Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(83)
CECY ROBSON is a new adult and contemporary author of the Shattered Past series, the O’Brien Family novels and upcoming Carolina Beach novels, as well as the award-winning author of the Weird Girls urban fantasy romance series. A 2016 double nominated RITA? finalist for Once Pure and Once Kissed, Cecy is a recovering Jersey girl living in the South who enjoys carbs way too much, and exercise way too little. Gifted and cursed with an overactive imagination, you can typically find her on her laptop silencing the yappy characters in her head by telling their stories..
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This book contains excerpts from Feel Me and Crave Me the forthcoming books in the O’Brien Family novels by Cecy Robson in addition to Inseverable, the first book in her Carolina Beach novels. The excerpts have been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming novels
READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT FROM
Feel Me
An O’Brien Family Novel
by Cecy Robson
CHAPTER 1
Melissa
I stare at the nameplate perched on my father’s desk: District Attorney Miles Fenske. It proclaims his position, allowing those who read it a glimpse of what he’s accomplished. Yet it’s only a glimpse. It’s not a true representation of all he is, or all he means to me. The nameplate is cheap, unlike the generous soul who stares back at me with the same loving expression he’s held since the first moment I saw him.
What are you thinking, Melissa? He signs to me, moving his hands in beautifully fluid motions.
We’re alone in his office. He doesn’t need to sign to keep our conversation private. He could whisper, and I would still be able to read his lips. But he knows I’m more comfortable communicating with my hands, probably because American Sign Language is one of the many things we learned together. As a child I considered it our very own secret language, something he and I could share away from the hearing world.
That you’re making a mistake, I sign back.
My comment earns me a smile, but I can see his concern, despite the crinkles around his eyes that deepen when he grins. “You’re going to have to trust me,” he says aloud.
I let out a breath. He knows I trust him. How could I not?
I was brought to the Lehigh Valley District Attorney’s office when I was about six years old, after my biological mother had attempted to sell me in exchange for drugs. My mother probably thought it was a brilliant plan. Being born with profound hearing loss, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t communicate, and couldn’t understand. Which meant, I couldn’t tell anyone what was about to take place.
My primal instincts ordered me to run, that I was in danger, so I did―thank God I did. I kicked and fought, dodging the hands trying to grab me, and scurrying out of my window.
To this day, I remember the way the cold metal grating of the fire escape felt against my bare feet, and the way my mouth struggled to form what I thought were words as I banged on my elderly neighbor’s window. Miss Lena, the lady with too many cats and twice as many grandchildren, yanked me into her apartment when she saw me. She called the police, but by the time they arrived, my mother was gone. I never saw her again.
Not that I regret it.
I was placed in foster care, confused and frightened about what was happening and certain I’d eventually return “home”. Instead, I was brought before the young Assistant D.A Miles Fenske. He was supposed to handle my case, dispose of it, and move on. He was never supposed to welcome me into his heart. Yet that’s exactly what he did.
“Melissa,” he says. His words aren’t clear―not as clear as they can be, my hearing aids can only do so much, but I hear enough to sense the emotion in the way he speaks my name. “Why are you so sad?”
I raise my chin. “Declan O’Brien will never be the man you are. He’s not the right D.A. for this position.” I shake my head. “He belongs in the Trial Unit, Arson, Fugitive, anywhere else but where you’ve placed him.”
“I know you don’t like him . . .”
I raise my brows.
“. . . and that your first encounter wasn’t a positive one . . .”
“That’s because he was an *,” I mumble.
He chuckles. “I assure you he deeply regrets what he said. But Declan is smart, quick, and kind.”
I don’t agree. Not completely. Is Declan intelligent? Brilliantly so, and absurdly astute in court. With short wavy blond hair and a dashing grin that lights his blue eyes, he’s also gorgeous, and he knows it. But is he kind? I’m not so sure that he is. “He’ll never be the man you are,” I repeat.
“I’m not asking him to be. I simply want the best person for the job, someone who will help the victims who need him most.”
“That’s what you claim. But he doesn’t have experience handling delicate cases where offenders often inflict irreparable trauma.”
“No, but as the head of Victim Services, you do,” he offers with a knowing gleam.
My nails dig into the wooden armrests. “If you’re trying to hook us up, I’m going to be seriously mad at you.”