Adam, Enough Said (This Can't be Happening)

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright 2013 © Lynda LeeAnne at Smashwords

www.authorlyndaleeanne.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance between persons living and dead, establishments, events or location is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my amazing husband who has stuck by me through my entire writing journey. Whether he has me happy, sad or insane, he has always been there for me. Joey, you’re the love of my life

I also dedicate this book to the two most handsome and amazing little boys that a mother could ask for, and to my incredibly sweet and beautiful step-daughter. Ethy
n, Eli & Tatiana, I love you! You are my inspiration...and the reason I work so hard. You guys are expensive.

Muah! Love you!

To Mom & Abel, I love you both so much. Thank you for always supporting me; even when I went through my very odd, teenage, maroon-lipstick-wearing, gangsta phase. HA!

Dad, there are no words to describe how much I miss you. I love you with all my heart. I wish I could say it to you in person just one more time.

Acknowledgement

I have a number of people to give special thanks to for sticking by my side through all the fun, hard and, at times, scary experiences that I've had since entering the crazy world of self-publishing. Please bear with me and I really hope I don't miss anyone.

To Sergeant E. Garza with the Houston Police Department: Without you, Adam would not be Adam. I am a stickler for making sure the themes of my stories are as accurate as possible; therefore, I am obsessed with doing research. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for answering all my questions regarding the organizational structure of the HPD. Surely I’d still be searching online for information if it hadn’t been for your help. In no way would I have known that the HPD no longer calls detectives “Detectives”, but rather “Investigators”.

Thank you a million and one times over
for all your help.

To Shannon Nemsi, Crysti Perry, Gladys Medina and Jessica Prince: SQUIRREL! I love you ladies to pieces. You all have become my best friends. No joke. I truly appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. Thanks for having my back – gangsta style. Thanks for virtually pulling a bitch’s hair when I need you to, thanks for giving virtual black eyes when I need you to, thanks for listening and agreeing with anything and everything I say when I need you to, and thanks for being a shoulder to cry on when I need one.

Everything I say below pertains to you
ladies as well.

To Yvette Pavlock, Bobbie Jo Malone Kirby, Lisa Chamberlin, Sandra Saenz Cortez, Mina Tomaro, Melissa Puckett, Ellie Smith, Lola Stark, LaStephanie Kannady-Foster, Shey Houston, Amanda & Crystal Cantu, and Amanda Brown: You girls have helped me in so many ways, whether sending me jokes, sharing laughs, sharing my work, bringing me bumper stickers from the Queen of all Men Alpha, inviting me to Thunder from Down Under, inviting me to lunch or dinner, listening to all my insanity, and sticking by my side through all my doubts and insecurities. I can go on and on, but I think you get the point. Each one of you holds a special place in my heart.

To Jenny Aspinall and Gitte Doherty at TotallyBookedBlog: As always, you ladies are simply amazing. Thank you for being the wonderful women you are. Thank you for supporting me and for always being honest with me. I adore you.

To Becky Johnson at Hot Tree Editing and all the betas that helped her: You girls rock! I can’t wait to continue working with you on my next books.

To
Genevieve Scholl at Big Bang Book Services: Thank you for stepping in last minute and helping me out when I was in need. I can't wait to work with you on my next books. I will forever be grateful.

To any and all bloggers out there, no matter how big or small: You seriously make the Indie World go 'round. You should be paid for all your hard work and all your support of the little people like me. I try to follow every single one of you, whether you have read, not read, liked or disliked any of my books, and I will continue to do so. I'd like to name each and every one of you, but I don't think this acknowledgement would ever end if I did. You’re treasures.

Now, to the most important people, the people who constantly make me cry happy tears...To my readers/followers/fans/friends: I love you all from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for your constant hardcore support of my work and me as an individual. Thank you for every "like", every follow, every comment, every share, every review, every personal message, every direct message and every email. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to contact me at all. I wish I could come to your home and personally hug each and every one of you.

I’m truly blessed to have met so many wonderful people throughout the book world.

x
oxo

Lynda

It all boils down to one…little…tiny…simple…single word.

Mistakes.

Plural.

As in, more than one.

So, what exactly are mistakes?

And are mistakes always just that…

Mistakes?

Or, are mistakes sometimes words spoken or things done that a person knows might be wrong, inappropriate or just something that shouldn’t be said or done, but they end up saying or doing whatever it is anyway, only later to call it a "mistake" in a moment of regret?

Or
, are mistakes sometimes situations or words spoken that you really meant to say or do, only to later call whatever it is you've said or done a "mistake" out of fear?

Adam and Mia, each on their own, have made a number of mistakes over the course of their lives which, in and of itself, has taught them to grow as individuals and become better people...or worse people, depending on who you ask.

But together…trying to count the number of mistakes they’ve made as a couple, would be like trying to count the number of times I say the word “fuck” in this story.

Try it. Count them. It’s a lot.

Therefore, as a couple, they’ve made a fuck load of mistakes, and the emotional war between mistakes and regrets between the two of them is, more often than not, overwhelming.

Prologue

Six Years Earlier

Adam Bryant

Twenty-Four Years Old

She wasn’t here.

And she wasn’t coming.

And I fuckin’ needed her here. I needed her with me.

I knew Mia hated me and I didn’t blame her, but she loved my mom. She was supposed to be here. She should be here. For everything that she’s done for my mom over the last year and a half, Mia deserved the spot at my side. Shit, she deserved the whole fuckin' row to herself.

God, I felt sick. Gutted. Tired.

When
was the last time I ate? Two, three days?

I heard people chatting softly around me, possibly talking to me, but I couldn’t concentrate and I couldn’t care less about whatever the hell it was they were saying. Everything was a blur. Since I’d arrived, family members that I hadn’t seen or heard from in years started giving me their condolences, apologizing for my loss, and it took everything in my power not to tell them to go fuck themselves.

They didn't deserve to be here. They hadn't helped.

Mia had been the only one.

I hated funerals. But who didn’t, when it was being held for one of their own?

I bent, put elbows to knees, placed my head in my hands
, and let the tears I’d been holding in escape. I couldn’t hold them in any longer and I didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. I didn’t give a shit if anyone saw. I’d just lost the woman who meant everything to me. The woman who gave birth to me with no man at her side; the woman who struggled to raise me on her own; the woman who was always there for me; the woman who never doubted me and never
once
judged me.

Mom.

Fuck.

My heart.

Mom had been sick, diagnosed with Type II Diabetes at the age of twelve, and she’d suffered with the disease her whole life, the ups and downs, sugar too high, sugar too low, insulin too strong, insulin not strong enough, eating too much, not eating enough, diet not right, and on and on.

And then, one morning mom woke up and couldn’t see.

“Everything is black,” she’d cried. Blind. Because her kidneys had failed. She’d been rushed to the hospital, but doctors were only able to save one eye; the other destined to see nothing for the rest of her life.

The next step was dialysis. Three days a week, also for the rest of her life
, unless she received a kidney transplant and that list was never ending. Mom started on homecare at first, but when that got too rough, it turned into Dialysis Center visits…visits that Mia had eventually taken over taking her to.

Even when I had been kicked out of Mia’s life.

At forty years old, Mom had her first heart attack, which then led to triple bypass surgery and more ups and downs ensued for the next nine years.

Now, here I was. At my mom’s funeral. She was only forty-nine years old and I was at her
fuckin’ funeral.
And the only other person I’d ever loved in my life, the one I needed most, hadn’t even bothered to show up.

Why wasn't Mia here?

Why the fuck did I let her go?

I shook my head, ashamed.

Mia had needed me and I hadn't been there for her...and this was my payback.

It had to be.

But this wasn't like Mia. Mia never would have given my mom up - not that I ever would have asked her to - but Mia had needed my mom just as much as my mom had needed her. Mia wouldn't just not show up because she knew I’d be here.

So why the fuck wasn't she here?

I know Mia knew. The damn clinic had called her, before they even called me. I’d left her message after message, begging her to call me, telling her that I needed her, but she hadn’t bothered to pick up or return a single call.

I touched the ring on my left hand
; the one I refused to take off.

Sick. Devastated.

I was so fuckin’ devastated I couldn’t see straight.

“Hey, Adam,” a voice said softly and my whole body solidified. That voice. The cause of all that was fucked up in my life. The voice that I never should have heard in my life.

Somewhere deep down, I knew my problems weren’t her fault, and I felt bad for her, but I hated her just the same.

I looked up when I felt her hand hit the back of my neck, touching me in a way a person touched
someone they loved. Then, she sat down next to me; on the side that was supposed to be filled by my wife.

By Mia.

“Don't touch me,” I ground out and her hand jerked back like my skin burned her.

“I’m sorry...I heard some of the guys talking at the diner...you helped me. I owe you --” she rambled as tears filled her eyes and I felt like an asshole, but this wasn't the place to have this conversation.