Washed Up – Bayside Heroes Read Online Kandi Steiner

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Young Adult Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Washed Up - Bayside Heroes

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Kandi Steiner

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
9798775089740
Book Information:

It was just another day in the Emergency Department -- until she was wheeled in through the doors.
Amanda Parks, my childhood best friend's mom who I may or may not have secretly kissed before leaving for college.
I haven't seen her in over a decade, and in so many ways, she hasn't changed.
Same killer curves. Same hypnotizing eyes. Same reaction from my heart when I see her.
But something new? There isn't a ring on her finger anymore... And I'm much more of a man than I was at eighteen.
Washed Up is a stand-alone age gap medical romance coming this winter!
Books by Author:

Kandi Steiner



PROLOGUE

AMANDA

“I don’t want that shit taco’s money,” I grit through my teeth, foot heavy on the gas pedal as I weave through the morning traffic on I-4.

The chuckle from my attorney is thinly veiled through an exhausted sigh. “While I appreciate the creative insult, the fact still remains that—”

“I don’t have a choice,” I finish for her, squinting through the windshield as I pass a minivan. It’s a foggy morning, like Tampa is trying to summon in October and spooky season in its own creative way. It certainly won’t be getting cold here any time soon, but the fog is a nice fall touch.

“It won’t be forever,” Myra promises, her voice echoey through my phone speaker. My Toyota is older than her pre-teen, with a stereo that plays a CD with only a few songs skipping on a good day. It doesn’t even have an auxiliary cord hookup, so my phone sits perched on the console, her voice grainy as she says, “You’re in school now, and having a degree will make it much easier to find a job and support yourself.”

“Right. In approximately four years.”

“It will pass faster than you think,” she says. “And until then, alimony will make everything a lot easier.”

I grumble my argument under my breath as the fog thickens. Everyone is slowing down, putting on flashers, acting like they’ve never driven in anything other than sunshine.

I had dreams for what my life would look like at forty-seven years old. When I was younger, I imagined a doting husband and a big house with a wraparound porch. I envisioned kids and grandkids and hosting holidays and wine nights with my girlfriends after a long week at work.

After my life took an unexpected turn at fifteen when I found out I was pregnant, I still held onto dreams, still imagined a life full of love and laughter.

Instead, I’m on the brink of a divorce from a man who abused me for years, suffering through my sophomore year of college after not having studied a damn thing since I was eighteen, and hopelessly flailing through my first attempt at dating ever.

God has a ripe sense of humor.

“I don’t want to be tied to him. I don’t want him to think he still has power over me.” My throat burns with the attempt at swallowing. “I just want it to be over with,” I confess, my chest tight with the admission. “He’s been dragging this out for almost two years now.”

“He’s trying anything he can to change your mind, trying to make it hard on you so you’ll give up.”

I grip the wheel tighter. “I’m not giving up.”

“I know. And I think he does, now, too. He’s told his representation that he’s ready to sign,” she reminds me. “We’re closer to a court date than it seems. If we can just wait—”

“We’ve been waiting,” I whine. I don’t want to whine. A mature woman should not whine. But I’m so damn frustrated with the whole situation at this point that I can’t help it.

“We’re rounding the last corner to the finish line,” she says. “Just stay focused on school and before you know it, you’ll be free.”

Free.

The word knocks my breath from my chest, and I blink, slowing a bit when I see brake lights through the fog ahead.

That word has haunted me for years, the notion that I could live a life free of the pain, the guilt, the resentment seeming too good to be true.

“Do you really think he’ll leave me alone after this?”

I don’t realize how weak my voice is, how much it sounds like a whisper until I hear the exhale of sympathy from my attorney.


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