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My awesome PR, Valerie Fink, and assistant, Naomi Hopkins. You girls are more than my promotional team, you’re my sanity. I know that Stuck in Books PA is going to take the book world by storm, and I’m so honored that you took me under your wing, guiding my efforts with you
r creative and knowledgeable marketing. And I could not get through one book without your insightful input, Naomi. You go above and beyond an assistant’s duties to help me sort through my chaotic life. Thank you so much.
To my family. My son, Blue, who is my inspiration, thank you for being you. I love you. And my husband, Daniel, for your support and owning your title as “the husband” at every book event. I love you, too. To my parents, Debbie and Al, for the emotional support, chocolate, and unconditional love—I love you guys right back.
Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs, thank you for so much for not just creating this stunning, take-my-breath-away cover, but for also just rocking so hard! You were so much fun to worth with; you took the stress right out of the very stressful task of series cover creation, and I cannot wait to work with you again on future projects. This cover is everything I envisioned and more.
A special acknowledgement to Nereyda for being a loyal friend. Thank you for the emails, the support, and for always listening to my rants when I need to vent. And to Damaris, thank you for being not only a wonderful friend, who’s there when I just need to call someone, but also a huge support of my career. Both you ladies mean the world to me.
There are many, oh, so many people who I have to thank, who have been right beside me during this journey, and who will continue to be there, but I know I can’t thank everyone here, the list would go on and on! So just know that I love you dearly. You know who you are, and I wouldn’t be here without your support. Thank you so much.
To my readers, you have no idea how much I value and love each and every one of you. If it wasn’t for you, none of this could be possible. As cliché as that sounds, I mean it from the bottom of my heart; I adore you, and hope to always put out books that make you laugh, swoon, and cry.
I owe everything to God, thank you for everything.
Sample Chapter: The Darkest Part
Wasteland
Sam
There’s a universal truth. One that I never questioned. One that, when planning out the rest of my life, I felt confident was solid. This truth was my rock, my constant. And all the other bullshit didn’t matter.
Tyler Marks loved me.
He would always be there. By my side. The one beautiful certainty in my bleak existence.
My forever.
But then a cruel and bitter reality stole everything.
Only, I refused to accept it. When you’re so sure of something, when you trust in it, believe in it with your whole being, nothing can change it. Not even death.
And this alternate reality? The one where I sleep until three in the afternoon, don’t shower for days, forget to eat…garnering strange, pitying looks from my parents and friends when I’m caught talking to myself…? It’s just a temporary limbo I’ve stumbled into.
Everything is hazy and faded gray around the edges like a dream. Or a nightmare. One that I will wake up from and Tyler will be there, his strong arms holding me. Comforting me. And the world will make sense again.
It has to.
With a half-hearted sigh, I sink farther into the too-soft chair, trying to become invisible—like the love of my life standing off to the right in my peripheral.
“Sam won’t begin to get better unless she starts taking her medication,” Dr. Hartman states seriously, her perfect manicured fingernails visible as she laces her fingers together on top of her lap. She tucks in her chin, her dark eyes looking up to pin my mother with a severe glare. “If you’re not helping her, you’re enabling her. Sam needs to be on her meds.”
My mother swats a stray hair from her vision and then crosses her arms over her chest defensively. “I’m not enabling her,” she says, and glances at me quickly. “She’s nineteen…almost twenty. I can’t force-feed her pills as if she’s a child. Don’t you think I want her to take them? But it’s her choice.”
Sure. My choice. As if I’d choose any of this. As if I’d choose to be sitting here right now, being talked about like I’m not even in the room. Technically, I am an adult and didn’t have to consent to “treatment.” And I really shouldn’t have allowed my mother to talk me into letting her come to this session. But no one really has control over any of their choices in life. They just find some measure of control in choosing from options after the fact.
Like the options I have now: take antipsychotic pills to treat a condition I don’t have, or continue to argue with my family and doctor, digging myself deeper into this limbo wasteland.
I couldn’t bear the worried looks anymore, though. The whispering when I walked into a room. My father nervous to even be around me, up and leaving for pretend business meetings because he can’t deal.
After my mother made the initial appointment to talk to a psychiatrist (behind my back), I was then strong-armed into “giving it a shot.” For them, I did, and was diagnosed with (let me make sure I get this right) major depression with psychotic features. That’s a mouthful.
I smooth my hair back toward the rubber band, feeling three-day old grease and tangles. I probably should’ve showered and actually dressed today—then maybe Dr. Hartman wouldn’t be as concerned.
Nope. That’s not true. I doubt my lack of hygiene fazes her. The fact that I’m seeing and talking to my dead boyfriend is why I’m here. I should’ve never let my parents know. I should have kept it to myself.
But when you’re fearful of even leaving the house, stuck inside watching reruns of Ghost Whisperer, it’s hard to keep something like that hidden. And, maybe I did think I was going a bit crazy. And maybe I wanted someone to tell me that I wasn’t. That’s not what happened, though. Now, I’m trapped in this situation with no way out.
