so this is the first one in months, the first of the season. I smile watching the streaks of light scatter through the sky. The sound of the rain is soothing as it pelts against my windows, falling in tiny rivers down the glass.

My storm gazing is interrupting by the sound of water bubbling in my electric kettle. It hisses lightly before clicking off. I pour the hot water into my waiting mug and tea strainer. Grabbing my mug, I move into the living room and settle into my favorite chair, perfectly positioned to continue watching the storm rage while reading. I can hear my sister Vaughn’s voice mocking me, teasing me that I’m acting like an old lady. But this is exactly what I want to do with my Saturday night. At least this Saturday night. I grab my giant cable knit blanket and get all cozy, tucking myself into my chair with a happy sigh.

I’m not sure how much time passes, roughly four chapters worth, when I hear a tapping that isn’t related to the thunder outside. Straining to listen, I’m still startled when I hear the knocking again.

I contemplate ignoring it, but someone wants to talk to me badly enough to be out in this weather, so I put down my book and patter over to my front door. I peek out the window to see who it is at my door.

Macy.

Confused and excited, there’s no denying that fluttery drop in my stomach, I flip the lock and open the door.

“Macy. Hey.” I’m sure my questions echo in my greeting. He’s never shown up at my place before. Usually we just flirtatiously chat at his dad’s bar or, more recently, my bakery and cafe.

He grins, his eyes crinkling adorably. “Hey. Busy?”

I glance down at my gray yoga pants and bare feet laughing, “Not really, no. Just enjoying the storm.”

Stepping aside, I usher him in. Immediately my little house is filled with Macy, his massive presence. Mace is a big guy both physically and in sheer personality. I’m tall, nearly 5’10” but even I feel almost tiny next to him. And if his height wasn’t enough, he’s also built like a sexy muscular tank, covered in tattoos. With a mass of dark hair, he typically wears pulled back in a causal man-bun and twinkling dark eyes.

I’m not lying. Or exaggerating. They twinkle. He’s like a dark, tan Santa Claus with six-pack abs.

He crosses the threshold, dripping water on the floor.

“You’re soaked! How long have you been out there?”

I rush down the hallway before he can answer and grab a towel out of the bathroom closet.

“I guess I’ve been walking for a while,” he admits, taking the towel I offer and drying his face and neck.

I frown in concern. “Everything okay?”

He takes a finger and gently massages the tension V between my eyebrows. He shrugs but doesn’t really answer.

“What are you up to?”

I decide to let him deflect the question for now. But I’m coming back to it.

“Just reading.”

“Anything good?”

This is so surreal I can’t help the little laugh that escapes. “Yeah actually.”

He nods, then asks, “Got a book for me?”

My head tilts to the side as I study him, not even hiding my confusion. “Macy. You can’t really want to sit and read a book with me in soaking wet clothes.”

He shrugs. “I kinda do actually. Is that okay?”

Something is definitely going on. But if he needs a friend right now, I guess I can be that.

“You have to get out of those wet clothes.”

He’s wrapped the towel around his neck now, holding the ends. He grins at me. “You could at least buy me dinner before trying to get me naked.”

I laugh. “Seriously. I doubt I have anything that will fit you but I’ll check. Why don’t you use the bathroom to get undressed and dry off. I can throw your clothes in the dryer.”

He grabs my wrist as I turn to attempt to find something for him to wear. My breath catches as I turn back to meet his gaze.

“Thanks, Hunter.”

“No problem.”

I can’t actually concentrate on my book with Macy sitting a few feet away, somehow managing to look both ridiculous and delicious in a pair of my old sweatpants. They are far too small, fitting more like tights as they stretch across his muscled thighs.

I thought he’d balk when I handed them through the bathroom door but in typical Macy fashion he’d just laughed and tried them on. I’d found an old mystery novel for him to read and so now he sat on my couch, also drinking a mug of tea, silently reading in pants that didn’t fit and no shirt.

How was I supposed to concentrate on anything other than that?

I’m not.

Eventually I slam my book shut, a little more forcefully than I intended. Macy looks up at me and grins.

“I’m hungry,” I lie. “How about some cookies?” I’m still trying to figure out what is going on, why he’s here. I’ve found desserts are a great way to loosen people’s tongues.

His eyes widen comically. “You got some of those spicy chocolate ones?”

I grin as I stand up. Based on his purchasing habits at the bakery, I know those are his favorites. “I do.”

He vaults to his feet, eagerly following me into the kitchen.

I warm up some cookies and we stand at the kitchen island, relishing the gooey chocolate cookies with a hint of cayenne. He’s reaching for his third one when he finally admits why he’s here.

“My brother died,” he says softly.

“Oh, Mace. I’m so sorry.” I go to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, trying to offer some comfort.

I barely remember Macy’s older brother. Unlike Macy and his sister, his brother left Chicago right out of high school. I know he comes home to visit, bringing his wife and kids on all the holidays but I’ve rarely seen him. But their family is close, this must be a massive blow to all of them.

His arms come around me, returning my embrace, his chin resting against my temple.

“There was a car accident,” his voice cracks.

I tighten my arms around him, my hands smoothing over the muscles of his back. I’m not sure how long we stand there holding each other, the pounding rain muffling any other external sounds.

Eventually I step back and meet his eyes. My breath catches at the intensity in his gaze as it moves across my face.

And suddenly, before I even realize it’s happening, we’re kissing.

Macy kisses me. And maybe I shouldn’t, but I kiss back.

We first meet Macy and Hunter here and here.

AtoZ Challenge · Sloane and Josh

Garrison, Josh #AtoZChallenge

I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves. I shouldn’t be this nervous. But I’ve never knocked on this door before and frankly, this isn’t the way I imagined it happening.

The woman on the other side hates me.

I think.

Pretty sure.

Bracing myself, I rap my knuckles against the door. I hear someone moving inside the condo, a shuffling of feet, a shadow appears under the door as they peek through the peep hole and release the locks. The door swings open.

And there she is.

Sloane Reed.

“Garrison.” Her flat tone is not encouraging.

“Evening.” Suspecting it is futile, I still attempt my most charming smile. I work my dimple to my fullest advantage.

“What are you doing here?”

My dimple did not work on this one.

I’m always a little taken by surprise at how hostile she is toward me. The first night we met, three years ago, she had seemed just as curious and aware of me as I was of her. I still don’t know what had changed on her end.

Giving up my attempt to charm her, one of many failed attempts over the last three years, I confess the reason for my surprise visit.

“I’m looking for Ethan. Erik thought you might know where he was.”

She looks up at me, her face inscrutable, and I’m an expert on reading expressions. Literally. It’s my job. I study micro expressions and interrogation techniques for the FBI. Part of Sloane’s fascination for me is the fact that for whatever reason she is incredibly hard to read.

“Why?” she demands.

“Why do I want to see him or why did Erik think you would know where he is?”

“Why do you want to see him? I know the other.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Nothing that concerns you. Do you know where he is? I’m in kind of a hurry.”

Sloane hesitates, I see a brief flash of indecision in her eyes before she pulls the veil back down.

“Can’t you just tap in to one of your spy satellites and find him?”

I smirk at her dig. “That’s the CIA,” I inform her.

“How sad for you.”

I can’t help but laugh. Her lips twitch as she fights her own grin.

“He’s here,” she admits reluctantly. She glances over her shoulder into her home. “He’s in the shower.” She hesitates another heartbeat, then moves aside so I can enter. “He should be out in a second. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

I follow her into the living room, taking in the details of her space. It feels like Sloane. It’s colorful but tasteful, obsessively organized, allowing only small glimpses into her personality. I hear lowered voice down the hall she’d disappeared but I can’t make out any of the words. Without thinking about it I pick up a framed photo of Sloane and her little sister.

“Where is Quinn?” I ask as she reappears, returning the frame to it’s place.

“She’s a counselor at her summer camp this year. She’ll be in the Boundary Waters until the middle of August.” Her chilly reception thaws a bit as she speaks about her younger sibling.

Conversation exhausted, we stand awkwardly across the room from each other.

She is so beautiful.

I take full advantage of this rare opportunity to study her up close. I sense I’m making her uncomfortable, although she’s doing her best to hide the fact. I have slowly discovered that her ability to guard her reactions diminishes the longer she’s in my presence. This rare ability only adds to her appeal for me. I have to work to figure out what she’s thinking, which is scarce in my life. I’ve obviously caught her relaxing at home, maybe even getting ready for bed. She’s wearing a pair of snug black yoga pants and an over-sized white t-shirt. Her wavy blond hair is in a loose braid, wisps falling around her face. And her feet are bare with dark polish on the toes. She has cute feet.

This is bad.

When I start to notice little details of a woman’s anatomy like cute feet, well…. My gaze travels back up to meet her eyes. She blushes under my scrutiny, turning away abruptly and pouring herself a glass of wine. She doesn’t bother to offer me any.

Perversely, I’m kind of glad I can see any reaction. Three years ago, the night we met, she had been attracted to me too, I was sure of it. Before she started to hide herself from me, I saw the interest in her eyes.

Mercifully, Ethan enters the room, his hair still wet and shirt still unbuttoned. He pauses to kiss Sloane’s cheek on his way to the bar she had set up in the corner. “Garrison. You’re lucky you caught me, I’m leaving again in the morning.” Glass in hand ,he finally turns to acknowledge me. “I get the impression you’re here in an official capacity?”

When I talked to Erik earlier, trying to track down Ethan, he’d seemed confident that Sloane and Ethan weren’t a couple but seeing how comfortable he is in her space I wonder. It bothers me more than I care to admit.

“I am. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

Sloane crosses her arms stubbornly. “My place, Garrison. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s fine with me if she stays.” Ethan leans his hip against the bar, crossing his legs at the ankle. Utterly at ease. At least on the surface. I see the tension he’s trying to disguise. “What’s up?”

I study Ethan carefully. Despite the fact I consider his twin brother a good friend, Ethan has always rubbed me the wrong way.

He’s a master at deception, I even suspect he’s had training beyond what a partner in a security firm normally would. I sense he knows far more about the FBI and intelligence community than he lets on. And he always seems to be testing me somehow, like I’m in a perpetual audition for some unknown assignment.

It doesn’t help he’s showering in Sloane Reed’s bathroom.

I’ve never had reason to look into my suspicions. They just exist. I wonder if this will be what triggers an end to our unspoken and unstable truce.

We first meet Josh here.

AtoZ Challenge

Flynn #AtoZChallenge

“Hey, Hansen!”

I look up from my desk and mind-numbing reports to find fellow Special Agent Khouri with a wicked grin on her face.

“What’s up?” I am immediately suspicious of that expression.

“Garrison has a walk-in. Says she’ll only talk to him.” She grins again, enjoying assigning me this likely fools errand.

“He’s not here.”

“I realize that, but she says she has information about an open case.”

“Which case?”

“Won’t say. She’ll only talk to Garrison.”

“Am I supposed to pretend to be him?” I ask frustrated.

Khouri shrugs. “Maybe she’ll talk to his partner. If she won’t you’ll have to get him in here.”

Sighing heavily, I push myself back from my desk and stand. I was right to be suspicious of her enjoyment at my expense. These walk-ins are usually a waste of time, but our section leader insists we are ‘available to the community’. It’s some plan to rebuild trust between the FBI and the people. I hope I can get this crazy woman to talk to me because there is no way in hell I’m calling Garrison on the first vacation he’s taken, other than getting shot, in years. I’d like him to be able to enjoy it. And I’d like not to be reamed out by my director if I ignore her random tip.

“She’s in interview room three.” She grins one last time and scampers away.

“You’re cruel, Khouri. I won’t forget it!” I yell after her.

And head to interview room three.

I pause mid-way down the hallway, studying the tipster before she realizes I’m there. She is slowly pacing the length of the room, periodically she’ll disappear from my view and then reappear facing the opposite direction. She’s tiny. Tiny frame, delicate features, disturbingly baggy clothing. She’s got a faded baseball cap pulled low over her eyes and covering what I’m assuming is very short dark hair based on the few wisps poking out of the back along her nape.

She doesn’t seem agitated enough to be unstable. Right now anyway. But that doesn’t mean she’s not going to be an utter waste of my time.

My jaw clenches as I move the rest of the way down the hall and rap twice on the door before entering.

My abrupt entrance startles her and she jumps, facing the doorway. Her lips open, gasping softly and her wide eyes fly to mine.

Striking amber colored eyes. Practically golden, contrasting against her fair skin and slashing black eyebrows.

I smile, trying to be disarming. “Hi, I’m Agent Hansen.” I extend my hand in greeting.

She grasps it firmly but immediately tells me, “I’m waiting for Agent Garrison.”

“I heard.” I take a seat at the table, encouraging her to do the same. She doesn’t.

I look up at her from my chair. Sitting is another part of my strategy to make her comfortable. I’ve got over six inches on her and I don’t want her to feel intimidated. That will likely cause her to clam up and insist on Garrison. It doesn’t surprise me she’s asked for him by name. He’s the Chicago Bureau’s favorite public face, frequently used as a spokesperson at press conferences. I don’t begrudge him his media fame. I like being a bit more anonymous. But his notoriety does come in handy at times.

Just not when I have to humor walk-ins. Even ones with beautiful amber eyes.

“I’m Josh’s partner,” I inform her. “I was hoping I could help you.”

She tucks her lips in, chewing on them thoughtfully.

I flip through my notebook, finding a blank page. “What’s your name?”

Instead of answering she asks a question of her own.

“How long have you been partners?”

Leaning back in my chair, I study her carefully. “Six years.”

Gingerly she moves closer and sits across the table from me. I exhale in relief at this sign she’s willing to work with me. Maybe Garrison will get his vacation.

“Did you work with him on the Alarie case?”

This is interesting. Maybe she does have an actual tip worth my time.

“I did,” I confirm.

That was the case my partner, Josh Garrison, was shot during. We kept details close to the vest on that one, releasing very little to the media. For multiple reasons.

“I was told I could trust Garrison. That he would be a good person to talk to.”

There aren’t many that know the details of that case. This immediately narrows down the people who could have referred her to us. To Josh. But still too many possibilities to know for sure who sent her and hazard a guess why. I find myself hoping the most obvious, most likely scenario is not the right one.

“You can trust me too.”

She studies me carefully, considering. I find myself holding my breath until finally she nods.

Glancing at my notebook I ask again, “Your name.”

She shakes her head.

“I need a name.”

“Birdie.”

“Birdie?” I study her silently, confident this is a lie.

She stares back, defiant. This is all I’m going to get.

“Birdie,” I repeat and nod, accepting this. “How can we help you?”

“I saw on the news, about the two women who went missing.”

Frowning, I ask her for clarification.

“Dawn Sanchez and Heather Gold.”

I keep my face impartial. I know a little about these cases, they’ve been all over the Chicago news. But they aren’t FBI cases, they are Chicago PD. And as far as I know they aren’t connected. Maybe she is just looking for attention or notoriety. Once again I’m assuming she’s a waste of my time.

“Did you have some information about either of them?”

She swallows, her eyes dropping to her hands resting on the table between us. She’s twisting her ring around nervously.

“I think so.”

I wait patiently. But my mind is already back on the reports at my desk.

“I – I think they’re both alive.”

“Okay. What makes you think that?”

“They fit the pattern.”

If I could roll my eyes I would. Dawn Sanchez and Heather Gold have little in common. Dawn was a college student on a full scholarship and disappeared during her morning run. Heather was visiting Chicago with friends and never returned to their hotel room after a night at the bars. This one has clearly been watching too much Criminal Minds.

“Anything specific you can tell me? What pattern are you referring too?”

Her ring flips through her fingers, periodically reflecting the overhead lights.

“What he likes. How he… how he collects them.”

What the hell?

“You think I’m crazy,” she accuses.

“I’m just trying to understand,” I deny. “No one has connected these two women.”

She stands abruptly, tears spring to her eyes. “I’m not crazy. I can prove it.”

Despite everything… she doesn’t seem unstable. She doesn’t seem like the glory-seekers we sometimes see. She seems genuine. I find myself wanting to believe her even if it seems far fetched.

“I’m listening,” I say trying to reassure her.

“I can prove it,” she insists.

I nod, waiting patiently.

“Until two months ago, he had me too.”

Curious about Josh? You can meet him here.

AtoZ Challenge

Reflections on A to Z Challenge

I can’t believe it. April is over and I’ve completed the A to Z Challenge for the first time.

Wow.

I’ve day-dreamed of being a writer for years. Have created characters and stories both in my head and on the page. But I’ve never said it out loud. I’ve never shared my stories with anyone. Until now.

For this year’s A to Z Challenge I used each letter to introduce a different character in my upcoming book series. That’s right, I’m writing a series of novels! So if you like any of the characters you’ll be seeing them again. Let me know your favorites!

The first book is going to focus on Lucas and Ash. Gabby, Uncle Theo, Cousin Riley, Jax, Dylan and a few others will also be making an appearance.

Participating in this Challenge helped me commit these ideas to the page, introducing characters I’ve been playing with in my mind to the world. And I want to thank everyone who visited and commented and followed for helping to inspire me, encourage me, and build my confidence.

See you soon.