About the Book:Because there are two sides to every story…
I’ve never been the guy who shied away from taking the ball. I’m an athlete; I thrive on the court, and I thrive in life because I don’t shy away from taking chances.
Except that one time.
Except with Rachel.
I fell in love with my best friend when we were ten, and she almost put her fist in my face when I tried to defend her against a fifth grade bully. I didn’t tell her that day that I loved her, or any of the ones following, because she had proved she didn’t need me, and even at a young age, I knew the opposite was true for me.
I needed Rachel with every breath I took, and it scared the ever-loving crap out of me.
Being the mature young man I am (cough), I tried to ignore it. I dated someone else; I stayed Rachel’s friend and watched her from afar because when you love someone who has the potential to break you into a million unrecoverable pieces, that’s what you do. You watch from afar and you never reveal your true feelings because it’s safer to hide them than to admit them.
Until it’s not. Until the day you take a step forward and alter both of your worlds completely, only to discover that you’ll never, ever be over her.
This is my story – my story of Rachel and everything I did and didn’t do, everything I said and forgot to say, and everything I felt before and after we made our biggest mistake and walked away from each other.
She told her side – now it’s my turn. I’m including our past, holding nothing back from her ever again, so she better be ready for me.
Mature Young Adult
***This is the companion novel to LIFE INTERRUPTED (The Life series Book 1) released January 2014. It can be read as a standalone, as it is different from Rachel’s story.
“Tripp,” Stacy says. I snap to the present. “Are you ready?”
I wipe my palms on my jeans and nod. “What do you need?”
Following Stacy’s instructions, I walk down the hall into Rachel’s room. The light is on; I can see the small form under the blankets before I peel them away and scoop my arms under her even though she protests. I want her to fight, even prepare myself for it, but right away I see what Stacy’s talking about. There’s nothing inside of Rachel—even as she attempts to thrash in my arms, I barely have to tighten my hold on her while I carry her to the bathroom. The girl who has so often put me on my ass from one punch has no muscle, and worse, she has no spirit.
Nothing about the girl in my arms right now is the Rachel I’ve always known. The lack of fight worries me more than the lack of weight.
Stacy’s already pushed the shower curtain back. I put Rachel inside, ignoring her half-hearted protests as I turn the water on cold and high. When she screams—the real-deal scream full of terror and anger—the vise on my chest loosens a little and I’m so grateful I could break down and weep. My hands are full because she’s putting much more effort into fighting me than she was a second ago. I forget about how cold the water is on my skin, or the fact that she looks like a ghost with dark circles under her eyes and a pasty pallor to her normally warm skin, and I talk to her while I hold her there.
“That’s right, Rachel, fight me. You fight me and you come back. Do you hear me? We need you, Rachel. We need you to fight.” She screams more, shoving at me with her hands, but I don’t budge. I encourage her as I see the color start to slowly seep into her cheeks. “Come on, baby, come back to us. Come back to me.”
I whisper the last part. I don’t know if it was the words or the fact that she’s finally opened up enough to feel the weight of it all, but she breaks—the dam cracking and flooding. Instead of being angry, she’s devastated.
My heart cracks and my lungs seize; she falls into a sobbing heap. I turn the water off and start to lift her into my lap. Whatever I promised her sister, I can’t do it; I can’t watch her break like this.
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