The Truth (15 page)

I can’t help
but giggle watching my perfect little boy as he splashes at the edge of the water. He is the spitting image of his father.

“Jimmy, don’t go in any further, baby,” I warn.

“Okay, Momma.”

We spend every day like this. We play together on the beach, outside of our small beach house. The waves are huge today and the view, as always, is stunning.

“Daddy!” I hear Jimmy shriek as he takes off in the direction of the house. I turn my head and see the love of my life walking over the hill of sand. He picks Jimmy up, and throws him over his shoulder, laughing and continues on to me. Placing Jimmy on the sand next to me, he pulls me up in his arms kissing me as if he hasn’t seen me in weeks instead of just this morning. Our lips and bodies fit together like a puzzle.

“Ewww!”

I pull away from the kiss and pat Jimmy on the head.

“Come on, boys, it’s starting to get chilly. Babe, call Milo in.” Milo is a scraggly, stray dog we took in.  He just showed up outside our door one day. I gave him some food and he’s never gone away. He is Jimmy’s best friend. I’m thankful for Milo since I can’t have any more children to give Jimmy a brother or a sister. I had to have my baby making parts removed after complications from the delivery. I’ve made peace with it, though. I am just so happy to have my one perfect little boy.

I walked away from my career long ago. After everything happened, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I waited for so long to be a mother and so that’s what I’m doing. The day I gave birth to James Nathaniel Davis was the happiest day of my entire life. The very moment they handed me a tiny bundle of pink screaming flesh, I fell more deeply in love than I could have ever dreamed. I chose his middle name because it means ‘gift from God,’ and that is precisely what he is—my beautiful, perfect little gift from God.

I realized, once and for all, that all those years, it wasn’t me. It was my mother’s own issues. I could no longer fathom how any mother could not fall head first in love with their child, no matter the circumstances. In that moment, I knew there was something wrong with her, and not me. I deserved better than what I got. I never got to tell her that, but I talk to her sometimes now when I visit the cemetery.

I forgave her when I married Keith. When you’re truly happy, it’s easier to let go of the things that only harm you. I took Keith’s last name when we married. It felt healing to also change my middle name. These days I go by Alyssa Hope Davis. What’s in a name? Sometimes, a name means everything.

The mistakes and hurt from my past feel like a lifetime ago. Part of me believes I died and was reborn the night so long ago when Keith saved me. He brought me back to life.

On the way into the house, I stop at the mailbox. Every time I see it, I smile. Three different sized handprints, in different color paints, adorn the side of it. We made it last year when we moved here. Jimmy and Keith are always building things together. This is one of them.

I take the stack of mail out and sift through. A postcard catches my eye. No return address, just a perfectly symmetrical butterfly drawn on the back. The picture on the front is of a straw hut, along the water, with a glorious sunset behind it. In the corner at the top, it says Bora Bora in purple lettering. I get a new post card from different places a few times a year. When I walk into the kitchen, I take out a shoebox from the top cabinet and place the card in with the others I’ve received before starting dinner.

I turn the sauce down to a simmer and look over to the floor where my angel is playing with my gift from God. My heart is finally filled with pure joy as I hear them giggle and wrestle in our humble little house.

I turn back to stir the sauce on the stove and I hear it—our song.

“Dance!” I hear Jimmy chant happily, as he claps his hands.

I feel Keith’s nose nuzzle into the back of my neck through my hair. His touch still makes my nerves scream in pleasure. Taking the spatula out of my hand, he places it on the spoon rest. “Dance with me,” he speaks softly into my hair, taking my hand and spinning me to face him.

On our wedding night, and every night since, we dance to our song. Some nights, it’s on the porch, some nights it’s in our bedroom before making love, but every day, we dance.

Our home is filled with love and laughter. I’ve finally learned it’s what makes a house a home. I am the simple wife of a police detective. I’m not part of the elite. I don’t have a fancy career and that’s okay because
this
is my happily ever after.

There are few truths in life, but these are the ones I have learned so far.

Money.

Money and status can buy you cars, it can get you girls, but it cannot buy you happiness. It won’t make you a good person, and it certainly can’t magically fix everything.

Friends.

No matter how long you may have been friends, you can never really know someone. Everyone has at least one secret that would make you cry, so judge gently.

Marriage.

Love at first sight is, more often than not, just like fireworks—they light up the sky for a while, but they burn out quick leaving you in darkness. Sparks fade so don’t marry the man who makes you see fireworks. Marry the one who is your best friend. Marry the man who knows all of your flaws and loves you, cracks and all.

Karma.

It is true—karma is a bitch who will bite you in the ass
every.single.time.
Unfortunately, for Grant Kennedy, he married a girl whose middle name was Karma.

Lies.

Small lies have a way of becoming big lies. Before you know it, they can get out of control. In the end, it is always best to tell the truth because some lies will only end in tragedy.

Hope.

Hope isn’t tangible, but it’s real. Hope heals. Even when the world seems unbearable, when you think there is no way out of the deep depths of the darkness, hold hope in your pocket. I promise you—eventually, it will guide you back to the light.

The End

Book number two
is a wrap, and I still can’t believe this is happening. I have to thank, first and foremost, the readers. Anyone, and everyone who has taken the time to read
Seasons
, and now
The Truth
, THANK YOU. It makes my day when I see a new review or a new reader mention one of my books. I don’t think it will ever get old. I just wanted all my readers to know you encourage me. I write for you!

I have to send a giant thank you to all of my Crazy B. Squad, who are there day and night to field idiotic questions or just cheer me on when I need them. I couldn’t do any of this without them. I love all you girls, Ginger Andrews, Norma Grijalva, Stephanie Gresham, Stephanie Schiefer, Jen Cousineau, Chelsea Barnes, Donna Watts, Sara Waldvogel, and Abby Stachon.

A huge thank you to my Street team members and friends who help spread the word about my books. Christy French, Megan Asmus, you girls rock! Thank you, I am grateful for all you do!

My family and my husband who put up with me when I get a book idea in my head and can’t shut up about it, until it’s on paper. Thank you.

Thank you to my jail and physician’s office insiders who helped me with research for this book, Carmine Seego and Sarah Zeigler-Olsen.

Ah, a shout out to my amazing alphas, betas, and proofreaders! Thank you for taking the time to help make my stories the best they can be. I appreciate the crap out of all of you!

My cover designer, Cassy Roop, thank you for bearing with me through a zillion cover ideas for each novel until we get it just right.

I want to give a special thank you to all the other amazing authors who inspire me with their breathtaking novels. One in particular, who allowed a little known to use the likes of one of her characters. Tarryn Fisher, you are a true artist. Your work astounds me and I see myself in your characters. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your blessing to use Olivia Kaspen. I adore her and I adore you for sharing her with us. Please, never stop doing what you do.

Last but not least, my editor. Rogena Mitchell-Jones, you saved Seasons. I will never forget you for it, and I hope I have done you proud with this novel. Thank you for all you do, not just editing the final product, but all along the way.

Seasons

In fairy tales,
the princess meets her prince.  He is her first, last, and only love.

But life isn’t a fairy tale and not everyone gets it right the first time. Often, we love many, each teaching us a lesson.

I had four great loves of my life who came and went like the seasons. Not all of my loves turned out to be princes. Some were nothing but a villain in shiny armor. 

Will I find my true prince charming? Or am I doomed to face the coldness of winter alone?

My name is Brynn Carsten, and these are the seasons of my life…

Katrina Alba is
a former Kindergarten teacher turned stay-at-home mom. She currently nanny's and writes full-time. She lives in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois with her husband and two small children. When she isn't running after her two little monsters, she can be found reading, watching reruns of Friends, or tending bar at the local watering hole.

Katrina started writing
her first book, My Children Hate Me, humorous, anecdotal tales of motherhood, as a form of mommy therapy. Romance stories have always been her preferred genre so she naturally ventured into them, as well. Much like her reading tastes, her writing style falls into many genres, too.

Connect with Katrina

Facebook:
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:
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:
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