Destiny Whispers

By Teresa Keefer

A collection of short love stories intended to leave you with a warm afterglow. Written by four authors, these stories come from the heart. 

All proceeds from this collection will be donated to a charity to support homeless veterans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Keefer
• Release date: Oct 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393597766

Teresa Keefer

Teresa Keefer is an indie romance author with an avid love of books since the tender age of 4. She started writing poetry in high school and after encouragement from her best friend, wrote her first full length romance novel in 2007. Coming Home was finally released as a self-published book in 2011 and was intended as a stand-alone until several readers contacted her to ask for more on the secondary characters which was the beginning of the Possum Creek series. In addition to writing under her own name, she also writes erotica under Autumn Drake and will be releasing her first political thriller in 2018 under the name of Ann Nevada. Teresa holds an MBA in Human Resources and attended law school for two years and has been in the human resource profession for over 25 years. She has also served on several boards of directors for human resource professionals and has taught human resource classes at the college level as an adjunct instructor.  Her ultimate goal is to become a full-time author and have the time and resources to contribute to various community functions to raise awareness about domestic violence, human trafficking, and substance abuse/addiction issues. In addition to reading romantic fiction, she enjoys reading a variety of other material including horror, thrillers, mysteries, and non-fiction.  As a woman with many interests, she balances out her life by doing crafts, gardening, cooking and studying spiritualism.  A lifelong resident of Indiana, she presently lives in a rural area with a menagerie of animals close to her three adult daughters and seven grandchildren.

Book preview

A Short Note

This collection of short love stories was created by four authors for the purpose of raising awareness of the plight of homeless veterans living in the United States. All royalties will be donated to a not-for-profit charity which provides services to homeless veterans.

It is estimated there are over 40,000 veterans in the United States who are homeless on any given night. Men and women who signed a contract to defend the lives and liberties of each American citizen. Unsung heroes who should not have to struggle to find a place to lay their weary heads or wonder where their next meal is coming from.

As you read these stories from the comforts of your own home, we hope you take a moment to remember those who may not have the same comforts as we do. If you are in a position to donate your time or money to an important cause, we hope you find it in your hearts to remember our veterans.

We sincerely thank you for purchasing and reading our stories which are written from the hearts of four authors to the hearts of many.

God bless you, your families, our veterans, and our fine country.

Best Wishes from:

Beverly Ovalle

Tina Susedik

Mona Casey

Teresa Keefer

Broken Prince Charming

By Beverly Ovalle

I stared down at my jeans, feeling the rain drip down my neck, wondering why I was huddled, cold, dirty and hungry on the stairs of an abandoned building. I never liked the city, yet here I sat. My throat tight, my body held together only by my skin. Panting at the feelings clawing my insides.

I was alone. I couldn’t stand it. I needed someone next to me, holding me. My hands shook despite their grip on each other. But I couldn’t handle the questions. Couldn’t handle being touched. I needed it. I just couldn’t bear it.

I flinched, the slamming of a car door sending me huddling closer to the building, trying to bury myself in the shadows of the looming edifice. Now my whole body trembled. I squeezed my eyes shut, holding in the salty tears.

I’d found a spot too open for most of the city’s forgotten, yet hidden enough for me. Winter shed its hold on the city, bringing the never-ending rain of spring. At home, crocus and daffodils would be blooming. Here, nothing bloomed. Not even weeds grew between the cracks. The concrete and dirt of the city crushed life out.

I deserved to be here. Slowly dying, lost amongst the world.

Teeth chattering, clothes wet and stinking, I swallowed. Taking a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sooty air, I exhaled. I tried to calm myself, beating back the anxiety wrapped around me. A sob escaped. My arms wrapped around myself, holding me together as I rocked.

It wasn’t working anymore. I trembled, but not from just the cold. I looked around. Further down the alley, dirty blankets and boxes hid others huddling from life. From the horrors only they could see. I desperately didn’t want to end like them.

Not me. Not me. My stomach twisted, fear trapped inside. What was happening to me? How did I come to this?

Wiping my eyes, sitting up straight but leaving the comfort of my arms wrapped around myself, I sucked in a shaky breath. Truly looked at myself.

Olive green jacket covering a plaid shirt that every midwestern man owned. Jeans that fit how a man’s jeans should. Work boots. The ugly yellow kind that lasted forever and were good for everything. Baseball cap. All of it covered in dirt and all of it giving off a miasma of body odor.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d combed my hair or brushed my teeth. God, I couldn’t remember the last time I bathed. I wore the same clothes I was discharged in. I hadn’t immediately sunk so low. It was just...  they didn’t understand. And I couldn’t explain it.

I couldn’t ignore what I’d seen, what I’d done. Slowly it ate me up inside. I ran, trying to escape. In the anonymity of the city I hid in plain sight.

I dug into my jacket, pulling out its contents. My purple heart stared back at me along with my good conduct medal. I squeezed it in my hand, chest heaving, eyes closing.

Opening my eyes, looking at the medals shining in my dirty hand, I knew one thing.

Did I truly deserve this? My only sin was that I lived.

I looked at the medals again and shoved them back in my pocket. Taking off my cap and shaking the rain off it, I settled it back into place.

I stood, legs shaking. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate a decent meal. I’d taken to the dark side of the city like a rat. Hiding in shadows and digging through the dumpsters for a meal. Shame settled on me. I’d abandoned everyone, sinking into my own misery.

Stepping carefully down, leaning against the brick of the building for help, I descended. The five stairs showed how wobbly I truly was. Grabbing my duffle bag, I opened it, and took out the one thing I hated. Zipping it shut, I slung the bag on my shoulder, nearly going down at the slight shift of weight.

Fuck.

Grabbing my cane, I shook it to extend the length. Used it to support myself. I was too tired, too hungry, too achy to walk without it. I hated it. The flag flying proudly on its stick. The stabilized bottom. Even the damn handle. My grandpa used one. Hell, he’d bought this for me declaring the VA cane a piece of shit. I chuckled, then took a deep breath.

I missed the old coot. The disappointment in his gaze when I left. He was the only one that didn’t believe me when I said I left to find new opportunities. He saw through me. He shoved a few hundred dollars of his hard-earned retirement in my pocket as I left.

Don’t let it eat you alive, boy. He grabbed me in a hug, arms squeezing the air from my lungs. Come home when you’re ready. But come home.

I will.

I don’t think he believed me. Hell, I wasn’t sure I believed myself. I got on the Greyhound, limping up the stairs, the hated cane shoved in my bag. I waved halfheartedly, my family growing smaller the further away the bus drove.

I got off in Milwaukee. It was a whole different world. One I got lost in.

Shaking off the memories, step by step, I walked out of the alley. I couldn’t stop the trembling. Cold and hunger beat my insides. On the sidewalk, out in public, I stalled. Could I do this? Remembering the look in my grandpa’s eyes, I knew I had to.

I didn’t know what day it was. Every day over the past few months blurred together. I wasn’t even sure where to go. Turning right, the few people on the sidewalk hurrying past gave me a wide berth. I stopped, rain beating down. I glanced at my wrist, pushing up my sleeve. Four in the afternoon. Huh, it seemed later.

My belly grumbled. Now that I realized how long it had been since I’d last eaten, it seemed to have woken up. My stench alone precluded walking in a restaurant. I’d be shown the door. I was under no delusions. I was one of the homeless, the hopeless. I needed help but didn’t know where to turn.

Idling at the curb, in front of the Hyatt, were a line of cabs. Ignoring the glares of the doorman, I sidled up to a cab.

Hey...

Get away. I don’t give no free rides. The cabbie frowned at me.

I just want...

I don’t care. He waved me away. Go away.

Frowning, I looked down the line of cabs. Scowls met my gaze, windows rolled up. I was not getting help there. Stepping back on the sidewalk, I looked up, meeting the eyes of the door man. Bell boys swooped around him, helping patrons into the hotel.

He slowly walked toward me, stopping within a few feet. His nose wrinkled.

Mine would too if I weren’t used to my own smell.

You can’t loiter here. You’ll have to move along. He wasn’t mean about it. Or talking down to me.

Maybe he could help. I cleared my throat. Maybe I’d be able to get it out. Asking for help wasn’t easy. I ignored the burn of shame in my belly. I wanted my life back more than I needed my pride.

I just want to find help. A shelter or a meal nearby. That was easier than I thought. Living on the streets was nothing I thought I would ever do. I was chasing demons and before I knew it, my life changed.

You’ll want the Rescue Mission. He pulled out his phone, speaking into it. He scrolled through the information. 1820 West Wellington Street. It’s less than a half hour walk. Go south to the end of the block and turn right on Wellington. Just follow it until you get there. You’ll pass under the freeway. It’s off of North Eighteenth. He slid his phone back in his pocket. If you really want help, that’s the place to go.

Thanks.

He moved back to his station, seamlessly returning to directing the madness around him.

I watched him for a moment, envying his confidence. He appeared to be the center of the storm, directing everyone around him. I saw him glance at me, then turn his attention to an employee asking him a question. I moved away, following the directions he gave me. I didn’t want to cause him any problems.

My belly grumbled, protesting the slimness of my recent meals. I stayed as close to the buildings as I could, avoiding any of the other pedestrians. There weren’t many due to the rain. At least most of the grime would hopefully wash off in the steady downpour.

I passed the Social Security Building and turned. Glancing at the sign post, it read W Wells St. At least the directions were easy. I ignored the few people I passed. Most of them were either tourists or other homeless like myself. It was easy to tell the difference by their clothes.

I stared down at the sidewalk, one foot plodding in front of the other. Click, step, step. Click, step, step. Through puddles, up and down curbs. The noise of cars overhead deafening when I crossed under the freeway. I glanced up, only at Eleventh Street. I kept going. I was tired, hungry, and I stank to high heaven. My leg ached. I wasn’t going to stop. If I stopped, I’d never get going again. I’d die here, lost to my family, and my brothers in arms. A silent casualty of a war I couldn’t stop seeing in my mind.

I needed help. A glimmer of thought whispered the weight on my shoulders, the guilt, was misplaced. None of the control had been mine. God himself chose our paths.

Hey, brother, need a meal?

I stopped, glancing up. A man sat on the stairs in front of a brick building. The sign read Rescue Mission Men’s Division.

Yeah, I do. Need a place to stay, too. I should be able to make it up the stairs. If I ignored the pain radiating up my leg.

You’ve come to the right place. He stood up. Follow me.

He kept pace, just in front of me. Check ins stop at six fifteen. I’m pretty sure there are still beds left.

Thanks. I followed behind him. Looking up, the building reminded me of an old Spanish church. The words above the door formed a cross reading Jesus Saves. I only hoped he could save me.

I checked in, filling out the information requested. Answering questions I couldn’t really answer. How did I end up on the streets? It just happened. Was I destitute? For the moment. Did I have any family I could call? No. I didn’t finish that I couldn’t because my phone had died months ago. I still had it, tossed in the bottom of my duffle. I didn’t want to call. Not until I got the help I knew I needed.

I’m a veteran, yes. Did I want to see a doctor at the VA? What kind of doctor?

I think you should start with a physical. Then psychological. She looked down at the form she was filling out. Any drug or alcohol problems?

No, no drugs. I haven’t been drinking since my money ran out. I folded up my cane and slid it in my duffle bag. It only ran out because I left my ATM card at home. I knew when I left that my life was spiraling out of control.

Okay. I’ll get in touch with the VA tomorrow. She waved over a man who was leaning against the wall, watching TV. Martin, show... she looked down at the clipboard, Mr. Theodore...

Teddy.

She nodded. ...Teddy Jenkins around.

Martin nodded and waved for me to follow him. My original escort had drifted off after delivering me to the front desk.

I was shown the showers and a cafeteria. Then Martin showed me to a small room. A bed and an open closet. It was more than I’d expected.

Here ya go. He turned and left.

Living on the streets taught me to be leery. I dragged my duffle with me to the cafeteria. Food was the first order of business.

I grabbed a plate, lining up for a delicious smelling meal, my bag slung across my back. I smiled at the cheery face of the woman passing out food. My stomach growled, so loud, her eyes widened. Heat burrowed up my neck, filling my cheeks. I handed her my plate, hand shaking.

She looked down and grabbed two patties, Salisbury steak I assumed, and put them on my plate, quickly filling it with mashed potatoes and green beans. She handed it back with a smile.

Enjoy.

I nodded. I shuffled off to a nearby table, sitting down and digging in. I