Spotlight: Violet by Brooke Harper

Genre: Modern Regency, Omegaverse

Cover Designer: Angela Haddon

Publication Date: April 3rd, 2025

Being the eldest Gardener daughter means constantly balancing my Omega nature with society’s relentless expectations. I'm the golden child, the overachiever, and when it comes to finding a mate, I won’t settle for anything less than perfect.

I can’t.

Luckily, during this spring’s mating season, I catch the attention of the Council Monarch, and suddenly, I'm the hottest topic on social media. Just when things seem to be falling into place, in walks Stephan Ashford—famous actor and devastatingly charming lone Alpha. His scandalous past and refusal to claim an Omega makes him the most eligible—and unattainable—Alpha of the season, but he’s just what I need.

To get people talking, Stephan and I agree to a fake relationship. For him, it keeps his rabid fans at bay; for me, it brings more potential mates to my door. But as our connection deepens, something far more dangerous simmers beneath the surface. 

Now, we’re caught in a war between our own primal instincts and the dark secrets we carry. It could implode all around us—or lead us straight into each other’s arms.

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About the Author

Brooke Harper creates dark and sexy worlds for her characters to play. A lover of strong coffee and old tombstones, she spins dark tales of sex and sin, pain and passion, and misery and madness that’ll have you flipping the pages and begging for more.

Dark Contemporary pen name of Harper A. Brooks.

Connect:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3Cpr7NU

Twitter: https://twitter.com/thebrookeharper

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19716045.Brooke_Harper

Website: https://authorbrookeharper.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorbrookeharper/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorBrookeHarper

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/brooke-harper

Reader Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/brookesbadassbookbishes

Spotlight: Ranger by Aubree Valentine

Pregnant with their second child, Fallon Addington is mourning the loss of her husband, Kevin, while trying to maintain the ranch he loved. When Kevin’s best friend, Beckett Ivan, shows up on her doorstep, insisting on giving her a hand, Fallon is determined to avoid him at all costs—that is until she sees past what’s on the surface and realizes that Beckett needs her more than he’s let on. They say time heals all wounds but when Beckett’s time stateside is up, will Fallon be in for another broken heart? Readers who enjoy Yellowstone and Heartland will fall in love with Ranger by Aubree Valentine, a small-town, second-chance romance.

Summary

A war-torn soldier and heartbroken widow.

Beckett Ivan has seen things that most people cannot even begin to imagine.

He’s lost friends that were more like family, and he’s witnessed unspeakable things happen to innocent people.

With a broken spirit, he’s headed back to Indiana, where his best friend’s widow is alone.

He promised Kevin that if he made it back home, he’d see to it that she was taken care of, and that’s what he intends to do.

What he hadn’t planned on was falling in love…

Fallon Addington was mourning the greatest loss of her lifetime. While trying to help maintain the ranch her late husband loved so much.

Pregnant with their second child, she’s barely got the energy to keep it together most days—that is until Kevin's best friend, Beckett, shows up on her doorstep, insisting on giving her a hand.

A daily reminder of all Kevin was, Fallon is determined to avoid the soldier who’s taken up residence in the barn loft.

All too soon though, she begins to see past what’s on the surface and realizes that Beckett needs her more than he’s let on.

With a little help from her favorite horse, Ranger, the two are forced to work through their grief together.

They say time heals all wounds but what happens when Beckett’s time stateside is up? Is Fallon in for another heartache or does fate have different plans for the man who’s taught her how to love again?

Readers who like Yellowstone and Heartland will enjoy this second chance at love story featuring a headstrong widow and the soldier who captures her heart in an unexpected way. Their story is one filled with it's fair share of heartbreak and triumphant beauty.

Excerpt 

Copyright 2025, Aubree Valentine

Beckett’s tires squealed as he pulled up in front of the hospital entrance. His best friend’s wife was in labor.

And Kevin wasn’t here to see it.

That all too familiar grief hit him again.

Fuck.

It didn’t help that he’d been stumbling around awkwardly ever since their encounter that knocked him so far off kilter that he couldn’t remember which way was up.

He jumped out of his truck and tossed the keys to the hospital Valet.

“Sir!” the valet called after him.

“My..she’s…in labor!” Beckett yelled back, not slowing down.  

“You’ll need this,” the Valet caught up to him and handed him a key tag that he’d need to claim his truck later.

“Thanks,” he grumbled back.

The older lady at the security desk took longer than he would have liked to take his license and give him a pass that would allow him onto the Labor and Delivery floor.

He skipped the elevators and took the stairs instead, ignoring the pain in his knee with every step he climbed.

Following the instructions from the lady in the lobby, he pressed the badge to the scanner near the door. As soon as they opened enough for him to slip through he did.

Kevin’s family greeted him with warm smiles and excited hugs.

“Where’s Garrison?” he asked, looking around the room.

“Still in school. Aiden’s going to pick him up and keep an eye on him until Fallon’s ready for visitors,” William, Kevin’s father, answered.

Beckett nodded, trying to catch his breath.

“Have a seat, son,” Neville, Kevin’s grandfather, said as he patted him on the back. “We’re going to be here a while.”

He sat and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees to catch his breath. “Did anyone call Fallon’s parents?”

Harriett shook her head. “She asked us not to.”

Beckett snorted. He didn’t blame her. Fallon’s mother was a handful on a good day. And a bitch if she was having a bad day. The woman had been a complete nightmare when she was in town for Kevin’s funeral. So much so that Fallon kicked her out after she decided to pick a fight about Garrison, calling the boy a spoiled brat.

He’d never hit a woman, or his elders. But he might make an exception for that one.

“Lindsey said you’ve been helping out Fallon while she’s on bedrest. Taking care of Garrison, making sure the kid gets to school and everything,” William said, nonchalantly.

“Yeah, I…I um…” Did they know about what happened two weeks ago, too? “I had some things I needed to take care of today. Lindsey was on the way over with lunch so Fallon said she would be fine when I left the house to go run errands. I wouldn’t have left her otherwise,” he explained,  suddenly feeling the need to defend himself.

He probably could have tapped out all together after what happened but who else could be there for her?

All of the Addingtons had full-time jobs and a ranch to tend to.

Fallon’s parents were out of the question.

That left Beckett to suck it the fuck up and keep his promises…and stop thinking about the way Fallon came undone.

“Hey. You don’t need to defend yourself. Lindsey was with her. I was merely going to thank you for taking care of her,” William told Beckett. “It’s not easy for her to ask for help. Kevin used to tell us that all the time. We’re glad you’ve stuck around and she’s got someone in her corner.”

He sighed in relief. “Thanks, William. I appreciate that. I owe Kevin, and Fallon, a lot.”

“Pretty sure you wiped the slate on any debts you owed them a long time ago,” Neville chuckled.

Garrett stayed quiet but eyed him with a knowing glance.

“Listen, Beckett,” Neville cleared his throat. “There’s something that Fallon mentioned…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Lindsey walked into the waiting room.

Beckett was the first one to notice her and immediately jumped out of his seat. “How is she?”

Lindsay grinned. “Almost ready to push, but she’s asking for you.”

“Me?” Beckett looked around to gauge everyone’s reaction. No one protested or scowled.

William stood and clapped him on the back, “If she’s asking for you, then you better get going.”

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About Aubree Valentine

Aubree Valentine is a masterful storyteller who weaves tales of passion, heartbreak, and happily-ever-afters that leave readers swooning and coming back for more. A hopeless romantic at heart, Aubree channels her boundless imagination and appreciation for the complexities of romance into every book she writes. Her characters are as real as they are irresistible—flawed, relatable, and unforgettable—taking readers on journeys filled with sizzling chemistry, emotional twists, and moments that tug at the heartstrings. Whether it’s a steamy small-town romance or a friends-to-lovers tale, Aubree’s stories always promise: love, laughter and happily ever after. When she’s not penning her next novel, Aubree can be found binge-reading romance novels, borrowing her husband’s power tools for some over the top project, or spending quality time with her family and their fur babies. Connect with Aubree Valentine on social media, through her website, or sign up for her newsletter to stay up-to-date on new releases, exclusive content, and behind-the-scenes glimpses into her writing

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Spotlight: Ferry Tails by Ted Mulcahey

Beneath the tranquil surface of Whidbey Island, a sinister force lurks. When a ruthless polygamist cult leader and his deadly enforcer unleash chaos, Deputy Sheriff Roger Wilkie is drawn into a relentless game of cat and mouse. He knows the truth—but capturing these cunning killers may be his toughest challenge yet.

With the help of the island’s eccentric residents—including a formidable ex-con who’s always in the thick of trouble—and two sharp-witted German Shepherds, Wilkie navigates a world of danger, dark humor, and razor-sharp sarcasm. Fast-paced and gripping, this thriller will keep you hooked until the final, heart-stopping twist.

Part of the Whidbey Island series, but can be read as a standalone

Excerpt

Twenty 

The cabin was rustic and smelled of old wood. A queen bed was shoved against a pine-clad wall, and a small writing desk with a lamp and a chair sat opposite. He presumed a stained, knotty pine door on the far side of the room led to the bathroom. One other item was shoved in the corner on the far side of the bed—a puffy, plaid dog bed.

Francis seemed unsure of his next move, but Henry…not so much. The three-year-old eighty-pound GSD vaulted into the center of the bed, turned three circles, then plopped down and stared expectantly at his human.

Jesus, he thought, what have I gotten myself into? He rested his muscular body on the small chair and looked at his new friend. “What do you think, Henry? What’s going through that brain of yours?”

The shepherd perked his ears even higher and twisted his head, seemingly trying to understand. He held that pose for a few seconds, then lowered his head on his two front paws, his eyes never leaving Francis.

He had heard dogs could be smart, but this one almost scared him with its intelligence. He was out of his league, so he did what he always did when unsure—he took action.

He stood up, and as he did, so did Henry. “Come on, buddy, let’s take a walk.”

The large rust and black mass of fur jumped from the bed, stopped at his feet, and sat, still looking up.

“What? What is it?” Francis sensed the dog wanted something…but what?

After a few seconds of staring at each other, he got it. “The leash, right? The leash?”

Two sharp barks answered his question. Francis shook his head in wonderment at this marvelous animal as he snapped on the leash and headed out the door. “Let’s go, boy, c’mon.”

At dusk in Kanab, the surrounding rocks and mountains gave off an unearthly, deep red glow. Francis and Henry took one of the many trails through the boulders and small crevasses surrounding Dogtown. The temperature was a comfortable seventy degrees, and the wind was nonexistent. The quiet was broken only by the swish of Francis’s boots through the sand and the rapid huffing of Henry. 

He found himself talking to his companion, asking him about the case, where Driggs was, and what made Mullins such an evil man. Every time he paused, so did Henry. He was astonished at the animal's awareness and constant search for threats. He started to understand why GSDs were the workhorses for police, search and rescue, and the military. Still, though, as much as he liked him, he wasn’t inclined to take care of a pet.

They circled back to the cabin just before dark. Opening the door, he saw a brown paper bag on the desk, several grease stains providing clues to its contents. On the floor next to the dog bed was a large bowl of water and another with kibble piled high. Francis had never heard of this place, but it was clear they had their shit together.

He scarfed down the still-warm hamburger and fries while Henry did the same with his dinner. Francis knew enough to take his pal for a short walk after eating to do his business.  

They returned to the small TV-less cabin, with only each other for company. Francis thought it was silly for people to talk to their pets like humans, but now he found himself doing precisely that. He was tired from the day's events and the exhilarating walk and was looking forward to crashing early.

Making sure Henry was in his bed, he showered, brushed his teeth, shaved his head, and returned to the bedroom. Henry’s bed was empty, and he was once again perched in the middle of the bed designated for humans.

“Henry…down, boy.” Francis snapped his fingers as he said this.

The large shepherd dutifully stepped from the bed and went to his designated sleeping place. Francis climbed under the covers, switched off the bedside lamp, and immediately fell asleep in the room’s pitch darkness. 

At some point in the middle of the night, he turned over to get up to relieve himself but found Henry nestled next to him. The dog seemed determined to sleep in the same bed, so Francis turned the opposite way to get to the bathroom rather than protest. He wondered what thoughts were going through the dog’s mind and why he seemed to latch on to someone like him.

He stumbled back to bed in the darkness, climbed back in, even pushing the animal over a few feet so he could fit, and soon fell back asleep. He didn’t stir until daylight crept through the curtains the next morning.

Reaching over, he found Henry was no longer lying next to him. He sat up to see his new best friend sitting alertly in his dog bed, apparently awaiting instruction. “Ya know, Henry, you sure are an interesting fellow. How about I get you a little food? Then we can get to finding these Barlow people.”

After Henry finished the last of his kibble, they headed for his truck. Francis opened the rear door of the crew cab and urged his companion to jump up into it, but the dog just sat there staring at him.

“What? You can’t jump?”

When Francis attempted to help the animal up, he pulled away.

“C’mon, Henry, what’s the problem? We gotta get going.”

Frustrated, Francis opened the front passenger side to put his duffle in. Looking like an Olympian, Henry launched himself inside the truck and onto the passenger seat. He sat there alertly, looked down at his partner, and barked sharply as if to say, close the damn door, buddy.

Shaking his head, Francis threw his duffle into the back, closed both doors, and headed for the Best Friends Welcome Center. They arrived to find Terri standing by the entrance.

“Well, Francis, how was your night with Henry?” 

They were standing on the step, Francis holding the leash and Henry practically glued to his leg.

“I’ll admit, he’s an amazing animal. He sure has a mind of his own, but we got along well.”

“Would you like to adopt him?”

“I think he’s wonderful, Terri, but I don’t see me having a dog.”

She looked disappointed but accepted his decision. “I understand. If you still want to talk to the Barlows, you can find them in the cafeteria, across the street.”

He thanked her, handed her the leash, and turned to leave. As he did, Henry began a high-pitched keening that nearly buckled his knees. He stopped momentarily but then continued walking to find the two men who might be able to help him find Driggs.

Abe and John Barlow were not brothers, but if looks meant anything, they could have been. They were both slightly built and somewhere in their mid-twenties. They seemed to be gentle souls and appeared to love their jobs working with the animals at Best Friends. Unfortunately, they were of little help in supplying any information that might help locate Joseph Driggs.

The two men had discovered that caring for animals and spending time with others of like minds was far more rewarding than living with the FLDS's strict and sometimes bizarre rules and practices. According to the Barlows, Driggs may have had altruistic intentions at one time, but their impressions were that he grew increasingly greedy and self-absorbed as the years passed. They felt he would never be far from Shane Mullins, especially if money were involved.

Disappointed but determined, Francis returned to his rented truck across the street. As he opened the door to get in, he heard Terri yell, “Henry…HENRY, come…get back here.”  

He turned just in time to witness what a full-grown German Shepherd traveling at thirty miles per hour looks like. In a blur, Henry vaulted into the pickup, hopped over the console, and sat in the passenger seat.

Terri rushed over and said, “I’m sorry, Francis. He pulled the leash from me as soon as he saw you. Let me get him out of there.”

 Francis looked up at the dog, sitting silently and alert, his intelligent eyes begging to stay. He melted. He’d never had a dog or even a goldfish, but there was a connection with Henry he’d never felt with anyone before, human or animal. “Never mind, Terri.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It seems I don’t have much choice here. I think he’s adopted me, not the other way around. What do I need to do to take him with me?”

The paperwork was taken care of on the hood of his truck while Henry supervised and never moved from his shotgun position. Francis had planned to return his ride to the Las Vegas Harry Reid International Airport, but now, with his additional passenger, he opted to make the seventeen-hour drive back to Whidbey Island. He figured they’d make Twin Falls by nightfall, then do the ten-hour stretch the following day.

A little over an hour after leaving Kanab, they merged onto I-15 and settled in for the next four hundred miles. Henry had finally curled up on the passenger seat and was snoring quietly. Every time he glanced at his new pal, he felt a little twinge in his gut. He knew his buddy, O’Malley, owned a German Shepherd and was rarely seen without her. He began understanding how attached this breed could become to a single individual or family. He recalled what Terri had told him: “Remember, these dogs are pack animals, and if you and your family are their pack, they will defend and protect you until they die. It’s their sole purpose in life.”

She also told him how important it was to socialize Henry with others, including other canines. As the miles passed, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he was now responsible to and for another creature. It was the same way he felt about his brother…sort of. This was a little different. He wondered what Jake would have to say about his new roomie.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback

About the Author

Ted Mulcahey has lived most of his life in the Pacific Northwest. He is an Army Veteran, sales and marketing VP, entrepreneur, business owner, avid reader, one of nine children, and proud husband who attributes his sense of humor to his mother and his wife. 

Website: http://tedmulcahey.com

Spotlight: Bitterfrost by Bryan Gruley

The first in a brand-new crime thriller series from Edgar nominee and Pulitzer Prize–winning author Bryan Gruley. Feisty defence attorney Devyn Payne faces off against veteran detective Garth Klimmek as they work to solve a vicious double homicide in their small, icy town of Bitterfrost.

Thirteen years ago, former ice hockey star Jimmy Baker quit the game after almost killing an opponent. Now, as the Zamboni driver for the amateur team in his hometown of Bitterfrost, Michigan, he’s living his penance. Until the morning he awakens to the smell of blood . . .

Jimmy soon finds himself arrested for a brutal double murder. The kicker? He has no memory of the night in question. And as the evidence racks up against him, Jimmy’s case is skating on thin ice. Could he have committed such a gruesome crime?

Excerpt

ONE

Jimmy wakes to a pinging sound in his head.

And the smell of blood.

He sits up, too quickly, and pain blazes up from the base of his neck and wells inside his skull like a fist forcing its way out. He shuts his eyes, trying to squeeze it away. The high-pitched pinging ebbs but the throb persists.

He opens his eyes. He’s sitting on his kitchen floor in the dark. He checks the clock on the microwave: three fifty-three. He’s still wearing the black-and-silver IceKings jacket he wore to the hockey rink and then to the Lost Loon Tavern. A draft of winter air cascades over his face. He sees his back door is open six inches and trembling on its hinges. He gets up to close it and notices he’s wearing only one boot. He hobbles outside on his booted leg. The security light blinks on. Jimmy’s other boot is lying on its side on the porch step. As he squats to pull it on, he spies a ragged path of packed-down snow leading away from the porch. As if someone dragged in an animal.

He goes back inside, closes the door, and flicks on the lamp hanging over the kitchen table. Still smelling blood, he lifts his left hand to his face. ‘Jesus,’ he says. The hand is spackled with dried blood, the knuckles a hash of shredded skin and exposed bone a shade of rust. Blood spatters the silver sleeve of his jacket from wrist to elbow. As he stares at it, the hand begins to ache like it would after pounding some guy’s forehead and cheekbones in the middle of a hockey game. What did he do to himself? Or, God forbid, to someone else? He’s seen his hand like this before, but it’s been a long time, when he was still playing in the minors.

The thrum in his skull is deafening. He can’t think straight. He goes to the sink, splashes water on his face and neck. It doesn’t help. He gazes out the window over the sink. Outside is black all the way to the tree line several hundred yards away. All Jimmy can see is his reflection in the glimmer from the overhead lamp. A strawberry of a lump has risen on his right cheek. He touches two fingertips to it. It stings. 

He turns the water on hot, squirts dishwashing liquid on the hand, and washes the blood off as best he can, the soap tingling in the spots where the knuckle skin is shorn. The hand comes clean enough, but he’ll have to put his jacket in the wash and wear something else to work. That’s not ideal because it’s a game day and everyone, especially Jimmy, driver of the Zamboni, is expected to be in IceKings gear. 

He checks his back pocket for his wallet – it’s there – but, patting himself, finds no cellphone. Maybe in the truck. He goes to the garage. It’s empty. He hits the garage-door opener. As it rattles upward, he sees his truck parked at an odd angle across the two-tire drive that bends through a span of sparse woods to his house. 

Why is the truck outside? Did his garage-door opener malfunction earlier? He can’t recall. Did his one drink keep him from parking properly? Or was someone else driving? None of this is right. But he can’t remember how it got wrong. His stomach clenches. He feels afraid but doesn’t know what he feels afraid of. Which frightens him even more. And, man, it’s cold. Must be twenty below. He wraps his arms around himself and walks to the truck, shivering. 

Whenever Jimmy’s driving, he stuffs his phone in one of the coffee cup holders on the center console. It’s not in either of those. He leans across the driver seat to check the passenger side, grabbing the steering wheel for balance. The wheel is tacky on his palm. More blood? Holy shit, he thinks. Somebody got hurt. 

His breath billows white around his head. He checks the glove box, searches under the seats, rummages through the back seat. No phone. Goddamn. His boss will start texting him at seven and won’t stop till opening puck drop twelve hours later. He sits in the back seat, hands gripping his knees, trying to think: Did he leave the phone at the Loon? He doesn’t remember using it there; he usually turns it off before he goes in. 

Memory loss is an occupational hazard for a former hockey fighter who took a slew of blows to the head while delivering more than his share to other heads. If a doctor opened up his skull, Jimmy suspects they’d find tangles of that CTE stuff that supposedly blots out memory and drags its bearers to an early death. Still, this morning’s full-blown blackout is peculiar, more like the sort that plagued Jimmy when he was heavy into the booze, after the lawsuits and the publicity and the divorce and the child custody fight. Basically, the whole damn night from the time he left the Loon is missing.

He tries to picture the Loon, where he was sitting, Ronnie behind the bar. He recalls having words, though nothing too bad, with a couple of guys who might have been giving Ronnie a hard time. For some reason he remembers thinking they must have been from downstate, probably Detroit or thereabouts. There was a woman in an orange hoodie. Not much else is coming. He figures he’ll call Ronnie as soon as she might be awake, she’ll clear things up. But then he thinks, no, dumb shit, you have no phone. 

He twists himself around and digs in the crack between the seat and the seat back. Nothing there. He clambers back into the front and tries those seats. Nothing in the driver’s side, but his fingertips brush something solid on the passenger side. He pulls his arm out and yanks his coat and shirtsleeves up, then plunges back in and comes out with his phone. ‘Son of a bitch,’ he says, feeling something he hopes isn’t blood caked on the casing. He tries to turn the phone on, but it’s out of juice. Why would it have been jammed into the seat like that? Jimmy can’t believe he would’ve put it there on his own. Unless he was trying to hide it. But why? From whom? 

His right ring finger has gone numb from the cold. He starts the truck and pulls it into the garage. The stuff on the steering wheel feels like tar. Jimmy puts a palm to his face and sniffs. He used to think when he fought two or three times a week that he could smell the difference between his own blood and another guy’s. That was bullshit, just like it was bullshit that beating people up would propel him to the National Hockey League. 

He needs to clean the steering wheel and check the rest of the truck for blood, but he doesn’t want to freeze to death, so he goes inside and rubs his gluey hands warm then plugs the cell into the outlet next to the fridge. He goes back to the sink to rinse his hands and checks his reflection in the kitchen window. He’s gotta get some ice on that swollen cheek. People are going to ask about it. Which makes him wonder if he ought to call the cops. 

For what, though? What’s he gonna tell them? There’s blood in my truck but I don’t know why? I have no idea how I got this shiner? Or why my knuckles look like spaghetti? I had one drink and can’t remember much else because my brain is a sieve? 

No. 

He takes an ice pack from the freezer and presses it onto his cheek. He decides he’ll give the truck a onceover later, before heading to the rink. A little snooze, some cleaning up, and everything will be fine. He tells himself he must have gotten into it with somebody, they got the jump on him somehow, and now, here he is. 

He goes to the front room and sits on the sofa, holding the ice pack to his face beneath the framed photos of Avery when she was three, six, eight, eleven. His favorite is eight, where she’s standing in unruly pigtails at the end of the Bitterfrost pier at sundown, showing off a steelhead she pulled from Lake Michigan that’s almost as big as her. The house is dark and quiet but for the tocking of an old grandfather clock across the room. Jimmy has to be up and rolling in less than two hours. 

In his head he says his nightly prayers. For Mama, long gone. For Avery, of course, extra prayers for her, and even for Noelle. For the Richards family, especially Cory. And, tonight, a prayer for his bud Ronnie, who may have had a rough go at the Loon. It’s still too early to call her, but maybe a text. He gets off the couch and goes into the kitchen for his phone, now at thirty-one percent power. There’s a text from his pal Devyn that arrived at one fifty-three: Tell me you’re not in trouble. 

Jimmy swallows hard. ‘Shit, Dev,’ he says aloud. 

He calls up his regular text string with Ronnie. He’s about to start typing when he sees a text he does not recall sending. It left his phone at two forty-two: those two jagoff’s won’t be bothering you again.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Hardcover | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Bryan Gruley is the Edgar-nominated author of six novels – PURGATORY BAY, BLEAK HARBOR, the Starvation Lake Trilogy, and his most recent, BITTERFROST (April 1, 2025; Severn House) - and one award-winning work of nonfiction. A lifelong journalist, he shared in The Wall Street Journal's Pulitzer Prize for coverage of the September 11 terrorist attacks. He lives in northern lower Michigan with his wife, Pamela, where he can be found playing hockey, singing in his band, or spending time with his children and grandchildren. You can visit him online at bryangruley.com.

Spotlight: Reaching for Beautiful: A Memoir of Loving and Losing a Wild Child by Sally McQuillen

For fans of Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking or David Sheff’s Beautiful Boy, this debut memoir about a mother grieving her young-adult son’s death is a must-read for any parent who has lost a child or whose child struggles with addiction.

A luminous story of how love triumphs over pain, love transcends fear, and love never dies; this debut memoir from a mother grieving her young-adult son’s death is a must-read for any parent who has lost a child, is raising a child from the edge of their seat, or whose family struggles with addiction.

When Sally’s twenty-one-year-old son died in a boat accident, her greatest fear is realized. Christopher was often drawn to risk and struggled with addiction. In this riveting memoir, Sally captures the wild ride of his jam-packed life and her deep love for him while reflecting on her own childhood and family’s legacy of alcoholism.

Sally shares insights about what it’s like to experience the emotional aftershocks of acute grief, filtered through the lens of her personal experience as a mother and her professional vantage point as a psychotherapist. Even if they have not been touched by loss in this way, readers may see themselves in Sally’s bittersweet illusion of trying to keep her son safe, in how she is challenged to let go of her fear, guilt, and regret in order to forgive herself, and in the ways grief teaches her about the power of love.

Excerpt

Unless they’re in extreme denial, every parent of a child struggling with addiction experiences the very real fear that their child could die. Once you come to terms with the fact they have a disease, you realize it could kill them. If you yourself have been in recovery and attended meetings, then you’ve seen firsthand the lives lost to this brutal affliction with every passing year you stay sober. And once you realize you can’t prevent your kids from getting disease, it becomes about making sure they survive it.

There he was. With dirt under his fingernails and shaggy, greasy hair in his eyes, Christopher was gorgeous to me. He didn’t have much to say, as expected, but I could tell that neither a drink nor a drug had crossed his lips in two months. The sparkle was back in his eyes. Along with it, a touch of tenderness, maybe even contentment, shone on his tanned face. I realized in that moment that his heart and soul had been hiding, and now his light was turned back on. He had a gentle glow, and I turned to it. Along with his glow was a flicker of warmth. I drew closer.

This mama bird and my fellow bereaved mothers carry an emptiness that is so gaping it takes over. The pain is so great I ask myself how it’s possible that so many of us could be living with it. It is simply unfathomable. The mama bird sounds her alarm, and I am sobbing with all of the mothers who’ve withstood the suffering and death of their babies from physical illness, the mothers who’ve felt the despair of losing their sons and daughters to the devastation of suicide, the increasing masses of mothers whose children have been taken by the opioid epidemic, by murder, or accident—and any and all of the other ways mothers could lose their children that I have failed to include. I ache for us all.

One might think we would be acclimated to grief as mothers. There is a cumulative series of goodbyes at each milestone. Our generation not only celebrates each development, but we literally congratulate our kids for growing up. Our children shape-shift, and the years fly by with a whisper of grief along the way if we stop to notice it. But we rarely do. My heart is tugged at every age and stage without respite. Nothing lasts, nothing stays the same.

The toughest stuff of grief consists of regret, guilt, and pure pain. Grief has a mind of its own. When it comes, it hits hard. Familiar but still surprising in its power, descending as sharply as ever. Messy and unpredictable and tiring. I’m slapped in the face by its insistence. There is healing to be found in allowing the sadness of missing him to enter. It feels like loyalty. It feels like love. We are so connected that he is a part of me. I move through my pain more easily when I refrain from judging myself for it. I am dragged through its clutches, but then I come up for air and picture Christopher’s green eyes smiling, giving me the strength to keep going.

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About the Author

Sally McQuillen, LCSW, CADC, is a psychotherapist in private practice specializing in addiction recovery, grief, and trauma healing. An avid reader with a double major in writing and dance criticism in college, she began working in public relations and marketing prior to obtaining her master’s degree in social work. Reaching for Beautiful is Sally’s first book. She and her husband live on the north shore of Chicago where they raised their three children.

Spotlight: The Never List by Jade Presley

The four princes of Lumathyst need a mate, and everyone wants a chance... except for her.

Threatened by invaders, the kingdom of Lumathyst is on the verge of chaos, and no one can stop it. Unless the four immortal god-princes find their fated mate—and safeguard the throne—Lumathyst will fall.

Five women have tried. Five have failed. And tonight in the royal city, the princes need to find their Chosen and hope she can survive the transformation that will make her immortal.

Only Rylee Gray wasn’t supposed to be here. She snuck in for her own dark reasons—and now they claim they’ve found their perfect match. Her. Of course, they have no idea she’s concealing a secret big enough to damn them all.

The four princes have no choice. They’ll use every delectably wicked skill they have to make Rylee fall for all of them…or watch their kingdom collapse.

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About the Author

Jade Presley is a pen name created to write romantasy stories that pair rich world building with characters that will make you blush and leave you thirsting for more. When not writing, Jade goes on epic quests during game night or hangs with her family and Irish Wolfhound in her Colorado mountain home.

To learn more please visit www.jadepresley.com

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