Heal Me Gently (The Reawakening Series, Book 3)

By Kelly Violet

A year he wanted to erase...
Zion Wallace was slowly wasting away. An accident left him a broken and powerless man, proving just how much things were truly out of his control. When his well-meaning parents took a decision out of his hands, he came face to face with the one person he couldn’t turn his back on. The two of them were like fire and ice. She pushed him, and he pushed right back. And apparently, it was exactly what he’d been waiting for. Too bad she would never want to be with a man like him.
A lesson she learned the hard way...
Abigail Suarez was getting her life back on track. A recent break-up proved that she couldn’t give her trust to just anyone. She left that life behind in order to reclaim herself. Now, she had a job she loved and new motivation to pursue her dreams. But someone from her past had other ideas. With her newest client doing everything to knock her off her game, she needed to think outside the box. Most importantly, she had to protect her heart because, when his defenses were down, he was quite irresistible.

Can they get their acts together before it’s too late?

Because love creeps in with little notice and after you’ve written it off for good...

Heal Me Gently is the third book in the Reawakening Series. This is a full-length contemporary new adult romance novel with all the angst. Get ready to follow this group of friends as they tackle tough issues and love, all at the same time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Violet
• Release date: May 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9780999704899

Kelly Violet

Kelly Violet is a fan of love and writes romance in all forms. You can expect her stories to be fun and flirty, angsty and gut-wrenching, or downright dark and extremely naughty. One thing they’ll all have in common is a happy ending, however it comes. No matter the obstacles or dire circumstance. Either way, it’ll be a roller coaster ride of emotions, just the way she likes it. Music and dancing are her go-to outlets. If there’s a party and a dance floor (optional), she’s usually the first one out there. When not writing, Kelly can be found working at her day job assisting people in their search for information and concocting a plan to write more. Thank you for joining her on this journey she’s dreamed about pursuing for many years. Kelly loves to hear from readers, so be sure to drop her a line on social media or at www.kellyviolet.com.

Book preview

Blurb

A year he wanted to erase…

Zion Wallace was slowly wasting away. An accident left him a broken and powerless man, proving just how much things were truly out of his control. When his well-meaning parents took a decision out of his hands, he came face to face with the one person he couldn’t turn his back on. The two of them were like fire and ice. She pushed him, and he pushed right back. And apparently, it was exactly what he’d been waiting for. Too bad she would never want to be with a man like him.

A lesson she learned the hard way…

Abigail Suarez was getting her life back on track. A recent break-up proved that she couldn’t give her trust to just anyone. She left that life behind in order to reclaim herself. Now, she had a job she loved and new motivation to pursue her dreams. But someone from her past had other ideas. With her newest client doing everything to knock her off her game, she needed to think outside the box. Most importantly, she had to protect her heart because, when his defenses were down, he was quite irresistible.

Can they get their acts together before it’s too late?

Because love creeps in with little notice and after you’ve written it off for good…

Copyright

Heal Me Gently

Copyright © 2020 by Kelly Violet

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All product/brand names mentioned herein are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.

Published by Pump Up the Violet Publishing, Los Angeles, CA.

Original Photo by Jordygraph on Depositphotos

Cover Design by Kelly Violet

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9997048-9-9

Printed in the U.S.A.

Dedication

This story goes out to anyone who has ever felt broken and beaten down. Or not good enough. Please keep the faith.

You belong.

You are loved.

Table of Contents

Blurb

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Epilogue

Also by Kelly Violet

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About the Author

Chapter One

Zion

Two months.

It’s been two months since the call from Chloe. The call I prayed would come for too damn long. And she said the one thing I wanted to hear the most: she was coming home. Before that moment, it had been complete and utter silence, except for the crumbs I got from my best friend Rafe. He kept me updated as much as he could, but information came less and less as the months went by.

And it all started last November. Well before that, actually.

Now, my sister was finally back home. Or close enough. And I could breathe easier again. We were in a holding pattern after she left us. Disappeared with only a note as her goodbye. We just found ourselves going through the motions, my parents and me.

Mostly me.

I had nothing better to do.

Nowhere else to go.

Not anymore.

Knock. Knock. Zion, honey, I’m running to the store. You want anything? The door to my bedroom creaked open and my mother stuck her head through the gap.

No, Ma. I’m good.

Alright. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Text me if you need something. And you know your dad is a call away if you need anything else while I’m gone. My mother watched me, her sharp gaze assessing as a quiet hung over us. Without another word, she nodded and turned away.

Thanks, Ma, I called before the door clicked shut. Keeping the frustration out of my voice was almost impossible these days, but I managed it this time. Since the accident, my parents had reverted to treating me like a little kid and not the twenty-six-year-old man I was.

I was sick and tired of the babying. I was sick of all of it. My mother was the biggest culprit. Sheryl Wallace circled me like a worried mama bird waiting for her eggs to hatch. My dad was on the other end of the spectrum, keeping his distance until I’d cry out in agony before silently stepping in.

I knew they were only trying to help. Little did they know I already felt broken beyond repair. There was no help for me.

There’s a chance…

Those uncertain words uttered in a flat tone gutted me each and every time I remembered them. The response of a cautious doctor who avoided making false promises. My parents chose to maintain their hope for a full recovery. But the stark truth boomed in my head in hi-def. Unlike my parents, I saw the writing on the wall.

Hell, it stood out in big, ugly letters.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

So, I gave the hell up. Stopped fighting the inevitable. The life I knew ended on that road, only a few miles from home while Chloe screamed my name until the pain got to be too much. And then nothing. Nothing at all.

Now that I thought about it, it wasn’t hard to do. Give up. Not in the fucking least. I should’ve been sad about that fact, but sadness was a waste of time. The sensation in my legs, let alone my heart, were all but a distant memory. The bastard who caused the wreck took care of that.

All I had left was anger.

The rage festered, roiling in my blood every second of every day.

My life got ripped from me in the blink of an eye, and I hated it.

This was a righteous anger, and I had every damn right to it.

My future had been bright. Brighter than I thought possible, especially as a Black man moving through the world. Surviving one day at a time.

I never intended to be the golden boy in my parents’ eyes. Not at first. Most of the time I had no fucking clue how I got so far. Being black in this country did me zero favors ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time. I never saw myself going to college, let alone grad school. As a teen, I said I wanted to manage Rafe’s music career. It had been a running joke between us for the longest time. I always thought he’d make it big, and he was finally heading in that direction with a new band he joined earlier in the year.

But something sparked inside me during junior year of high school. I’d hit a stride and hadn’t looked back. Once I stopped messing around in classes and hit the books like I’d been born with some common sense, my future changed for the better.

I’d gotten serious and worked my ass off to excel. Two years later, when I sat in my first business class freshman year, I was hooked.

And just a year ago, I was on top of my game. I worked a lot, but also got to play a little too. The first semester of my last year of business school had been golden. Opportunities popped up around every corner, one thing after another clicking into place. With the end of my program looming ahead, job offers started rolling in. The next one even better than the last. My advisor said I could write my own ticket with any of the companies offering me a position. I’d been humbled by it all, but also damn proud of myself. All the work I’d put in was finally paying off.

Things I hadn’t realized I wanted were within reach. Right at the tip of my fingers. And then everything turned to shit.

Now, I was an injured player. Knocked out in the first quarter of an all-star game. And it was a career-ending blow. Before my career even got started.

The buzzer sounded all those months ago, and it was a wrap.

And I felt powerless to change any of it.

Useless.

Now look at me. My body refused to work like it used to. Like I needed it to. I was stuck. Worthless. And I was so damn done with it all.

Those glory days disappeared in a nanosecond. Like the booming snap of fingers in an abandoned room. Jarring in the worst way possible. When I woke up in that hospital, I’d known the score almost instantly.

The devastated look in my parents’ eyes—on Chloe’s tear-streaked face—said it all.

Numbing pain. I couldn’t tell where the pain originated from, which body part. Everything hurt. I tried to sit up but could barely move. Blinding, pounding pain lanced through my head and radiated everywhere else.

I can’t quite feel my legs, I remembered thinking. The thought sliced me open like it always did, and I closed my eyes, wishing it was all a mistake. A goddamn, horrible nightmare that someone would wake me up from any minute. Even now. Too many months later.

But no dice.

It was getting tougher to force myself out of bed nowadays. Shit, I barely managed the supposedly simple act today. Because nothing felt the same.

I lifted the twenty-pound dumbbell and focused on working my upper body since the lower half betrayed me almost a year ago. The weight in my hands gave my mind something else to concentrate on for the moment.

It was all I could do to take it one day at a time, like everyone kept reminding me to fucking do. Doctors, physical therapists, and my family alike. I hated the sugar-coated words of encouragement. They meant nothing when I was back at my parents’ house holed up in their old bedroom.

In the beginning, I’d followed every instruction and therapy program to the letter after my stint in the hospital, and not much had changed in almost ten months. Nothing seemed to work for me, no matter how hard I tried. How hard I pushed myself.

I didn’t want to stay in this chair forever, dammit.

A possibility, the doctors said.

Well, fuck their vague, bullshit responses to my injury.

To them, there’d always be some slim possibility I’d walk again. But honestly, I’d lost hope a long time ago.

Lately, my brain just seemed to follow my body down the rabbit hole, finally calling it quits.

Shit was messed up.

What was that saying? Nothing in life is guaranteed.

That old adage became my ever-present truth every day I woke up like this.

My own personal nightmare.

And I fucking hated it.

Hated everything and everyone.

Most of all, I hated myself.

Chapter Two

Abigail

How the hell did I get into this situation?

I’d been kidding myself thinking I was ready for this again. Not by a long shot. It didn’t help that the guy sitting across from me was a major estúpido. The worst kind of tool.

And I said, sí, muy caliente. He wiggled his eyebrows, chuckling at the apparent finale to his long-winded and mildly inappropriate tale. The end to a presumably funny story, but I wasn’t laughing. On the contrary, I was amazed. I figured my own eyebrows were near my hairline by now, horrified disbelief written clear as day on my face. My date, however, seemed too oblivious to think long and hard about his current audience. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

And I was quite sure it was the latter.

¡Ay, Dios mío! How did I talk myself into this shit? Oh right. It was like one of those after-school specials my older cousin always talked about, except it was me pressuring myself into this mess. And just like those after-school specials, I regretted the lack of good judgment because this had been a really bad idea. Apparently, I was the poster child for bad decision-making lately.

On way too many levels to contemplate now.

And why the hell did that damn algorithm match me with him? A man who clearly thought his horrible attempt at Spanish was funny or appropriate.

You need to get back out there, Abby. There’s still decent men. You just need to find one of them. The boldly naïve platitudes repeated in my mind, just like they had when I first downloaded the dating app to my phone two weeks ago in a moment of weakness.

This was all just too damn painful. The conversation was completely one-sided, as it had been for the past hour. Not to mention awkward as hell.

We had zero chemistry. And I meant zero.

Nada.

He barely asked me a question since we were shown to a table at the start of this miserable encounter. I glanced down at my phone again and noticed the time. Equal parts amazed and horrified that I’d let sixty whole minutes pass, and I still sat here. Subjecting myself to this kindling dumpster fire.

I was on edge, wanting so badly to ignite that fiery spark that lay dormant inside me. The old Abby. A feisty woman who said what was on her mind. A kickass Latina who would tell this idiot where to shove his borderline racist and misogynist stories and jokes.

What I wouldn’t give to be bold enough to tell this guy the date wasn’t working out and we should stop wasting our time. To walk out of this restaurant and not look back. But that was a bigger gamble than I wanted to take. This new version of me wouldn’t dare be so bold.

He could be a loose cannon, I told myself. Or worse, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. So, getting out of this shitty situation required a heavy dose of caution and diplomacy, which became my middle names as of late.

You deserve better, Abigail Suarez. The statement, even spoken in my head, lacked conviction. But deep down I had to rebuild that belief in myself again. I had a long journey ahead of me, in more ways than one.

I couldn’t be a doormat. Or oblivious.

Not anymore. Not ever again.

Blindly trusting people and giving them—especially men, the benefit of the doubt—was hazardous to my health. Mentally and physically. But I had to end this date as quickly as possible, because I wanted to drop-kick him a little more with each passing second.

I opened my mouth to speak for the first time in what felt like forever, then stopped myself.

I studied the guy sitting across from me who apparently decided now was a good time to take a break from talking to shovel down his food. Equipped with limited information from his profile, I remembered he was in his early thirties. Almost a decade older than me. I shook my head, seeing a pattern I needed to break immediately. Age does not translate to maturity or security. I repeated the words over and over.

Paul was handsome. His dark looks first drew my attention as I absently swiped left and right one night two weeks ago. His raven black hair, pretty blue eyes, and a nicely maintained scruff called to me in each photo he’d shared on his profile. The man knew how to dress too. The early days of autumn in Chicago were upon us. When Paul walked into the restaurant before catching his attention, I noted his attire. He’d arrived in a light jacket that he draped over the backrest while being seated. Underneath, he wore a light blue button-down shirt that complemented his eyes and dark slacks.

But his good looks and fashion sense were clearly bait, reeling unsuspecting women like myself into giving him a chance for a first date.

Given the parts of his personality he revealed to me now, I understood why he found himself single. That’s if he didn't lie on his profile. The thought came to mind, and I wanted to ask him more directly about his current relationship status. Again, I stopped the urge in its tracks.

At the end of the day, it was none of my business. Because, if I was being honest with myself, this was over before it even really began.

When I’d left my apartment to arrive on time, the early evening weather had been mild, the last of the summer’s warm temperatures trying to hold on, so I opted for a cardigan over a cute top and long skirt ensemble.

Once we were seated, I began planning escape routes in my head, never letting myself get too comfortable. My hand never quite released the clutch carrying my essentials that I had perched on the tabletop. That alone should’ve clued me in that this wasn’t going to work out. He lost me in the first fifteen minutes, and I should’ve bowed out then. Regrettably, I couldn’t manipulate time and space.

But a girl could dream, right?

I wasn’t looking forward to winter here, but at least that gave me plenty of reason to hole up in my apartment without shame. In my pajamas. God, I want to be home right now. Anywhere but here. I imagined enjoying a glass of wine and cookie dough while I did my own solo version of ‘Netflix and chill’. Again, with absolutely no shame.

Listen, Adriana, his words broke through my reverie. Paul leaned in, resting his elbows on the table and gave me what I suspected was a charming grin. That ship has sailed, buddy. I feel like I’ve monopolized the conversation. You have. Tell me something about you. Not in this lifetime. He continued cutting into the T-Bone steak he ordered. I, on the other hand, had already finished eating my Caesar salad. The scrape of his knife and fork against the plate grated on my nerves even more.

My eyes went wide as the first part of what he said sent a shockwave through my system. When I hadn’t rushed to immediately fill the silence between us, he spared me a glance. Paul opened his mouth and then paused before saying, What?

He peered down at his wrinkle-free shirt before focusing on my face again.

I shook my head at the ridiculousness of the moment. If I weren’t so mentally exhausted and mildly offended right now, I’d laugh my ass off.

Between my job, looking into taking courses again, and settling into my new place, I should’ve known better than to rush into dating. Especially after the last shitstorm.

I couldn’t think about that now, so I shoved away the thoughts. Gripping my clutch and placing it on my lap, I tried my best not to give him a withering look—worthy of all the fierce women in my family—as I slid my chair away from the table.

That’s not my name, I stated evenly. Pendejo. And although this has been a very enlightening experience, I think this is my cue to leave. Have a good evening, Paul.

One last glance in his direction showed his mouth hanging open. Apparently, I’d shocked him. Well, good. The least the self-important bastard could’ve done was remember my name for the length of our date. But that was obviously too much to ask of him.

By the time I got home forty minutes later, thanks to waiting on the El, and changed into some comfy clothes, I was completely drained.

I pulled up the dreaded app on my phone, my thumb at the ready to block the ass from earlier, when I realized his profile no longer showed up on my short match list.

He blocked me!

Bruised ego much, Paulie?

Rolling my eyes, I plopped down on my couch, deleted my account, and uninstalled the stupid app. Once that was done, I tossed the phone on the coffee table and grabbed my Roku remote.

Guess it’s a solo ‘Netflix and chill’ sorta night after all.

Just as well.

I didn’t have time for dating, hooking up, or anything else. It was time to focus on me for a change. There were dreams to pursue. No one could stall my progress but myself. And I promised this time would be different.

It had to be.

I’d watch a couple episodes of Patriot Act with Hasan Minhaj and then find a movie. I had an appointment with a new client tomorrow. All my focus would turn to his care and recovery, so I decided to take the rest of this evening for myself.

Snuggling under the throw my nana made for me years ago, I queued up an episode and tried pushing away everything else.

The worries could wait until tomorrow.

With my decision to remain single for a good, long while firmly set in my mind, I pressed the play button. The opening music of the show started, and I settled more into the sofa.

I was fine with my decision.

Really, I was.

At least that’s what I planned to keep telling myself until it finally sunk in.

Chapter Three

Zi

My phone rang, blaring a few feet away. I lurched toward the edge of my bed, grabbing for it before my mind continued down the depressing rabbit hole.

Again.

Without focusing on the caller ID, I hit the green button on the screen and accepted the call. Not many people besides family called me nowadays, anyway.

Hey, son. My father’s calm baritone settled over me.

Pops. What’s up? I took a deep breath, not winded quite yet since I’d just started my arm workout.

We need to talk. Shit, I thought. Nothing good came from those words. His quiet and serious tone didn’t bode well for me at all.

Okay, I hedged. Bending slightly, I returned the dumbbell to the small shelf by my bedside and settled against the backrest of the chair. Shoot.

Your mom and I have scheduled you with someone from a home health agency who specializes—

Pops, not again with this mess. I shook my head in frustration. They kept meddling, pushing me to be someone I could never be again. Going down this road wasn’t worth the pain or heart ache. Mine or theirs.

Now, you listen to me, Zion. I won’t be interrupted again. And I do not want to repeat myself. A sternness entered his voice, one I hadn’t heard since my hard-headed teenage years where I decided to test any and everything with my parents and see what I could get away with. The answer was not a damn thing. No-nonsense steel radiated through our cell connection now, and I wanted to disintegrate into this damn chair. Well, fuck me.

Yes, sir. I shut my mouth, grinding my teeth in frustration as I waited for him to drop the rest of his edict.

This is not up for debate, son. You will work with this person the agency is sending over. They are a highly-rated company that your primary care doctor recommended.

Okay, I sighed. Resigned and mildly ashamed. My dad didn’t deserve this backtalk or my frustration. Neither did my mom. Sheryl and Jeffrey Wallace were amazing parents who made sure Chloe and I were fed and clothed, basically wanting for nothing. They taught us the importance of family. Showed us the meaning of hard work and encouraged us to follow our dreams and passions. All they required in return was our respect and for us to try to do better. Reach higher.

But right now, I was doing the complete opposite of all of it. I’d put up a front for too many months and now the walls were crumbling all around me. I learned to hide the physical and emotional pain still piercing my body, wreaking havoc under my skin and digging through the marrow of my bones. But those days were dwindling more and more. With one tap against that wall, my façade was shattering and the last thing I wanted was an outsider in my face.

A stranger who thought they knew my body better than I did. Someone telling me to work through the pain. Push harder. Rekindling false hope for my family. For me.

I hated the person already and hadn’t even set eyes on them yet.

They are scheduled to come by the house at two o’clock today. I quickly glanced at the time on the digital alarm clock on the nightstand and breathed in the suddenly oppressive air around me. Fuck! I had less than two hours to mentally prepare myself for this shit.

Ambushed. I was ambushed by my own father. It figured he’d wait to put his foot down with something like this.

My body seemed to sink further into the thin cushion of the chair. My prison. And here I was a shell of the son I used to be. A shell of the man my parents raised me to be.

Okay. Somehow, I have to find a way to get through this.

A heavy sigh came over the line and I closed my eyes, hearing his resignation before he uttered another word. Look, Zion. Your mother and I know this has been difficult for you. But we hate how defeated you’ve become. It’s like you’ve completely given up. Y’all don’t know the half of it. He continued, All we ask is that you give this new agency a try, son. Give yourself a try. He didn’t say the last sentence, but I heard it just the same.

I will.

Good. He let out another frustrated sigh. Somebody’s waiting outside my office. I’ll see you when I get home, son.

Bye, Pops.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

I couldn’t keep fronting like I had been. My weakness would be revealed for all to see. Again. And I hated it. Hated that my parents went behind my back to do this.

It didn’t take a shrink to know I hadn’t been coping well since the accident. I blamed myself. For Chloe leaving. For the sunken, fractured look in my parents’ eyes for those long months. For my legs not working.

I failed in the