Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
A forbidden, new adult romance set in a small town. Full description to come.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
TERRI GIBBS, “SOMEBODY’S KNOCKIN’”
1985
It was Easter morning when the devil sat in the back pew of my dad’s church. I stood front and center in the choir, singing the last line of “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” I barely recognized him until his gaze locked with mine, and he smirked.
Did he recognize me? I couldn’t imagine.
Isaac Cory enlisted in the service six years earlier because his dad threatened to shoot him after a minor scuffle with police that arose from impregnating the football coach’s daughter and driving her two hours north of Devil’s Head, Missouri, to a Planned Parenthood.
Danielle Harvey got around. I was twelve then, but I remember overhearing Dad tell my mom that Danielle needed to close her knees. It took a couple of years before I made that connection. After all, my mom used to tell me to close my knees when I wore a dress without tights. Mom later gossiped to Sandy, our neighbor, down the way, that Isaac was equally as guilty.
So after Coach Harvey called the police and threatened to kill Isaac, Wesley Cory grabbed his shotgun and led his oldest son to the barn for what he called a coming to Jesus moment. Right after graduation, Isaac enlisted.
“Praise the Lord,” Dad said as the choir sat along the three rows of wood benches that cracked like the old wood flooring. “Let us pray.”
The congregation all bowed their heads—except Isaac. He unwrapped a Cadbury Creme Egg and took a bite. The white fondant dripped down his chin.
I snorted, smacking a hand over my mouth. Keeping my chin tucked to my chest, I shifted my gaze to my dad, Pastor Jacobson. He scowled at me while thanking God for sacrificing His Son for our sins. I feared he might sacrifice me next, so I pinched my eyes shut and folded my hands in my lap, squeezing so tightly that my fingers felt numb.
By the time the congregation echoed my dad’s “Amen,” Isaac had finished the egg and wiped his chin clean.
“Is that Matt’s brother?” my best friend Heather leaned over and whispered in my ear. Her breath smelled like the fruity jellybeans she’d been sneaking between songs.
It was a reprieve from the usual smell of musky hymnals and burning candles.
“I think so,” I said through clenched teeth and a fake smile.
Isaac used to have long, black hair, a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and an ear that he pierced himself. He and his friends formed a band in high school. My dad called their music an abomination to God.
And if I recall correctly, that might have been their official band name.
Isaac now had buzzed hair, no earrings, broad shoulders, and a chiseled jawline. He’d become a man in every sense of the word.
During the rest of the sermon, Heather nudged me with her elbow, then her knee, and sometimes she tapped my shoe with hers.
We became friends before we took our first steps, so she didn’t have to say a word. I knew what every poke and jab meant— my boyfriend’s older brother was hot.
“Have a blessed rest of your Easter,” Dad said, looking like a Ken doll with his pearly smile and coiffed blond waves. He shifted his blue eyes toward the choir, our cue to stand and lead everyone with the closing hymn, “It Is Well with My Soul.”
Minutes later, the choir hung their red robes in the back closet next to my dad’s office, which smelled like instant coffee. I joined my parents and two younger sisters, Eve and Gabby, at the altar before we exited the church together as we did every Sunday. Matt and his family waited at the bottom of the church stairs. We were invited to their house for Easter dinner.
My boyfriend looked handsome in his Sunday best: a navy suit and Robin’s egg blue tie. His dirty blond hair was coarse and wavy, like his mother’s, whereas Isaac looked exactly like his dad Wesley—tan skin, dark hair, and deep brown eyes that could bring even the strongest person to shake in their boots.
“Happy Easter, Sarah,” Matt’s mom Violet hugged me. “You look so pretty.” She released me, smoothing her hands down my long blond hair to my white cardigan over a pink sleeveless dress.
Dad insisted shoulders be covered in church, only making exceptions for brides in their wedding gowns. I assumed he figured they were on the verge of becoming women by losing their virginity because, in my father’s eyes, all brides were pure.
“Thank you,” I murmured to Violet as she combed her long nails through her feathered blond hair just as Matt took my hand.
“Isaac, you don’t look like the same boy who left here,” my dad said, shaking Isaac’s hand and eyeing his ripped jeans, dirty cowboy boots, and wrinkled white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to show the world his tattoos, including a heart with a knife through it.