Into the light, p.1
Into the Light, page 1
Into the Light
J B Glazer
JBG Press
Copyright © 2022 J B Glazer
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Published by JBG Press
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Books by J B Glazer
Out in the Open
I Should Have Said Yes
Lost & Found Series
In Search of Mr. Anonymous (Book One)
Finding Forgiveness (Book Two)
The Elements Series
Into the Fire
Into the Light
Into the Deep (Coming soon)
Table of Contents
The Beginning of the End
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Epilogue
A Note From J B
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The Beginning of the End
Growing up, my mother always warned me about the perils of spending too long in the sun. As someone who saw the glass half empty, she was focused on the damage it could cause. The sun will wreak havoc on your skin, she used to tell me as she ticked the reasons off on her perfectly manicured fingers: pre-mature wrinkles, sunburn, age spots, and heaven forbid, freckles. Most of her concerns were connected to appearance, naturally. Because my mother was all about appearances. I never could grasp how something so bright and beautiful could be harmful. At a young age I understood it was all about moderation and taking the necessary precautions, like wearing sunscreen. But moderation is a concept Eleanor Woodward never quite grasped. Things were always black and white for her with no in-between. I never saw things that way—I chose to live my life in a rainbow of colors.
Looking back, I wonder if she knew, and perhaps, she was preparing me. I used to love spending my days in the sun, absorbing its rays until my skin was golden brown. As a young girl, I’d mourn those hours when the sun went to sleep, eager to bask in her glory once a new day dawned. Now all I want is the blackness of night. It’s funny how light and dark are opposites, but they are also co-dependent. One can’t exist without the other. I understand the concept fully. How you come to rely on someone until you can’t function without them, and when they leave, they leave you in darkness. And yet the sun keeps rising.
Now the sun’s brightness is no longer beautiful, but blinding. You no longer want to be reminded of her promise or optimism. You know it no longer applies to you. So, in my case, I choose to draw the shades and block out the light. The room is cloaked in darkness and I relish in the stillness—the only sound the steady beeping of my heartrate monitor. I’m surprised it’s still registering a signal, because it feels as if my heart has been ripped to shreds. I blink my eyes a few times and they slowly adjust to my surroundings. There’s a faint glow from the machinery next to my bed and the crack under the door, casting an eerie shadow across the room. I kind of like it—it’s fitting. There’s a knock at the door, which I ignore. My mother is the only visitor I’ve had, and the one person I don’t want to see.
“Time for breakfast, Victoria.” A nurse pushes her way in with a tray and sets it down in front of me. All the staff here refer to me as Victoria. I don’t bother to correct them. I eye the pancakes, melon, and carton of orange juice but turn away.
“You know you need to eat something so you can get on home.”
“I know.” I also know home is the last place I want to be.
She continues chattering on in a too cheery voice that it’s a beautiful day outside as she attempts to open the blinds.
“Leave them.”
“Victoria, you’ve been sitting here in the dark for days. I think some sunshine would do you good.”
“No.”
She hesitates but obeys my wishes.
“Today’s a special day for you.” She waits for some sort of acknowledgment. When I don’t respond she plows on. “Happy eighteenth birthday.”
I didn’t even know it was today. Since I’ve been here the days have blended together. I shrug, unable to form an appropriate response.
“It’s a new beginning for you.” She places her hand on my arm and I wince, which she mistakes as a response to her touch.
“How’s your pain level today?”
Excruciating. “The same.”
She nods as she adjusts the meds in my IV. “This should help.”
If only I could tell her that the pain isn’t from the accident at all, but rather, the aftermath. Still, I welcome the relief that flows through my veins, causing my limbs and eyelids to grow heavy. Pretty soon I will drift off into my fantasy world, and then I can see him again. Jeremy McAllister: my first and only love. I’ll see those emerald green eyes that sparkled with mischief. Those perfect lips that somehow electrified my whole body. Those hands that held mine and seemed to take on the weight of the world. I’ll remember the way his boyish smile made my heart race and the bright future we had planned. I’ll remember it all the way I want to: in the before. Because now it’s all been ripped away.
As I hover on the brink of consciousness, I wish I could stay here forever, in this cocoon that’s shielding me from the harsh reality that is my life. Or the end of it. Because when I leave this hospital room I’ll be going home alone. How can I tell her this isn’t the life I had planned? That I want to rewind. That this is not a new beginning, but the beginning of the end.
Chapter 1
Shay – Time Stands Still
I was born to dance. Those were the words of my first ballet instructor, Marta. I was only five years old, but my mother clung to Marta’s wisdom and made it her mission to fulfill my potential. So, it’s hard not to move in time to the music as I hurry down the courtroom steps. But I have not danced in seven years, ever since I withdrew my acceptance to Juilliard.
For a moment, I let my mind travel back in time. The idyllic snow-covered streets. My black patent leather Mary Janes with their delicate satin bows leaving footprints as we walked. My father holding my gloved hand in his. He took me to see a Broadway performance of The Nutcracker. It was just the two of us, and my first theater experience. Nothing could prepare me for the sheer magic. It was not the Sugar Plum Fairy with her sparkly wings or the sinister Mouse King that came to life. I was mesmerized by the ballerinas and the grace with which they moved. Standing on their toes with their legs reaching the sky, their skirts billowing as they twirled and leaped, I thought they were the most beautiful sight. Even at that young age, I knew I was witnessing something exceptional. And I decided that day when I grew up, I wanted to be a dancer.
Some things aren’t meant to be.
I deposit a few bills into the violin case of the street musician and he gives me a grateful nod. Then I go in search of a cab. Traffic is heavy but cabs are few and far between. My irritation grows as I hold out my arm, but to no avail. I’m late, and there’s nothing more I hate than running late. Judge Klein was heavy on the lectures today. And once we adjourned, my client had an endless supply of questions. Normally I would be happy to spend an hour going through each item on her list, but not today.
Now I’m running behind. I glance at my watch and debate if I should just show up to Veronica’s engagement party in my business suit. The one that smells of stale coffee from my earlier spill, with wrinkles that rival Judge Klein’s given I’ve been sitting in court the latter part of the afternoon. I think Veronica would understand if I missed the first twenty minutes of cocktail hour. And she’s expecting quite a turnout, so she may not even notice.
My mother engrained the importance of punctuality since I was a young girl, among many other social etiquettes. Just to annoy her I used to take my time, drawing out the minutes as long as I could until she tapped her foot with impatience and used that clipped tone that implied I’d better do as she said or there would be consequences. I grew tired of paying the price, so for better or worse, I embraced her lesson.
“Victoria? Is that you?”
At first, I don’t realize the woman is talking to me. Few people call me Victoria. She takes a step closer.
“Victoria, Genevieve Rossum.”
“Oh, hello.”
She gives me the once over. I try not to do the same, but it’s hard to miss the pearls around her neck and the quilted Chanel handbag on her arm that likely cost as much as my last settlement.
“You look wonderful, dear. Chicago suits you.”
“Oh, thank you.”
Just then a cab pulls up and she opens the door and slides in.
“Do tell Eleanor I say hello.”
Of course, a friend of my mother’s would steal my cab. Eleanor Woodward is a complicated woman, and much to my chagrin, she is also my mother. She often lamented my mission was to spite her, just as hers was to make my life miserable. I try to speak to her as little as possible, yet somehow she manages to meddle in my affairs, even from afar.
Ten minutes later I’m able to flag down another cab. The cost is much cheaper than an Uber during rush hour. Traffic is crawling and my nerves are on edge. As long as I’m stuck here, I may as well be productive, so I use the time to catch up on my emails. A few minutes later a text notification flashes on my screen.
Corey: Want to meet for drinks later?
Me: Can’t. Tonight is Veronica’s engagement party.
Corey: Aww, another time. Have fun. Maybe you’ll snag a cute groomsman
Me: Maybe
Corey: Open mind. Remember?
Me: Always. xoxo
And I do always try to keep an open mind. I just never succeed.
Once the cab drops me off, I dash upstairs. I slip on a black sheath dress, freshen my makeup, and finger comb my chestnut, shoulder length hair to give it a tousled look. Then I begin the task of hailing another cab. At least this time I don’t have to wait. On the ride over to the restaurant I reflect on how much has changed in the past few months. I am so happy Veronica and Rob found their happy ending. She and I became friends volunteering at Chicago Hopes for Kids. We’re alike in a lot of ways, so when she told me she was going to be living with a man she just met I thought she was crazy. But still, I encouraged her to go for it. It was clear to me she felt an immense connection with him. And I know firsthand how rare that is to find—and lose. They had a tumultuous love affair that ended up with him saving her, in every way that matters. I wish I could find someone who would dive headfirst into the fire for me. I thought I’d found him, but I turned out to be very wrong. A picture of Jeremy forms in my mind and the hollow spot in my chest grows larger. I attempt to push down the ball of remorse, but it has a life of its own, threatening to choke me until I can’t breathe. Whenever I think of Jeremy I’m overwhelmed by the depths of my sorrow, even after all this time. Not tonight. Tonight is about celebrating the love between two people I care about. And I won’t let him ruin that. It’s about looking forward, something I know I need to do.
I pay the cabbie, smooth out my dress, and take a deep breath. Veronica and Rob rented out the entire restaurant. I get in line for the coat check and scan the room, looking for someone I know. Keep an open mind. I grab a cocktail from a passing waiter and make my way over to Veronica.
“Shay! I’m so glad you could come.”
“Of course I’d be here,” I tell her as I give her a quick hug. “Where’s Rob?”
“He’s around here somewhere. I’m so excited I can finally introduce you to his business partner. I think you two would hit it off.”
She’s mentioned Rob’s business partner on a handful of occasions. I know they met in college and he’s Rob’s closest friend. I’ve always changed the subject when she’s brought it up. I sensed she wanted to play matchmaker. But I guess there’s no avoiding it tonight.
“Oh, there they are now,” she says.
I watch as Rob approaches. He is extremely handsome, and with his tall frame and strong build, he turns heads wherever he goes. But tonight, he’s not the man who’s caught my attention. It’s the man by his side. My head swims as though the earth just tilted on its axis. I am momentarily frozen—my legs rooted in place. I can’t breathe, let alone move. But my heart still beats wildly in my chest. My pulse races. Every cell in my body prickles with awareness. When our eyes meet time stands still. There’s a whooshing in my ears and everything else fades away. But he’s in vivid color. For a brief moment something flickers in his emerald green eyes. I know it the moment the light is extinguished. A shadow crosses his features. The chill dances across my skin and I pull my wrap tighter around me. He gives me the briefest of head nods. Just a sliver of an acknowledgement. Then he whispers something to Rob and disappears. He has walked away from me, just as he did all those years ago.
Chapter 2
Then, Jeremy
I take the last of the glasses out of the dishwasher and hand them to Pete, who dries them with a rag before stacking them on a shelf. Restless, I glance at the clock again. Four forty-five. “Roy, you OK if I go on break?”
“Go ahead.”
I grab a Sprite from the cooler, but not before leaving my dollar twenty-five on the counter.
“Dude, you’re the most regimented person I’ve ever met.”
My co-worker, Pete Samuels, has been on the same shift as me the past week. He’s more perceptive than I thought. I shrug, not wanting to waste time on small talk. Instead, I head outside into the sunshine and sit beneath my favorite tree. It’s a weeping willow and its huge canopy provides me with plenty of shade—and a perfect view of the front entrance. Like clockwork, at four-fifty a black sedan pulls up to the circle drive. The back passenger door opens and she emerges. From my vantage point, I can see she’s wearing her customary black leotard and pink dance tights, her golden-brown hair is pulled into a bun. All too soon she walks through the revolving glass door and out of sight.
“One day you’ll get up the nerve to talk to her.”
I didn’t realize Pete followed me out here. “She’s out of my league.”
“Probably.”
While I know it to be true, it doesn’t help to hear someone else confirm it.
“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
“Now you sound like my mom. And trust me, that girl and I come from different worlds.”
“Speaking of which, boss wants you to mow by the courts.”
I take a final swig of my soda and toss the bottle in the trash. I’d tell him I have another five minutes left, but working by the courts is just fine by me. I head to the shed and retrieve the mower. I’m surprised Roy asked me to mow while the courts are full, but I assume he wants the lawn cut before the rain comes. I start on the far end and make the lines nice and even so I don’t have to redo my work.
She’s on court six. She’s changed into a tennis skirt and collared shirt. I like this uniform even better because it shows off her toned legs. I steal glances at her while I work. There’s a gracefulness about her as she moves toward the net. I can only imagine what she looks like when she dances. Her partner lobs the ball and it lands a few feet away from me. I cut the engine and try not to appear too eager as I grab it. She’s standing at the fence, watching as I approach. I’ve never seen her this close before. Her eyes are a startling shade of cornflower blue. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. It’s not only her looks, but her aura. I stop when I reach the fence and for a moment we just stare at one another. Something in her expression changes—surprise, maybe?—and in that moment, I wish I could be someone worthy of her affection. She doesn’t say a word so I toss it over. The ball bounces past her but she doesn’t move.
