Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,114
was okay. Didn’t mean I wasn’t opening the doors to my favorite dive bar at just after one on a Wednesday.
“I was beginning to think my favorite author wasn’t going to feed her alcohol habit, now she’s all shacked up with the local bad boy,” Deacon said as my heels clicked on the floor.
I scowled at him. “He’s shacked up with the new local bad woman, thank you very much,” I said, settling on my seat. It was really mine. I had a plaque made and installed when Deacon was recovering in the hospital.
He had the whisky already poured when I sat down. The bar was near empty, only a few of the regulars hiding in corners. Just how I liked it.
For a while, there were tourists. Murder tourists. What had happened here hadn’t stayed out of the press. Precisely why only half of the town hated me. The other half were thankful for the tourist revenue.
It had quieted down a lot now, since Ernie had started telling everyone they got the wrong town and Saint threatened every one that tried to talk to me if they made it past Ernie. Not that I left the house enough for people to just bump into me.
Obviously, Deacon hadn’t died. Technically, he had once, on the operating table. The bullet had missed his heart, but he’d been bleeding a long time before Saint and Rocko found him. Two collapsed lungs. More than fourteen percent blood loss. A month in the hospital, another month at home. He was pretty much recovered now, apart from the faint shadow to his eyes that would never go away.
“You’re not wrong,” he said. “You’re definitely a pair.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.
“Good.”
The whisky was bitter at the back of my throat, and I stared at the scar on my wrist. Someone settled on the stool beside me.
I didn’t need to look up to see who it was.
“You’re really gonna just leave the house and not tell me where you’re going,” Saint growled.
I didn’t look up. “You knew where I was, so what’s the problem?”
He snatched my chin and forced my eyes upwards. “You. You are the fucking problem.”
I smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment too.”
He shook his head and snatched the last of my whisky.
Then he settled his hand on my knee. The hand that was tattooed with every single book I’d ever written.
Yeah, we didn’t do rings, weddings, or children, but we did scars.
Acknowledgments
For those of you who have read a few of my books, you’ll most likely see a lot of the same names on this list, no matter what book you’re reading. That’s because I’m lucky enough to have a tribe that remains unchanged, solid and everlasting. People around me that don’t leave me in the dark moments, that celebrate with me in the triumphant moments. I am very lucky to have this, even if this tribe is spread all over the globe.
This book was written in a strange and scary time. For both me and the world. About three quarters of this book was written before a pandemic like which I’ve never lived through. I hesitated to put anything in here about it, but I’m always honest with my readers. About my struggles, about my demons. You’ve noticed I exorcise a lot of demons in this book. If you’re a hardcore reader, you’ll know this book is different. It’s not romance centric. It’s something else entirely.
So I struggled finishing this while the world was in chaos. I battled with my fears, my anxieties, my worries about the world, my friends, my family on the other side of the world. I missed one editing date. Then another.
I felt sick every time I looked at this almost finished manuscript. Every time I scrolled social media. A weight was settled on my chest, a dread deep inside me.
These people are what got me here. To the finish line.
Taylor. My partner, my best friend, my soulmate. You endure my moods, my ups and downs, my demons. Thank you for keeping me safe. For making me laugh. For letting me cry. For ordering me pizza and wine.
Dad. You can’t read this. Or maybe you can, if heaven has Amazon Prime. But nonetheless, you are the reason I’m here. Because you taught me how to be a badass, how to believe in myself, how to leave my manners on the side of the court when I was playing netball. To be kind. And you’re the reason I have such expensive taste.
Mum. You are my hero. My best friend. I am always so surprised when everyone doesn’t list their mother as one of their best friends. Because not everyone is lucky like me. Thank you for taking my calls, for never judging me for buying shoes that I don’t need, for urging me to get the matching bag. I know what a strong woman looks like because of you.
Polly, Emma, Harriet. My girls. You’re still over on the other side of the world, but you’re always there if I need an opinion on a selfie, or to have some form of breakdown.
Jessica Gadziala. My #sisterqueen. You are the reason I get through many of my writing blocks and general anxieties. You are a selfless friend, a kickass author and an all around queen.
Amo Jones. My ride or die. You tell me when I’m being crazy, you support me no matter what.
Michelle Clay. I am so lucky that you came into my life. You are such a special human. You’re so precious to me. In short, you’re family.
Annette Brignac. I’m so glad my books brought us together. I honestly don’t know where I’d be without you. My books would not be the same. My life would not be the same. Thank you for being you.
Ginny. You are so important to my books. To my life. You know my characters almost as well as you know me. You know when I need a kick up the butt or some kind words. Thank you for being there for me always.
You. The reader. I would not be typing this without you. Without your support. You are the reason I get to live my dream. Why I get to write stories and call it a job. Thank you for making my dreams come true.