Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Pieces of Me: Love Forget Me Not, #2
    Pieces of Me: Love Forget Me Not, #2
    Pieces of Me: Love Forget Me Not, #2
    Ebook102 pages2 hours

    Pieces of Me: Love Forget Me Not, #2

    By Ashlyn Mathews

    1/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    It's been eighteen excruciating months of surgeries, intense rehab, and soul-searching therapy. Eighteen months of reliving my assault in my nightmares.

    I want the nightmares to stop. I want to pretend the scars on my body don't exist, but he won't let me. Every time his email hits my inbox, I'm reminded of his role in my assault, and I…I can't let him go.

    Imagine my surprise when he agrees to help me get over the trauma from that night. We'll meet face-to-face and talk. I'll get my closure then forget I ever met Gavin Langston.

    But when we finally meet again, he isn't the man I'm expecting. This man is different and more dangerous to my heart than I've ever imagined.

     

    Each book in the Love Forget Me Not series can be read as a standalone and in any order.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCommencement Bay Publishing
    Release dateAug 8, 2019
    ISBN9781393317494
    Pieces of Me: Love Forget Me Not, #2
    Author

    Ashlyn Mathews

    Ashlyn Mathews is a registered nurse with an overactive imagination. Her interests and activities include taking a lot of pictures of her golden retrievers and flowers and posting them on social media (occasionally she’ll post pictures of her kids and hubby), binge-watching funny and romantic Netflix shows, reading books and magazines of various genres, eating a lot of carbs, and drinking A LOT of coffee. Hot, iced, blended… it doesn’t matter as long as it has coffee. For more on her romance series, visit ashlynmathews.com.

    Read more from Ashlyn Mathews

    Related to Pieces of Me

    Titles in the series (3)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Short Stories For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Gabriel & Holly

      Feb 8, 2021

      The first day was the most daunting. It helped that she’d arrived last night to settle herself in the cottage annexe before first contact this morning. Still, nerves attacked her as she stood before the door of the imposing but charming ivy-covered 1

      6 min read

    • Article

      Healing

      Apr 15, 2020

      Healing
      9 min read

    • Article

      With this RING

      Jul 21, 2021

      With this RING
      6 min read

    • Article

      Lowdown On Love

      Feb 18, 2022

      Lowdown On Love
      1 min read

    • Article

      The ARRANGEMENT

      Aug 26, 2020

      The ARRANGEMENT
      3 min read

    • Article

      Dating? We All Make Mistexts

      Jun 9, 2022

      Dating? We All Make Mistexts
      2 min read

    • Article

      Good Bones

      Mar 19, 2020

      Good Bones
      18 min read

    • Article

      Now That I’ve Arrived

      Dec 30, 2020

      Now That I’ve Arrived
      5 min read

    • Article

      “I Escaped My Grandfather’s Sex Cult”

      Mar 16, 2022

      I was born into the Family, a religious movement founded in Huntington Beach, California, in 1968 by my grandfather David Brandt Berg, with help from his four children, including my father, Hosea. It was known as the Children of God in its early days

      8 min read

    • Article

      Penny

      Jul 2, 2020

      Penny
      6 min read

    • Article

      Choosing the Flowers

      Oct 10, 2022

      Choosing the Flowers
      10 min read

    • Article

      We Don't Talk About That Here

      Nov 4, 2021

      We Don't Talk About That Here
      4 min read

    • Article

      Out Of My TREE

      May 11, 2021

      Out Of My TREE
      3 min read

    • Article

      When Wendy Asked What We Dream

      Jul 1, 2019

      When Wendy asked what we dream, I wanted to say war and drowning. Not drowning exactly, but the moment when the choice is made to drown or not drown, before the mouth opens. Instead I said I never dream of cats. But that night I remembered the cats I

      16 min read

    • Article

      Pulling Up Azaleas

      Jan 10, 2023

      Throughout their lives, women are showered with bouquets of roses on numerous splendid occasions. But men? They’re only given flowers at their funeral. It’s a harsh world for men, as our lives tend to go unappreciated until death. Such was the case a

      22 min read

    • Article

      A Good Samaritan

      Dec 6, 2022

      It was hot that day, hot for the morning and hot for April and with a stickiness in the air that suggested something had to break. I was headed up the street to ask my neighbor Meech to give me a jump when I heard a scream come from the fourplex next

      10 min read

    • Article

      Here’s What I Don’t Say

      Jun 1, 2019

      Here’s What I Don’t Say
      13 min read

    • Article

      Getting Out of Prison Meant Leaving Dear Friends Behind

      Jun 1, 2018

      I have spent countless nights like this, lying awake, anticipating life, trying to escape imprisonment through my mind’s eye. I imagine the things I will do once I’m free. Flashes of me laughing with family and friends at a cookout or enjoying the co

      5 min read

    • Article

      Letters From The Pandemic

      Apr 27, 2020

      Letters From The Pandemic
      8 min read

    • Article

      Finding Peace—and Briefly, Freedom—at My Grandfather’s Funeral

      Oct 11, 2019

      “Saying goodbye with the people who loved him—and me—I remember that I am not the tomb that imprisons me.”

      6 min read

    • Article

      Where Night Stops

      Jan 15, 2018

      Where Night Stops
      6 min read

    • Article

      Soul Reader

      Mar 10, 2022

      A woman, a bird, a Pterodactyl? The thing came fast from the shadows, wings fluttered under the glow of one solitary lamp above the docks. I should never have had that last drink with Deny. I was drunk—maybe… sure, that was it—hallucinations. Her win

      26 min read

    • Article

      Waiting

      Sep 3, 2020

      Waiting
      6 min read

    • Article

      Little Gods

      Jan 8, 2020

      Little Gods
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Leather Coat

      Apr 4, 2024

      The Leather Coat
      6 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Pieces of Me

    1/5

    1 rating0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Pieces of Me - Ashlyn Mathews

      Pieces of Me

      Ashlyn Mathews

      Commencement Bay Publishing

      Copyright © 2019 by Ashlyn Mathews

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

      Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

      Cover design by BookCover4U

      Edited by Tanya Keetch

      Pieces of Me/Ashlyn Mathews -- 1st ed.

      It’s been eighteen excruciating months of surgeries, intense rehab, and soul-searching therapy. Eighteen months of reliving my assault in my nightmares.

      I want the nightmares to stop. I want to pretend the scars on my body don’t exist, but he won’t let me. Every time his email hits my inbox, I’m reminded of his role in my assault, and I…I can’t let him go.

      Imagine my surprise when he agrees to help me get over the trauma from that night. We’ll meet face-to-face and talk. I’ll get my closure then forget I ever met Gavin Langston.

      But when we finally meet again, he isn’t the man I’m expecting. This man is different and more dangerous to my heart than I’ve ever imagined.

      Who knows? Perhaps your love will make me forget all I wish not to remember.

      ~ Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

      One

      Ava

      The sun isn’t in my rearview but dead center in my line of sight as I take the turn that will get me to my place.

      I flip the visor down. My fingers shake from the memory that flashes in my mind, coming at me any time, day or night.

      Bright lights in the darkness. Twin beams. Headlights aimed at me. I’m drunk. Dazed. Not too certain I’m seeing what I’m seeing. I wave my arms to get the driver’s attention.

      Does the person see me? The car drives at me. Oh, God, oh God. I run and stumble in my high heels. Heels I’d bought specifically for this night out.

      Hulking metal slams into my body. Sharp pains. Bone breaking. I’m thrown in the air and hit the ground with a whoosh from my lungs.

      I gasp for breath and see stars behind my eyelids.

      I’m going to die.

      I’m going to die alone in this dark and empty street.

      I didn’t let my friends know I was going out tonight. Didn’t tell my dad, either. They would be all up in my business, and I’m not ready to share with them a piece of the good-looking hunk I’ve been messaging for the last month.

      Brakes screeching in the silence brings me back to the present. That same unbearable sharp pain gnaws at my left hip and shoots down my leg. I clamp my hand over my leg and dig my nails into my skin through my dress, hoping the pain from my fingernails will help ease the other pain.

      Sticky, wet goo on my fingers. I’m bleeding. Bleeding and broken. I need to call for help. I open my eyes and shield them from the glaring headlights with my blood-stained hand held high.

      The person behind the wheel has turned the car around, and I’m dead center in the street. The car comes at me.

      No. No. No.

      I cry out for help and scramble onto my hands and knees, dragging my small purse cinched at my wrist with me. A gunshot pierces the air. I duck my head and will my body to move, but my left leg doesn’t get the message.

      Another gunshot and the car veers to the side, missing me. I stretch out on the pavement and fumble for my purse.

      My heartbeats slam against my ribcage. Bile coats the back of my throat. I dry heave. Heavy footfalls come toward me.

      Oh, God, oh, God, the person is returning to hurt me. I grapple inside my purse for my cell phone. The footfalls get closer. I raise my head, but I’m tired. So tired.

      I stick out my arm in an attempt to stop another assault. A large hand grips my wrist. Thick fingers search for my pulse. A man. The heavy footfalls belong to a man.

      Help me, I croak.

      Silence.

      Please, I beg. I can’t see his face. It’s too dark. My hip, my leg…broken. Please.

      A ping breaks through the silence.

      His phone. He’s getting a message. He pulls out his phone the same time I grasp mine. His screen lights up the night, giving me a hazy view of his face through my drunken and shock state. I gasp, recognizing him.

      You were in the restaurant. My date and I arrived first. They gave us your table.

      The table with a stunning view of the city skyline. The most sought after table at the Ambrosia, according to my sophisticated, foodie friends when they later visited me at the hospital.

      He had made a scene when he saw me seated at the table, but acquiesced when my date returned from using the restroom. The annoying stranger with the quick temper never apologized to the hostess for reaming her out. What a jerk.

      My cell in my hand grows heavy. Call nine-one-one, please.

      The air shifts, and the man is…gone.

      But he isn’t gone.

      He’s been with me since that night. He comes to me in my nightmares. My dreams, too. Six months after my assault, he reached out to me through email. I almost deleted the message. Hesitated to respond.

      The questions I had from that night were answered by the detectives that handled my case.

      Why did you abandon me?

      Why didn’t you call for help?

      Why did you leave me in that empty street bleeding and in pain?

      The questions were answered to satisfaction by the detectives, but not him.

      I had called for help. I had stayed conscious long enough to tell the cops what happened.

      Gavin Langston?

      Gavin Langston didn’t so much as apologize or try to see me until that first email a year ago.

      I pull into my driveway and park. A bone-deep weariness weighs down my body. I shake off the mental exhaustion from reliving the memory and flip up the visor. My movement is slow and it takes effort to put the visor back in place.

      Pathetic how something as innocent and as beautiful as

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1