Pieces for You
(For You #2)
Genre: New Adult 18+
Publication Date: December 17, 2013
Cover Designed By: G. Relyea Designs
Event organized by: Literati Author Services, Inc.
~ Synopsis ~"The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise.” -Miguel de Cervantes
Samantha Whitney survived unimaginable tragedy only to discover she had been betrayed by a man who claimed to love her. Shattered, Sam spends months at a safe haven trying to piece herself back together. Ready or not, the time has come for her to return home.
As Sam struggles to resume a life that no longer feels familiar, she finds unwavering support in an unexpected, familiar face. Confronting Sam’s raw emotions and open wounds head-on, Griffin manages to take two steps forward for every step she retreats.
But when Sam is once again threatened, Griffin must decide how far he is willing to go to protect the woman he wants…knowing the cost of her safety is the risk of losing her.
Pieces For You is a captivating journey of survival, healing, and sacrifice—teeming with honesty, humor, unexpected twists, and love’s unsurpassed endurance.begin to plague Sam, it is Griffin she is forced to turn to.
Though Pieces For You is a part of the For You Series, the book can be read as a stand alone.
Confident I had done all I could to prepare myself, I entered the office suite. I was comforted by the refined elegance of the space. There was minimal clutter and several flowering plants, adding both color and life. I settled myself in a comfortably stuffed chair and waited.
A few minutes later, the door in front of me opened and an attractive woman in her early fifties emerged. Dressed in a colorful sundress and ballet flats, she conveyed warmth and acceptance. I wondered if she had done this deliberately or if she just thought the floral pattern was pretty on the hanger.
“Sam?” she asked in a strong, clear voice.
“Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Dr. Cynthia Veritus, but please call me Thia.”
“Hi Thia, it’s nice to meet you, too. I have heard great things about you; I’m hoping they’re all true.”
She laughed at my joke, which set me at ease.
“Come in, Sam—let’s get this over with.”
I followed her into the adjoining office, confused by her choice of words. It wasn’t the most encouraging opening statement, but perhaps I had misheard. I sat down on the comfortable, tan love seat and noted that her office matched the style of the waiting room. Thia sat across from me in a navy wingback armchair and offered me a kind smile. I returned her smile and waited for her to begin. She continued to smile at me but said nothing, which was becoming exceedingly uncomfortable. My own smile began to fall and she smirked knowingly. I rededicated myself to what was apparently a staring/smiling contest, determined to emerge victorious. She smiled even wider and I caught a glimmer of laughter in her eyes, but she was rock solid and unwavering.
Son of a bitch! I was going to lose this contest…I’m not even sure what that meant, but it couldn’t be a good sign.
“Fine, I give,” I acquiesced with a sigh.
Thia smiled before raising her hand to muffle what I can only imagine would have been a chuckle if permitted to escape.
What the heck? She was laughing at me…how unprofessional!
“What gives? Aren’t you supposed to be asking me what brings me here? The details of what I experienced? What dysfunctional ways I have coped with everything thus far?”
“Is that what you want to talk about?”
“Hell no! That is the last thing I want to relive for the umpteenth time,” I virtually shouted.
“You don’t want to talk about what is past and I’m not asking. So what is the problem?”
Well that took the wind right out of my sails. I had no idea how to respond, so I resumed our staring contest. It was juvenile, I know, but it felt really good being defiant.
This time she did laugh aloud and I glared back at her. Was I actually paying her to laugh in my face?
“Okay, so what is your biggest concern right now?”
She finally asked a question…thank God!
“I’m not sure. I’ve been back almost two months and I think I have kept it together—for the most part. I’ve been having night terrors occasionally. I’m still a little uncomfortable out in public when alone and I find myself looking over my shoulder. The deep breathing exercises help to center me, but I wish I could get rid of the paranoia completely.”
“It definitely is normal after what you have experienced, but I think you are ready to conquer this particular fear.”
“Okay, what do I do?”
“We will get to that in a little bit, it’s a part of your homework assignment.”
She nodded in reply. Dammit, I thought I was done with homework. Oh well, I would try anything once.
“What else?” she prompted.
“My parents have requested I come to dinner next week.”
“I don’t want to?” I asked, as if it may be the wrong answer.
“Because they never make time to see me. They only came to visit me in the hospital once after the attack—and I wasn’t even conscious! They never bothered to visit me when I was at The Phoenix Centre and I haven’t actually spoken to either of them in over six months, since before the attack. The only communication I received was an email from my father’s secretary reminding me to use the Platinum Amex for any medical expenses. Trust me, whatever they want, it’s not going to make me happy.”
“Are you certain? Maybe they had an epiphany after almost losing you and want to work on improving your relationship.”
“Spoken like a rational person who has an empathetic bone in their body. There’s a reason I am an only child, Thia. My parents thought having a kid would be a great addition to the illusion of their Rockwell portrait life. Once I arrived, they handed me to the nearest nanny and resumed business as usual. My mother was horrified by the effects pregnancy had on her previously impeccable body, and spent well over a hundred grand to repair the damage I caused. Ultimately my cost exceeded my value, so they determined children were a bad investment and a hindrance to their quality of life. These are not the type of people who have sudden moments of introspection—nothing good will come of this dinner,” I finished with conviction.
“Well, I’m convinced. Next?”
“Are you mocking me?” I asked, confused by her quick dismissal of my mommy and daddy issues.
“Not at all. You seem to comprehend that their issues are theirs, not yours. While you’re understandably apprehensive about the dinner, you aren’t harboring any unrealistic expectations and have already developed healthy coping strategies to process your feelings concerning your parents. Unless you begin to exhibit inappropriate emotional responses to their behaviors or indulge in self-destructive coping mechanisms, I see no reason for us to explore this any further. Do you want to analyze the minute details of every disappointment you have ever suffered at their hands? We can do that, but I’ll need to grab my calendar to schedule all the additional weekly visits.”
“I am happy to waste your time and money by exploring every little facet of your past and psychoanalyzing the myriad ways each has shaped your psyche…if that would make you feel better,” she deadpanned.
“You should grab coffee with Everleigh some time—you two would have a blast out-snarking one another.”
“Since Everleigh is your best friend, I will take that as a compliment,” she countered, successfully turning my poke around.
“Two peas in a freakin’ pod,” I muttered.
“Geeze, I might as well be waiting my turn at the supermarket deli counter holding a little ticket with a number on it.”
“Sarcasm much?” she parroted my earlier barb.
“I’m not sure if you are the best therapist ever or the worst.”
“I get that a lot,” she offered without concern, causing me to laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll grow on you.”
“If you have a magic solution to cure my night terrors, I will commit to providing you an organ of your choice should a transplant ever become necessary.”
“Now that is a tantalizing offer. Unfortunately, there is no magic pill you can swallow…just kidding. Of course I could prescribe a sleep aid if you don’t currently have one, but that would not be my suggested course.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Such a dirty word to be throwing around so casually. Okay, lay it on me.”
“I want you to find a part-time job in an environment you feel safe to help increase your comfort level in public—consider it exposure therapy. Plus, you need something to do besides shopping,” she said as she eyed my outfit, correctly pegging my current method of passing time. “You should attend the dinner at your parents’ next week. At the very least it will clear them off your list of worries. I also want you to establish a regular exercise routine. Sign up at a gym and use it. It will aid your sleep and possibly help reduce the number of night terrors you have been experiencing. Not to mention, it’s another public venue for you to build comfort and confidence.”
“I can handle those assignments.”
“Oh, one more—eat! The Italian in me is dying to shove heaping piles of carbohydrates into that scrawny little body of yours.”
I laughed at her exclamation; it was clear she wasn’t exaggerating for effect.
“Will do, Chef Boyardee,” I teased, glad to be ending on a positive note and with several manageable tasks to focus on. “It’s been…strange, but good…I think.”
“Excellent. You handled me better than most do on their first visit.”
I didn’t think she was kidding, which gave me an odd sort of pride at the unexpected accomplishment. As I departed, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had just found a guide through the minefield of recovery or if I was being “Punk’d” by Ashton Kutcher—if it was the latter, this would have made for some great TV programming. I glanced around to make sure there were no cameramen hiding in the bushes. Nope. Thia was a therapist unlike any I had encountered thus far. I resolved to follow her directives and get a jump on my homework assignments.
~ About the Author ~Genna Rulon is an up and coming contemporary romance author.
During her 15 years in the corporate world, Genna, inspired by her love of reading, fantasized about penning her own stories. Encouraged by her favorite authors, many of whom are indie writers and self-published, she committed to pursuing her aspirations of writing her own novels. Genna was raised in Long Island, New York, where she still resides, surrounded by the most amazing family and friends. Married to a wonderful man, who patiently tolerates her ramblings about whichever book she is currently working on, even feigning interest relatively convincingly! Genna is blessed with two little boys who do their best to thwart mommy’s writing time with their hilarious antics and charming extrapolations.
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