Chapter 1
Nova
Easton Rowe, 35. Nova Allen, 28.
I stare at the peeling wallpaper in the cheap motel room until my sight begins to blur. When I blink, my eyes sting, so I keep them closed while a deep breath shudders from my chest.
Like a thief in the early morning hours, I ran from the place I’ve called home for the past three years. Except for a single bag of luggage, I left everything behind. I’ve heard the words “I’m sorry, it will never happen again” one too many times.
God, why did I stay so long?
In my defense, Trent wasn’t always abusive. Our first year together was good, but then he lost his job. With him being unemployed and my meager income from my part-time jobs, we struggled financially, and it brought out a mean streak in him.
With the despondent thoughts milling in my head, I open my eyes and glance around the room. There’s only a bed, a TV, and a small closet. Even though everything is old, it’s clean, at least.
When I suck in another deep breath, my ribs ache from where Trent kicked me the night before, but I know from bitter experience nothing is broken.
Glancing down, I stare at the angry handprint on my bicep. Unable to stomach looking at it any longer, I get up, and grabbing a sweater out of my luggage, I quickly put it on.
As I let out another heavy sigh, I sit down on the edge of the bed again, the hopeless feeling in my chest growing.
God, what am I going to do?
My life hasn’t been easy. Living in the small town of Verona in the Sugar River Valley area, it’s hard to find a decent job that pays well. At least, that’s what it’s been like for me. I also seem to attract the worst kind of men. Trent wasn’t the first one to abuse me, but I’ve had enough, and I’m swearing off all men from now on.
Why do I end up with men who beat women?
It’s time to make peace with the fact that a healthy romantic relationship isn’t in the cards for me.
It doesn’t look like anything good is in the cards for me.
My mind keeps jumping from one thought to the other, and I’m unable to focus on anything long enough to come up with a plan for what I should do next.
My phone rings, scaring the ever-loving crap out of me. I turn my head, and for a few seconds too long, I stare at my handbag that’s lying beside me on the bed.
I don’t want to talk to Trent. He’s probably calling to tell me to get my butt home.
I consider letting the call go to voicemail before I tentatively dig the device out of my bag.
I suck in a quivering breath while my hands tremble, and I brace to see Trent’s name, but when Rachel’s shows on the screen, I answer as quickly as possible.
“Rach?” My voice is hoarse from all the chaotic emotions warring in my chest.
She sobs, and it takes a moment before she gasps, “Nova.”
Instantly, my own problems vanish, and with urgency and worry lacing my tone, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I need you.”
“Are you okay?” I rush to grab my handbag and the luggage I haven’t unpacked yet. “Did something happen to Lainey?”
“No, Lainey’s fine,” she replies, her voice strained.
I suck in a deep breath before I dare to ask, “Easton?”
It would’ve been all over the news if something had happened to him.
“Easton is fine. I’ll tell you once you’re here. I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”
