Mia Is Mine

Hi all, Thank you so much for taking the time to read my book Mia Is Mine. I am open to any comments/feedback—chapter 1 starts with a story note or, as I would say, a hook, and then my summary of the book leads into the disclaimer. Then the real chapter one is on the next page. if that makes sense. Happy reading all. 

He killed the engine. The only sound was the crash of waves and my ragged breathing.

I got out, the cool night air hitting me like a slap. The dam broke.

“You should have just let me go!” I screamed at him, my voice raw. “Why did you do that? Why did you make me think I could… that I was fixed?” I was unraveling, right there on the sand.

He got out of the car but didn’t come closer. He just stood, a dark silhouette against the star-dusted sky, hands in his pockets, letting me rage.

“Greg broke me!” I sobbed, the words ripped from a deep, wounded place. “He ruined me! For any other man, for anything! I’m a shattered vase glued back together with fear! The guy was so sweet, and the moment he grabbed my throat, I… I just… lost it!”

The anger spent, it left only the hollow, aching truth. I started pulling at my clothes, the little black dress feeling like a costume of a woman I could never be. The straps and the zipper. I needed it off. I needed the cold water. To cool this burning shame, or to let it pull me under and end the charade.

I stumbled towards the surf in my underwear, the night air raising goosebumps on my skin. The water was shockingly cold, biting at my ankles, then my knees.

Just as the waves reached my thighs, strong arms wrapped around me from behind. He pulled me back against a solid, bare chest. He’d shed his shirt. His skin was warm against my icy back. He didn’t grope, didn’t try to turn me around. He just held me, his forearms crossed over my chest, his head pressed into the curve of my neck.

“Breathe, Mia,” he murmured against my skin, his voice a low, steady vibration. “Just breathe. In and out. Match me.” He took a deep, deliberate breath, his chest expanding against my back, and let it out slowly.

I tried to follow, my sobs hiccupping into shaky inhalations. The cold water, his warmth, the rhythm of his breathing—they began to anchor me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the night, the fight gone. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, his voice firm. “Nothing.”