BlurbLuke Cawley is a broken man. After his wife's tragic death, he lost everything that mattered in the world. Now, his life is filled with hard days, harder nights, and a steady stream of alcohol and the wrong kind of women. Nothing helps. Until the letters arrive on Luke's doorstep. Nine envelopes. Nine messages. Nine chances to find his way back. Rae Goode is looking for the real thing. After fighting her way out of a string of bad relationships, she's ready for something different--something true. She meets Luke while piecing her life together, and right away she can tell that he's different. Drawn together by fate and the desire to heal, Rae and Luke discover new ways to mend their broken hearts--one letter at a time. Discover Blake Austin's debut novel of loss, redemption, and ever-enduring love. ExcerptI was about twenty minutes early for my shift, but I got up to the bar, grabbed a rag, started wiping it down, bussing some dishes. "Damn, Luke," Jake said, watching me work. "You win the lotto or something? Royals win the pennant last night and I forgot to watch?" "I'm just in a good mood, that's all," I said. I thought about it a moment longer, decided I should tell him more. Impart some wisdom learned from my not-particularly-advanced years. "When everything's dark for so damn long and your eyes get used to it," I said, "just a little glimmer of sunshine lights up the whole world." He nodded, then grabbed a bus bin and headed back into the kitchen. Warren though, Warren wasn't impressed. He was sitting by one of the daytime barflies, but he'd stopped talking and was just watching me. I was on thin ice, and I knew it. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. A heartbroken, drunk, angry widower is probably as unemployable as the average ex-con. I came on at the end of the day shift. Warren liked tending bar during the day, because it meant just shooting the shit with the regulars. That day I had a smile for every customer, sparse words of wisdom like day drunks want to hear. Tending bar wasn't my dream. But to hell with letting that make me lazy. I kept the place clean, I poured drinks like I cared. I was getting into the swing of it when happy hour kicked in and a few more people filtered through the door. Couple of middle-aged bikers, a retired couple that parked their RV out front. The door swung open again, letting in a little bit of that early-evening cold, and I glanced up to see a crowd of three women, with two men. One of the women was a reddish blonde, radiant. Sort of stole the light out of the room. It was Rae. Our eyes met and her smile gave the room back its light. She'd been in jeans at the shelter, but she was in a blue dress now and she looked damn fine in either. Took my mind right off Maggie, faster than I thought it would be possible. I met her eyes, and she gave out a little gasp and giggle. I was probably smiling in surprise myself. The crowd came over to the bar. I'd thought the other four were two couples, but I realized pretty quick that the black girl with the afro was dating the quiet white guy in a beard and glasses and tattoos, and that the other guy was trying to impress Rae. He had a John Deere hat, but his clothes were way too clean for me to buy it that he worked on a farm. I hated him, right off. I probably would have hated him if he was the best guy in the world, though. The other girl, she was tall, latina, and for some indiscernible reason was interested in the poser farmer. Most of the time, I'm awful at reading people. But for some reason, at work I can tell you everything about everyone who walks in the door. About who's into who, about who had a bad day at work. Who wants to get drunk and miserable, who wants to get drunk and happy, who wants to get drunk and start trouble. Maybe it's some magic of the job, maybe it's just how people carry themselves at a bar. Helps with tips, that's for certain. You wingman right, and the money flows in. Warren, he likes to upsell them drinks when he's doing that. Get them excited about the top shelf. Not me. "Hey, Rae," I said. "Luke," she said. John Deere looked at me like I was the scum of the earth. And maybe I was, but if I was the scum then he was... I don't know, something worse than scum. Wannabe scum. She introduced me to her friends. Nicole had the afro, her boyfriend was Eric. The girl with bad taste was Irina, and John Deere had some name but honestly it went in one ear and out the other. He was John Deere to me. Yeah, maybe I'm an asshole. "So, how do you know this guy?" Deere asked, tossing me a look that said I clearly wasn’t good enough to be friend with someone like Rae. "Oh, he came in just the other day. Adopted the sweetest dog, a bloodhound." She turned to me, flashing that dimple high on her cheek. "How is he? You guys call a truce yet?" "King's great," I said. "I mean, he's probably at home right now, eating everything I've ever owned, but I figure I was due for a purge anyway, right?" It was a lame attempt at humor, but Rae laughed. "What can I get you all? Friend of Rae's is a friend of mine." Purchase LinksReviewI really don’t know how to begin with this review other than saying that 9 Letters was gut wrenching but yet beautifully written. It was about love, loss, and the ability to overcome the heartbreak of losing the most important person in your life. Luke is barely surviving on the 1 year anniversary of Emily’s death when he receives the package containing the 9 Letters. Before opening each letter, Luke must complete the specific task that Emily assigned him. I loved that the feelings/emotions were raw and that they absoultely felt real. It was definitely worth the shed tears and a few times I had to stop and take a breathe because I could literally feel Luke’s grief. I loved that 9 Letters was written from a male POV since I always feel like it adds more to the story. You definitely need to read 9 Letters to find out the things that Luke has to do in order to read the final letter. I applaud Blake Austin on his debut novel and look forward to reading more from him in the future. 4.5 Gut Wrenching Stars
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BlurbEvery city needs a hero, but Detroit’s white knight just might be a villain. A rough childhood branded Jasper Storm trouble. A bad boy. Not worth a damn. His love of cars was the only thing that could battle his delinquency. With the need for speed in his blood, he overcame his wayward ways. Mostly. All grown up, the broken city of Detroit hails him their shining star. And the man behind a new cutting-edge automobile is ready to turn this bankrupt town around. Everything he does in life is fast. He talks fast, f*cks fast, and drives fast. But when one reckless turn brings him face-to-face with the childhood he has tried very hard to forget, he finds himself on the edge of wondering if he shouldn’t slow down. Charlotte Lane was the tomboy who lived next door. She was his best friend. He was her protector. Then tragedy struck and she disappeared, forever—or so he thought. Jasper has many reasons to hate Charlotte and keep his distance, but she’s infiltrating his every thought and he can’t stay away. Back in town with an agenda of her own, she should push him aside. Make him turn around. Walk away herself. Yet she can't. With the past lurking between them, they proceed with caution. That is until one sex-filled night leads to murder. When Detroit’s biggest ally suddenly becomes suspect number one, will Charlotte—the girl Jasper once kept safe—be the one to save him? Purchase LinksExcerptJasper Storm…Is he a White Knight or a Black Sheep? Adrenaline junkie, speed racer, lives fast and fucks harder. With his mess of light brown hair, matching light brown eyes that just look like they could peg you where you stand, and a body that must make every female in his vicinity yearn for him, there is no mistaking him in a crowd. Charlotte would describe him as handsome. REALLY handsome. Maybe even handsome as hell. With a strong jaw and sensual lips, Jasper has a sharp profile. He is long and lean. He is everything she remembers from her childhood but the man he has become today…. Charlotte The hand-written sign near the valet reads, “Be back in 5 minutes.” Even standing beside Jasper for five seconds seems to make my heart beat double time. Five minutes will send it flying off the chart. Needing to calm down, I take a step away and move to stand in front of him. “You know I can take a cab home. I’ll be fine.” That killer smile is just too much. “I’m a man of my word, Charlotte. I told you I’d make sure you get home safely and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Heart still racing, I look up at him. He’s not like anyone I know, yet he’s so much like the Jasper I knew at eight years old. Without a second thought, I push the toe of my sandal against his shoe. It was something I did all the time when we were kids. “I don’t remember you being so bossy.” Both of us feeling better, the heavy mood seems to have shifted between us to something a little lighter, and he raises a brow. “I’ve changed a lot over the past twenty years.” Boy, he’s not kidding. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I want to respond with a yes, you have, but I don’t. That seems too flirty. Instead I stare at my once best friend. At the light and dark of his chocolate-brown hair that is more than perfect. Thick and glossy, he no longer wears it so much longer in the front that its bad habit of falling over his eyes is anything he has to worry about. Still, the way it sticks up in just the right places and allows for the perfect shape of his brows to be seen, his long, long eyelashes to be noticed, and the golden flecks in his eyes to mesmerize anyone they come in contact with, are all traits beyond perfection. Oh God, my entire body tingles just looking at him. He has to be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. I shouldn’t be thinking this way. Not about him. And especially not after everything that has transpired today. This must be some kind of coping mechanism that I need to get under control. Yet when he leans forward and his male scent assaults me, all of my sanity goes right out the window, along with my control. Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. In that moment his eyes capture mine, and for one second I think he’s going to kiss me. I tense. My pulse pounds as I wait with both desire and uncertainty. Wait for the brush of his mouth against mine. The wet slide of his tongue. The exhilaration of my fingers threading through that hair from his forehead all the way back to his neck. His stubble razor sharp against my soft flesh. His hands rough on my hips. “Let me hold that for you,” he says. Blinking rapidly, I realize he is reaching to take the bag from my hand and not to kiss me. I should feel relieved. I don’t. |
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