Not so broken love grows.., p.1
Not So Broken (Love Grows Series Book 1), page 1
Table of Contents
Not So Broken
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
A Note To My Readers
Not So Broken
Love Grows Series, Book One
By
Renee Regent
Copyright © Renee Regent 2019
Published by Royal Turtle Publishing
Edited by Chris Hall
Cover design by T.E. Black Designs
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All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any printed or electronic format without express written permission. For permission or rights information, please contact the publisher at royalturtlepub@gmail.com. Or write to:
Royal Turtle Publishing
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Canton, Ga 30114
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Not So Broken/Love Grows Series/Renee Regent
ISBN: 978-0-9981328-8-4
Thanks to all my writer friends for their support, especially Amy, Elaine, Dodie, Kat, and Eliza for their invaluable feedback. Thanks to Chris Hall of The Editing Hall for her editing expertise, and T.E Black Designs for her awesome cover work. Special thanks to to Danny Lankford, for imparting his wisdom about the beverage industry; my sister, Karen, for her enthusiastic support; and for Eric, my very own hero.
Not So Broken
Chapter One
Gibson
It's amazing what a man can do when he has no choice.
Like chopping wood with a big-ass axe. I'd run short of firewood a few times last winter, and the old pot belly stove in my cabin needed to be fed on a regular basis once the cold set in. Winter in the North Georgia mountains was short, but it could be as moody as an angsty teenager. That's why I was drenched in sweat, and my arms were beginning to ache as I split log after log. But I welcomed the pain. It was a penance, of sorts.
Four p.m. on a hot day in mid-August probably wasn't the best time to be chopping wood but keeping my hands busy calmed my mind and kept me from returning the phone call I was dreading.
I hefted the axe and swung, enjoying the sharp cracking sound the log made as it split. This was some real lumberjack stuff. I tossed the wood on the growing pile and adjusted the plastic glasses I wore to protect my eyes from flying debris. Considering my attire-jeans, work boots, the lightweight plaid shirt, not to mention my bushy blond beard-I probably looked like a modern-day Paul Bunyan. All that was missing was a woolen cap and suspenders.
The truth was, I was beginning to enjoy this simple life-chopping wood, living in a rustic cabin in the middle of a forest, and earning a living by working with my hands.
I didn't miss being a billionaire at all.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket, mocking me. I didn't have to look to know who it was. I knew when Dad's voicemail came through six hours earlier that it would be another round of pointless arguments. Cell reception was spotty this deep in the woods, and I'd been too busy working all day to return the call sooner.
Well, that was my story and I was sticking to it. I caught the call just before it went to voicemail.
"Hey, Dad. What's up?"
"Right now, I'm about to have dinner with a client so I'll get to the point. I need your final answer soon. You've had enough time to nurse your wounds, Gib. Time to man up and get back to work."
Damn. He doesn't get it. I set down the axe and walked up the steps to my cabin. It gave me a moment to squelch the anxiety swirling in my stomach.
After my world fell apart, I took off on my motorcycle and ended up here in Tilly, Georgia. It's the perfect place to hide out. Small town, gorgeous scenery, and tons of solitude. I may stay here forever, as Gib Cole, local handyman. I was born John G. Colebank III, heir to the Colebank fortune, but that person no longer exists. At least in my mind. But my father hasn't accepted that fact yet. I took a calming breath and stilled my growing anxiety.
"You forget I'm a grown man, not some lovesick teenager. And frankly, I'm appalled you'd make light of the situation. You know what happened. It's nothing to joke about."
The moment of silence on the line followed by a sigh, told me my point had hit home.
"I'm not making light of it, son. It's just…I can't give you much more time. Our line of work demands constant attention, especially now that it's booming. I need to know if you're on board for the long haul or not."
My reply died on my lips. This was so not the way I'd wanted my life to go. It had been over a year since that awful day when my world shattered. I had made a decision that ended in tragedy, and I had since taken full responsibility for it.
It didn't mean I was ready or willing to go on as though it had never happened. I also knew I probably wouldn't stay in Tilly for the rest of my life, but I couldn't see going back to being who I was before.
I cleared my throat of the lump that was forming and took a breath.
"I can't give you an answer right now. I'm sorry. I'm just starting to feel like myself again."
That was a lie because I no longer felt at all like the man I was long ago. The eldest son and heir to a luxury resort and vacation rental empire; an ambitious, power-hungry player who lived for the conquest, be it financial or sexual. That man had faded into the ethers. Gone were the fine suits and devoted staff to take care of my every need. I no longer had women falling all over me, eager for a moment in the spotlight or for the pretty things I'd toss their way.
Now I wore jeans and work boots and cooked my own meals. I had no interest in relationships and kept pretty much to myself. Hell, I didn't even have Internet at the cabin, and my phone was a cheap prepaid thing. I was better off alone since I had nothing left to offer anyone.
Exasperation laced my father's tone, but his next words gave me what I was hoping for-more time.
"You have until your birthday to decide. If you're not on board by then, I'm cutting you off."
It could be an empty threat, but with my father, any outcome was possible. John Colebank II hadn't become one of the richest men in Atlanta by playing nice or by making idle threats. I was one of the few people who would stand up to him, and only when necessary.
It seemed this was one of those times. Still, I tried to rein in the sarcasm in my voice. No need to be disrespectful.
"I've already done that myself, haven't I?"
"You know what I mean. Don't be a smart ass. I have to go. We'll talk later."
The crisis was averted. For now. My next birthday, my fortieth, was several months away.
I let out a long sigh, more of a groan really, and entered the cabin. The now-familiar scent of musty wood enveloped me like a favorite old blanket. I laid the phone on the counter and walked to the kitchen. I had no appetite so I grabbed a beer from the fridge and took it to the back deck.
A panorama of colors greeted me. Rolling hills as far as I could see peppered by a mosaic of changing leaves. Deep green with flecks of orange and red were a preview of the spectacular display that would be here, come October. A breeze rustled the nearby trees, cooling me. The mood had changed again.
I had cut myself off from my family and their fortune the day I called to say I wouldn't be coming home, nor keeping my position at the company. They had been furious, shocked, confused. My grief over the death of my wife and our unborn child was understandable. After all, my family had been grieving too. But it was obvious my sudden withdrawal from the world made no sense to anyone else but me.
It was simply something I had to do.
I'd wandered in to Tilly one day, a broken man. For some reason, the place called to me. Sanctuary was what my soul needed, and the mountains provided that in abundance. I used some of my own money to rent the cabin, and then to buy an old truck and some tools, paying cash for all of it. From then on, I have lived on what I made from odd jobs around town and haven't touched the millions stashed away in my personal bank accounts and stock portfolio.
Just like that, I started a new life. It was as though the tragedy of my past had never happened.
Now if I could only convince myself to believe it.
~*~
Sacha
It's amazing what a woman can do when she has a goal.
I was in the midst of packing my suitcase for yet another road trip for work, when a knock sounded on the door of my apartment. It wasn't just any knock but the knock. My neighbor Melanie and I had a specific knock, three short then silence, followed by two more knocks. That way we knew who was at the door. Living alone, you couldn't be too careful.
I opened the door to let her in, and she blew me a kiss as she went straight to my kitchen.
"Hey, girl. What's cooking?"
Melanie's question was rhetorical, but I answered anyway. "Nothing. But I have some cheese and crackers laid out on the counter and some wine in the fridge."
"That's why I love living next door. You always have the good stuff."
It really was the good stuff. But then, I'm a liquor and wine sales rep so I have an edge. Plus, a trip to the gourmet section of my local market that afternoon had been a success. I'd scored some aged fontina, sour cherry chutney, and garlic salami. Melanie sniffed the tray, her dark eyes lighting up.
"This will go perfect with that bottle of Shiraz, won't it?"
"You bet. Go ahead and pour us some, I'm almost done packing."
As I reached the bedroom door, I heard Melanie ask, "Where are you going this time?"
Travel was one of the things I liked about my job-sometimes. The long hours on the road would often make me lonely. But when I visited a new town, there was excitement about the possibility of writing a high-dollar beverage order. Of course, there was also anxiety over striking out. But there was always hope.
This time, though, I needed to score big. I'd set myself a monthly sales goal that was nearly impossible, not only to gain extra pay but because I was vying for a promotion to regional manager. I was on a mission-I had a dream to finance and failure was not an option.
"I'm going to this little town up in the mountains called Tilly. Have you heard of it?"
"Yeah, my band played in a bar there once. Years ago."
Melanie entered the bedroom and handed me a glass of wine. Then she sat on the bed, crossed her long legs, and took a sip from her own goblet. Dressed in yoga pants and a faded tee shirt, with her long, dark locks in a ponytail, she looked nothing like her onstage rock diva persona. I adored her. Her band, Sparker, was really good, and she sang like an angel gone bad.
"You recall the name of the place?"
"Nah. I heard it burned down or something. But the town itself is cute. Like a little European village smack in the middle of the North Georgia Mountains."
I threw some lingerie and a sleep shirt in the case and zipped it shut. I tend to travel light.
"I've heard it's nice, but I'm only staying for one night. The last guy my company sent up there came back virtually empty-handed. No chain restaurants, and the bars in town are run by locals who are not fond of newcomers. But the city recently passed an ordinance that relaxed the liquor laws, so I figured maybe it was time to try again."
"Maybe. Well, if anyone can do this, it's Sacha Rowan, the Queen of Liquor Sales in Atlanta. But take time to have some fun while you're there."
I picked up my glass from the nightstand and held it up in a toast to Melanie's confidence in me. "Well, I'll be working most of the time. Not going there for fun. C'mon, let's eat."
We stood at the kitchen counter, talking as we nibbled. I'd almost cleaned out the fridge, so there was an assortment of veggies and fruits to go along with the cheese and crackers. I listened to Melanie gossip about the neighbors while I glanced around my apartment. It was small, but I loved everything about it-the dark wood floors, white walls, and eclectic décor that had taken me months to find. It was decorated to suit me and no one else. One of the perks of living alone.
But those perks were few, and I had a long-term plan to change my status. I was doing everything in my power to make my dream come true, and if it did, I'd never be lonely again.
~*~
Friday morning, I called a few clients to make sure their orders had gone in correctly before the weekend. Even though I was used to driving all over Atlanta, it was a welcome change to be heading away from it for a few days. Between increasing traffic and non-stop road construction, my days had become torturous. I wasn't getting any younger, and the hours I've been putting in sure weren't getting any shorter.
The drive to Tilly was uneventful, except for the phone call from my mother. Julia, bless her heart, loved to keep track of everyone she knew on social media, including my ex-husband, Kevin. I rarely had the time or patience for it, but she told me anyway.
"Mom, you know you're gossiping, right?"
I was born in New Jersey, and we moved to Georgia when I was in middle school. I'd lost my northern accent, except for a word or two. But my mother's "Jersey voice" made every story she told sound dramatic.
"I swear, Sach, I'd bet a million bucks she's pregnant again. Not even trying to hide the freaking baby bump."
"What part of 'I don't care' do you not understand?"
It was a bald-faced lie, but I'd never admit it. I actually did care that Kevin's new wife was pregnant again. Even though it was none of my business.
It was because of her I was now listening to my mother discussing the cause of the worst year of my life.
The fact that Julia was hundreds of miles away didn't slow her down much. She still called me, her only daughter, nearly every day. Even so, I missed her. Especially the past few years while I was going through hell with Kevin and his antics. Lately, with work and all the traveling, I rarely had time for social media, thus the phone calls from her to keep me updated.
"Well, I thought you'd like to know. Where are you going now? How are you ever going to date if you're always on the road?"
"I'm not worried about dating. And I like my life the way it is."
Another lie, but I was working to change things.
When mom remarried five years ago and moved back to New Jersey, Kevin and I had already been married for two years. I thought we were happy, working together at his catering business, buying a house, the usual married life. I'd wanted to have kids right away, but there always seemed to be a reason why it wasn't the right time. He never came out and said he didn't want children, but he never seemed excited about the prospect either.
Mom's voice on the car speaker was skeptical. "Really? Like your job and that tiny apartment are enough. I know you better than that."
"It's fine. For now."
"Mmhmm. Well, I still can't get over how he treated you. It's been almost two years since you split up, but still. Now, to hear they're having another baby…"
I gripped the steering wheel, forcing down the anxiety that reared every time I discussed having children. My mother wanted a grandchild as much as I wanted to give her one. What she didn't realize was how it hurt to be reminded that I would likely never be able to conceive. I couldn't bring myself to admit it out loud, though, and she had never addressed it directly, either.
"Yeah, I know, Mom. This will be their third child. Not our concern, really. I have to go now. Call you tomorrow."
I didn't want to be reminded of how my marriage ended, but now the memories came flooding back.
Eventually, I had grown tired of waiting for the perfect time to start a family and told Kevin I was no longer on the pill. After a huge argument, he agreed we'd try to conceive. I was happy and hopeful, but somewhere deep inside I could sense his heart wasn't in it.
We tried for two years, with no luck. My periods had always been irregular, even when I was on the pill, so every month it was a continual cycle of raised hope and bitter disappointment. Kevin began to avoid my sexual advances, saying he was too tired or not in the mood. I chalked it up to the stress of trying to conceive and decided we needed to take a break. I left for a two-week vacation to visit Mom and see some old friends. I thought some time apart might rekindle our spark, and when I returned home, we'd be happy again, and I would finally conceive.
Maneuvering my little compact car up the winding mountain road, I realized now that vacation had been the beginning of the end. It was a decision that at the time had seemed to be inconsequential. I had never been so wrong about anything in my life.
