Reeling from the recent "death" of Deacon, her dark and mysterious former boyfriend and first love, sixteen-year-old Hannah Zandana lets herself fall into the arms of the wrong boyseven as her mother’s growing addiction continues to pull her family apart. With her mother hardly functional and her father in full-blown denial, Hannah and her little sister are left to their own devicesand no adult supportin their lives.
After waking up in a strange hospital outside of town, meanwhile, Deacon learns that his convenient “death” has placed him in the middle of a federal undercover sting operation. He’s soon thrown into the dangerous world of Miami drug cartels.
Will a cruel deception and a family’s unresolved grief forever change Deacon and Hannah, or can a love that once was, reignite and lead them back to one another?
|Publisher:||She Writes Press|
|Product dimensions:||5.60(w) x 8.60(h) x 1.00(d)|
|Age Range:||13 - 18 Years|
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A SIREN PIERCED THROUGH HANNAH’S BRAIN, CATAPULTING her straight up in bed. Her cheeks were wet. No, no, I want to go back. The jarring noise came from outside her window then stopped. She pulled on both sides of her scalp and squinted at the shadows sitting around her room. She jumped when the noise cut through the air again, vibrating from the floor. Shoot. She fumbled for the phone. She reeled it up by its cord and grabbed the receiver.
“H-hello?” she croaked, clearing her throat at the same time.
A shiver slid down her back into her damp sheets. This one felt more real than the others. His phantom scent of spicy vanilla and leather hung in the air. Her head whipped around. Wait, he was just here.
In her dream she’d bolted out the front of her house when she saw Deacon’s car from her bedroom window, not giving a flip if she got caught.
Standing before her, he’d gently moved her hair off her eyes. His deepening gaze had summoned her heart to crack open . . . for him and only him.
He’d tugged her shoulders toward him. “You look incredible. God, let me kiss you.”
She’d almost forgotten the sweeping angles of his face, how beautiful he was, dressed in his clothes from that night, the bloodstain from where the bullet entered his shoulder somehow gone.
She’d searched those soft chocolate brown eyes of his, the ones that spoke more to her than his words ever had. She’d known what she wanted, what she’d always wanted. “Will you stay this time?”
He’d swooped down as if to kiss her, stopping inches from her lips, and whispered, “Forever, Hannah.”
Then he was gone.
She cut off her breath, straining to hear anything at all as she pressed the receiver tighter to her ear.
“Hello . . . ? Peter?”
A sharp click, and the phone went dead.
It was always the same. Stupid kids, she thought. She changed her clammy tank top and dove back into bed with her eyes still closed.