Shelter

By Bree M. Lewandowski

The girl next door, the boy down the street, and an obsession too close to home.

 

Independence isn't something Clara has had much of in the last four years since she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and after a few months away, she's excited to be going back to work. 

 

With an added bonus of finding love in the most unlikely of places, Clara is happier than she's ever been. 

 

But someone doesn't agree with Clara's rising freedom and will do anything to stop it.

 

As a boxer that knows his way around the ring, there's nothing Nathan won't do to protect the woman he loves. Apprehensive that Clara's MS relapse is more than a simple medical problem, will have him questioning those closest to them.

 

Can they discover the dangers lurking right around the corner or will their love be torn apart before they've had a chance to really explore it?

 

This is a sweet romance novella with a pinch of suspense and a rollercoaster of drama!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bree M. Lewandowski
• Release date: Aug 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393337317

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

S he’s back!

Judy scrambled from behind the front desk at Forest Brook Community Center. Son of a biscuit! Girl, get in these arms!

Leaning on her mobility aid, Clara moved towards the woman who had taken her place for the last two months as front desk manager. Judy’s impending tidal wave of glee breached before she hit Clara with the force of her relief, hugging the young woman with care instead.

Lord have mercy, Clara, I don’t know how you stand dealing with these people. Me and Jesus been having regular conversations, so I don’t haul off and tell one of them what I really think.

I’m glad the good Lord kept you in check. I’ve been looking forward to having a job to come back to.

Noticing how Clara shifted her weight on the glittering purple cane, Judy’s pleasant round eyes took her in. Are you okay, honey? I didn’t know you were coming back today.

Doctor said she should’ve waited another two weeks, but she begged the PT to release her for work, her stepbrother said.

Clara waved him off. I’m gonna follow all the directions Dr. Clancy gave me. Get up every two hours and move. I’m gonna mind my meds and monitor myself, she said, without looking back at Eric.

Of course, you are. Judy put her arm around Clara and led her to the front desk. But what happened, honey? All I heard is you had a relapse and you’d be out two months for recovery.

Knowing Judy meant well by putting her arm around her, Clara maneuvered the mobility aid to compensate for the extra weight affecting her balance before replying, It’s just part of Remitting-Relapsing MS. Every now and then, my body does something new and it takes forever to come around.

What was it this time? Judy asked.

You mean along with her brain fogs, heat spells, and sticking pains? Eric interrupted.

Clara sighed.

Eric hadn’t been keen to see her resume work. Not because it meant he dropped her off and picked her up each day; their jobs were in the same direction. Frankly, he’d never wanted her to work outside the house and he wasn’t shy about suggesting this escapade be proof she should quit.

Before she could scare Judy with the implications of this newest clog in her RRMS, Clara spoke. My balance is weird now. Not all the time, but if I don’t have the cane...well, I need the cane.

She was at the bottom of the patio steps when I found her, Eric added.

My word! And me keeping you here standing. Sit down! Come take your spot back. I know members will be glad to see your pretty face again.

With a broad smile, Nathan walked towards her from across the lobby. I’ll be glad, too.

Eric’s groan wasn’t subtle.

You sure about that? Clara asked, moving to meet him.

I am. Of course, you could’ve text me more these past weeks. Or let me know you were coming back today, he replied, hugging her carefully. 

Think of it as a surprise.

You’re a good surprise.

I should’ve text you more, though.

Shut up, he said, gently. I’m glad you’re back.

Eric’s interrupting tone was one lemon away from sour. If you’re so glad, Nate, you wanna let her sit down?

Nice seeing you again, Eric. 

Taller than Nathan, Eric’s lanky frame wasn’t noticeable until Nathan came around, his boxer’s body making her stepbrother look gaunt. The men had known each other since Clara’s mother remarried when she was sixteen.

That courtship had been a sudden one. Clara thought her mother needed more time to process the divorce and she believed both Eric and his father needed time to deal with losing a wife and mother, and a daughter and sister, to a drunk driving accident.

Since she'd been diagnosed, four years ago at age twenty, and she'd moved in with Eric, he treated her like he could undo or make up for the accident affecting his life. It was touching, really. But sometimes he doted on her like a mother finding out her daughter got her first period, had her first kiss, and was made prom queen all in the same day.

Good to see you, too, Nate. Clara, I’ll pick you up at eight.

Thanks. I needed to be back.

He shrugged. I’m glad you’re glad.

Judy babbled while she cleared the desk of her bric-a-brac, telling Clara to let her know if she needed anything before scuttling to her office in billing and payroll.

Clara sat down. Nathan lingered.

Happy?

Yeah. I was going nuts at home. I think I watched every BBC drama ever.

Just like old times. I remember those sleepovers. He groaned and grinned. You guys had the worst accents.

It was true. Nathan’s sisters, Nickie and Frankie, had been Clara’s best friends since grammar school, though life had since deposited the girls in different states. Back then, somehow, sleepovers meant binging all the BBC series and movies they could find. Special DVD orders from the library. Bootlegged films online. Guzzling it all, they’d sip Earl Grey tea and talk to one another as if they were elegant residents of the British Isles.

Three years older, and usually with friends of his own over at the Reed household, Nathan would routinely descend upon them in the basement, teasing, tickling, and threatening to spill all the tea. There would be tears, giggles, and threats of telling, usually followed by whispers over which of Nathan’s friends they had crushes on.

Clara smiled, rearranging icons on the laptop home screen, avoiding meeting those brown eyes and the amusement she’d find there. I’m not denying similar events may have occurred. 

He thumped the desk with the palm of his hand. Alright, Clara Bear. I’ve got class starting in a few.

Clara Bear.

The nickname first occurred when she was eleven. He’d snatched the teddy bear she’d brought for the Reed Friday night institution of movie night, dancing around the family room ‘til Mr. Reed smacked him across the back of the head and he returned it, dubbing her with the nickname, too.

She shooed him away. Go on, then. I’m fine. Go teach your boxing boys.

Bug me later.

I will.

FOREST BROOK COMMUNITY Center members welcomed Clara’s return. Several asked if she was okay, hoping for more than the socially polite reply. A few, who knew her long enough to know of her condition, noticed the mobility aid and shook their heads.

She was too young to have a cane.

Too young.

Since the initial diagnosis, she’d heard that line more than she preferred to remember. She was too young to have joint pain, too young to have cognitive impairments, to suffer MS hot flashes, and deal with the MS Hug.

Frankly, she agreed. The turn her life took after learning she would battle with this condition for the rest of her days brought her into therapy and pushed her more towards the mild pastor at her church.

Despite the medications and vitamin supplements, Multiple Sclerosis yanked her down a rabbit’s hole. She emerged in a wonderland of fears and unknowns. For the truth of the disease eating away at the myelin on her spinal cord faster than her body could replace it meant no matter how she fought, in the end, it would confine her to a world of fog and hurt, constricting her into an assisted life.

In a softly lit therapist’s office, she worked on turning up the dial: a motivational process of doing one small thing, followed by another, to accomplish a goal.