Break My Fall by M. Mabie
Publication Date: August 28, 2018
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Designer: Jay Aheer, Simply Defined Art
Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography
Model: Jamie Walker
Synopsis: "The first time I returned to Lancaster was for my brother's funeral.
The second time was for Myra."
For twelve years, I lived alone in my cabin, building a life with my two bare hands. I was free from their rules, their policies, and their lies.
They are a cult.
My father is their leader.
To protect my brother's widow, I'm making her my wife. It's her only way out.
But drawn to the purity in her deep blue eyes and the innocence of her gentle voice, I wonder if I'm not the biggest monster of them all. I have to save her from them and myself. Because every second I spend with this timid woman, I fight the urge to claim her.
Own her.
Make her truly mine.
And I know it's wrong.
I will break her fall—if I don't break her first.
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Excerpt:
A cloud of smoke followed the silver-haired woman out the door of the main building onto the covered porch outside, and she shot the butt of her cigarette into the dirt in front of the semi.
“Your mother’s been trying to reach you.”
My phone had died two days earlier, and I’d forgotten to bring a charger. Mom was the only person I still spoke with from Lancaster, but it was rare for her to call me, and I only reached out a few times a year.
“Say what she wanted?” I asked and slid my hands into worn leather gloves.
“Honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your brother passed away last night.”
Ted Grier hung back in the doorway, watching. Both of their faces wore sympathy.
“Pardon?”
“Your brother passed, Abe. You should call her back. Come on in and use the phone.”
I hadn’t spoken to my brother in years, but when I left home with no plans to return, I just assumed things would stay how I left them. They’d cling to their Bibles and bands and keep living in their own warped version of reality. They’d stay tucked under the strict thumb of the Legacies and God, or at least the way they interpreted him, and I’d live my life in the woods, free of their judgment and rules.
Alone and how I liked it.
They lived how they wanted, and I did the same.
I squinted in the mid-day sun, and the tension in my neck pinched even tighter.
“Jacob died?”
Ted limped to the stoop, tapped a Camel from his pack and lit it. “Son, you wanna come inside for a minute? Call your family?”
I did not. Calling them was the last thing I wanted.
It was almost noon, and I still had more than half day’s work to finish. The tobacco in the air was thick as I pulled it into my chest. “I’ll call when I get home.”
It was supposed to rain for the next four days in the hills, and there was work that needed to be done. Calling in the middle of the day wasn’t going to do anything but put me behind, and my brother would still be dead that evening.
My Review
This was a great refreshing read for me with the cult aspect thrown in I was expected a biker group feel but that was not what I got. I got a lot more emotion than that. Abe and Maya were great characters. I was hooked once I started it and now I need more after the slight cliffhanger ending. I can't wait to read book 2.
*I received an ARC in exchange for an honest review
Meet The Author:
M. Mabie lives in Illinois with her husband. She writes everything from steamy romantic comedies to angst-filled, pull your hair out drama. She enjoys it all. With her unconventional love stories, she tries to embody "real-life romance."
She cares about politics, but will not discuss them in public. She uses the same fork at every meal, watches Wayne's World while cleaning, and lets her dog sleep on her head. She has always been a writer. In fact, she was born with a pen in her hand, which almost never happens. Almost.
M. Mabie usually doesn't speak in third-person. She promises.
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Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
Her hands rest on her hips, the navy-blue Grecian-style dress draped down the length of her body, a small slit on the side that barely reaches her knee. “You’re really fixated on this, aren’t you?”
“Nah, didn’t care too much. A homemade dinner would have been nice, though.”
“I can’t cook.”
“Neither can I,” I answer honestly. I either eat out, or I make myself scrambled eggs, and that’s about it. Rory taught me how to make meatballs once but hell if I can remember how to do that. All I know is that I enjoyed crushing the beef between my fingers. I get by with limited knowledge in the kitchen.
She chuckles. “Well, aren’t we a pair?” She turns to watch Stryder and Rory together. Apparently not giving a shit about the even bigger elephant in the room, Ryan asks, “Is this weird for you?”
“I have a flask in my jacket pocket, so you tell me.”
She lifts her bouquet and pulls out a mini bottle of alcohol. She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Thought maybe we’d both need this since we have to sit through having all these pictures taken with them.”
“Smirnoff? That’s what you brought with you?”
“It was all I had. Don’t judge me.”
“I’m judging.”
Playfully she whacks my arm. “You shouldn’t be judging me. It was innovative. I carved out a little space in my bouquet for this bottle. If anything, you should congratulate me on this genius idea.”
“Was it your idea?”
“I mean”—she toes the ground—“I might have seen the idea on Pinterest along with a recipe for beer cookies that tasted like vomit.”
“Beer cookies?” I shake my head and take the little bottle from her. Twist the cap, tilt the bottle back, and swig. I hand it back to her, leaving half the bottle. “Even I know better than to think beer cookies would taste good.”
“They were for a boyfriend I was trying to impress.”
“Impress or poison?”
“Impress.” She laughs. “Although after our breakup, I should probably say poison. Teach all future suitors: if you mess with me, you get poisoned.”
“It’d keep me away, that’s for damn sure.”
She finishes the rest of the little bottle and returns it to her bouquet. She pats it and says, “I can recycle it later.”
“Get drunk and save the earth. Sounds like a good combination to me.”
“Ryan and Colby, can we get you over here for a few pictures?” the photographer calls out.
“That’s our cue.” Ryan pokes my cheek with her index finger, looking sincerely at me. “Don’t forget to smile, because these pictures will last forever.”
“Scowling not in the job description of best man?”
As we walk over, she says, “I would normally say no, but given the bride is your ex-girlfriend, one scowl is allowed.”
“One scowl? Damn, better make it a good one.”
