30 Days: Lost Love Trilogy, #1

By Belle Brooks

"Sometimes we choose to forget the things in life that hurt us the most."

 

What has Abigail forgotten? What has been erased?

 

Plenty, apparently ...

 

Abigail, the self-proclaimed hexed, is falling apart at the seams. She's mad at the world—at the series of doors that continue to slam in her face. Most of all, she's mad at herself.

 

When her best friend Sammy interferes in her spiral of self-loathing with an intervention, she finds herself walking into a successful law firm and right into Marcus's lap.

 

He's sophisticated, funny, and alluring … but he's also underhanded. There's something else about Marcus that Abigail never expected: a link to her past. But are some secrets better left hidden?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMA Publishing PTY LTD
• Release date: Mar 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9780648573364

Belle Brooks

Born in Australia, Belle Brooks has always had a passion for books and creative writing. She loves exploring the different ways stories can be told through the use of text and in-depth characters. Since she was a child her strong talent and interest in creative writing was evident, explaining that her favourite class in school was English. Despite her love for all things books, she decided the world of advertising and marketing was where she could put her talents to use in the business realm, well that is until now. Belle enjoys creative writing and creating fictional stories that leave a valued message inside the pages.

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Table of Contents

HEXED

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

FRIENDS

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

30 DAYS: Part One

Published 2021

ISBN: 978-0-6485733-6-4

©2021 by JMA Publishing

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, JMA Publishing PTY Limited, Po Box 2302, Yeppoon QLD Australia 4703.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights are reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in past in any form. This edition is published in arrangement with JMA Publishing PTY Limited Q.L.D.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a 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.

Published by

JMA PUBLISHING PTY LIMITED

Po Box 2302

Yeppoon Qld 4701

AUSTRALIA

Cover design by Cover Me Darling ©2020.

Formatted by Jaye Pratt.

Edited by Lauren McKellar of Lawrence Editing.

Proofreading by KM Golland.

For the dreamers.

A NOTE TO THE READER

This book has been written using UK English and contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday, Australian vernacular.

Hexed

ONE

In a Haze

Abi, what are you doing on my front lawn? It’s two a.m. and bloody cold out. Her voice is close.

One of my eyes strains open. What looks like red hair tickles my nose.

Huh? I slur. Where the hell I am?

Are you drunk? Oh crap, you’re drunk off your head, aren’t you? I can smell it. Don’t even deny you’re not. A set of pale blue eyes, filled with worry, look down at me.

You could say that. I giggle.

So you’re still taking this well, I see?

Huh? I slur again.

Get off your arse and get inside.

I’m a big girl. Now, unhand me, lady, I spit as Sammy drags my body across wet grass.

Fuck, Abi, you said you were okay now.

I’m fine.

Clearly.

The door slams hard. The carpet is soft under my cheek. Feet stomp past my head but soon return. A blurry hand shoves a glass of clear liquid in my face. Drink this. We need to sober you up.

I don’t wanna. I stroke my fingers through the carpeting, trying to fight the urge to vomit.

Well, you need to. What were you doing out there?

Sleeping. Remembering better times, I mumble.

Great. Just great, Abi. What am I going to do with you?

Kind stranger, if you could take me home … My eyes flutter before closing.

***

What are your plans for today? His tone was clipped.

I stood on tiptoes and placed a soft kiss upon his cheek. Not much, honey. Have a great day golfing with the boys. I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my tone.

I’ll probably get my butt handed to me. Abi, tell me, why do I have to rub shoulders with the big boys, exactly? Stress lines marred his face.

Because it’s how you’ll land your dream job. Now get going before you’re late. I slapped his fine arse as he walked away.

Ouch! he yelped.

You were happy enough to do that to me last night, weren’t you?

His eyebrows rose. His big brown eyes gleamed. He finally smiled. A soft kiss took my lips. There was no passion, no desire. I ignored the lack of love this kiss held. Then he was gone.

Dashing to the car, I stumbled. My dress lifted, exposing my barely contained buttocks. My knee grazed against the cement. There was little blood, but it stung something fierce.

I’m going to be late, I muttered as I hobbled to the car.

Before long, I was driving my VW down the A1 with haste. Sammy, my beautiful best friend, had called shotgun on pick-up, which made her in charge of music as we travelled into Brisbane from the coast. Ange and Sophie chattered away happily in the back seat.

I glanced at the thick bushland skirting the smooth highway. I enjoyed the drive into the city. The smell of pine wafting on the breeze brought back happy memories of my childhood.

So did you tell him you were going wedding dress shopping today? Sophie asked, a grin lifting the corners of her mouth.

A nervous laugh escaped me. No, it didn’t come up.

Do you have a particular style in mind? Ange leaned into the back of my seat as she spoke.

No, not really. Something elegant and sophisticated. I mean, if I’m going to be the wife of a possible future mayor, I want to be classy.

They cooed.

Don’t roll those big greens at us, Sammy scolded. She slapped my thigh, hard. It might work on lover boy, but on us, it’s wasted.

I grinned.

He will be mayor. How long do you think it’ll be until he gets the job? Ange asked, giving her vote of confidence.

I took a moment to think about her statement. Soon. Well, I hope soon. It is his dream. We just need to believe it won’t be far away. We have to believe in him …

We all do, because you’re going to be his wife! Sammy took it upon herself to fiddle with the LED panel of the car’s audio system. And I’m going to be your maid of honour, which means I’m in charge of everything … I have the perfect song for this trip.

Paramore bursts from the speakers. "’Still Into You’. Good choice," I said, relaxing into the leather seat, thinking about our destination—City Bridal. A prestigious boutique in the heart of Brisbane where chandeliers hung from high ceilings and every accessory or dream could be met. The entire place radiated glitz and glamour.

Twenty minutes later, we walked from the carpark to the front door as a group. We entered in the same fashion. Champagne flutes filled with bubbles awaited our arrival, standing tall on an oval tray. Bethany, my consultant, handed us each a glass. She smiled, and I took a sip, the bubbles making me giddy. This was the place where my dress would be chosen.

The girls headed straight towards the neatly placed racks. My eyes were taken immediately by a mannequin. The gown adorning it spoke my name. It called for me. There was never a need to look; it was as if it was always going to be hanging there.

Butterflies danced in my stomach as my shaking hands draped a one-strap, lace, white wedding dress over my pale skin. My reflection made me gasp as Bethany fastened the last button. The first dress I tried on was more beautiful than I could have imagined.

You look gorgeous. So tall and thin. I think this one might have been made for you. Bethany’s golden eyes widened as her lips arched. I wish I had your height.

Thank you, I said, feeling my cheeks pink.

She smiled.

I walked out of the fitting room and called, Are you three ready for me?

Hurry up, Ange cried in anticipation.

Well? I said, stepping in front of them.

Their mouths gaped open. Their tears began to fall.

Stunning. Sammy’s pale blue eyes filled with moisture. The dress was exactly that … stunning. It fit me like a glove.

I stood staring at my reflection in the mirror behind them. I couldn’t believe that girl was me. Bethany, how much is this one?

Four thousand, Bethany said in a way that made four thousand dollars seem like mere peanuts.

Four thousand dollars. It’s too much money to spend on a piece of clothing for one day. I frowned, turning to walk back towards the fitting rooms, discouraged.

It’s worth every penny, Sophie blurted out. The girls gathered around me.

I know it’s the first dress you’ve tried, but it’s ‘the dress’ and worth the price tag, Sammy encouraged.

I tugged at my lower lip with my teeth. It’s too much. I took a step towards the fitting rooms.

Sophie stopped me, turning me back towards the mirror. Look at you, girl.

I saw my reflection again.

Buy the dress, Abi. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Sir Romeo said no price was too much when we talked about gowns last month. Sammy rubbed her palm over my back. Hand over your plastic, she whispered.

I did.

The drive home was just as relaxing, only now the boot contained one expensive wedding dress. What expensive bridal store ever allowed someone to take home a piece from their floor stock? And what dress had no need for any tailoring? It made no sense.

I dropped the girls at Sammy’s house and continued home.

He was already there.

Surprise lifted my eyebrows halfway up my forehead. Back so soon, honey?

Yes, it was a quick nine rounds and a few beers. The newspaper covered his face, his leg crossed over the other. He looked comfortable in the leather couch with our tiny Pug, Bella, curled up beside him. The paper lowered. His eyes narrowed until I could barely see the brown. You’re flushed, Abi.

Am I?

Yes. What have you been up to? His tone was calm.

You know … buying a wedding dress. I bit at my nail, a nervous habit I couldn’t get rid of.

Oh. I see. He dropped the paper. He scrubbed at the back of his head.

The atmosphere turned tense. The change abrupt with no reasoning as to why. I didn’t see what was coming next.

Walking back out to the car, I removed the opaque bag. On my return, the three steps into our apartment felt like ten. The wooden floors of the hall echoed with each footstep my stilettos made. Finally, the carpet from the bedroom floor stopped the sound.

Is it in there? I could hear frustration in his tone as he hovered behind me. You’re flushed again, he murmured under his breath.

Am I? I saw my reflection in the mirror, in the corner of our room. I was.

He shook his head, ran his hands through his chestnut hair, and then exhaled with force.

What’s wrong? Do you want to see it? My heart began to pound at a frantic tempo.

No, he replied quickly. Too quickly. I … He huffed. Why …? He couldn’t find the words.

I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought a dress yet. Tears welled up, blurring my vision as his head dropped.

I can’t do this. His voice was weak and apologetic.

Do what?

I can’t marry you, Abi.

My heart stopped beating. My lungs forgot to claim air. The world stopped spinning.

The love of my life was no longer mine.

***

Hey, sleepyhead. Get up, a stern but sweet voice greets me.

My head, I moan. Water, please. Water.

I’ve got you covered, but you don’t deserve it.

Sammy’s voice. Shit. I’m sure I don’t, but please give it to me.

A glass is pressed into my hand. The water cuts through my throat like razor blades when I gulp it down. Kill me.

"I guess you aren’t coping then?" Sammy’s eyebrows are drawn together. She gently touches my shoulder as her long torso hunches over me.

My eyes strain. What would give you that idea? My throat is dry and raspy. Did I smoke?

"Probably finding you on the grass out front, drunk again. You rambling about something that happened a while ago now—those reasons. Look, Abi, your dog dying and finding out your ex-fiancé is engaged again in one day, is a lot to go through. It is … But, it’s been a month, and you can’t keep dwelling on the past. No good is going to come from this. You need to get it together. A beat passes. Abigail, she was just a dog. It’s not the same as when your dad passed. Get another dog if it will make you feel better."

My mouth drops open. She wasn’t just a dog. She can’t be replaced. Bella was my baby. I loved her. Why would you even bring up my dad? God, what the actual fuck?

Sweetie. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m tired. Sammy stands, rubbing her fingers into each temple. Please. You need to let this hurt out in a way that doesn’t include a bottle of liquor. You’ll feel better, I promise.

"I’ll do it my way. My way."

Sammy sits beside me. I’m in her bed—the tacky 1980s yellow curtains framing the window are a dead giveaway.

You’re safe here. I love you, Abi. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll always have me. Playing with the loose strands of my hair, she sighs. My dirty blonde locks slide between her fingers. Softly, she hums and then sings, Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton, the same song they played at my father’s funeral. Tears slide over my lips. At first, it’s a slow stream. But before long, I’m sobbing, then crying, and what I feared would happen—howling.

It’s not fair, I scream in pain.

Sammy continues singing.

I’m living in a hell loop; one I don’t think I’ll ever escape. I can’t do this anymore.

TWO

Intervention

Living with my mother has its perks, but I’m still not sure if they outweigh the fact I’m housed back under her roof.

Closing the front door, on exit, I turn and walk towards the car.

"How are do you plan on getting home tonight? Mum asks, as I climb into the passenger seat of her Gecko car—Ford Festiva; green in colour.

Taxi or something, is my initial response. But she shakes her head and purses that damn mouth of hers. Someone will probably give me a lift. Don’t stress about it. I’m not.

I’m working the nightshift. I can’t pick you up if you get yourself in trouble again.

It’s fine. I fasten my seatbelt. Why she even works so much is beyond me. Dad’s life insurance covers everything we need.

Please don’t drink too much.

"Mum!"

I worry. She tucks her light-coloured curls behind her ears.

You never worry. Stop it. I roll my eyes. Trish’s house isn’t far from ours. I can probably walk home if it comes down to it. I shrug, turning up the volume of the radio so Mum stops talking.

You look pretty, petal.

Stop talking. I roll my eyes for a second time.

Abi, stop being rude.

I grunt. I know the way I’m treating Mum is wrong. I’d never have dismissed her in such a way before my life crumbled out from under me, but I can’t seem to bite my tongue. I also can’t seem to prevent projecting my internal pain on everyone I love. I’m so mean to her.

You do look beautiful tonight.

Whatever. I’m only wearing an everyday dress, nothing spectacular. Drop it. Stop talking to her like this Abi.

Well, I like the green on you. It’s lovely against your eyes.

Watch the road, will you? My hands shelter my face in pretend horror of a likely car wreck.

Really? she tuts, annoyed. I haven’t even pulled out of the park yet.

What? You haven’t? I grin.

You know, your eyes are just like your father’s.

"Yes, I know. Stop talking and get to driving." I can’t think about Dad right now! That hurt stings.

Mum drives, and as she does, I drift off, thinking about finally being face-to-face with my friends again, and then I replay the last time I did.

***

I freshened up before putting on a summer dress. I slipped flat sandals onto feet that begged for me to get them off and crawl back under the covers. That wasn’t going to happen, since Sammy coated my bed with water, so I’d get up. Bitch. Dragging my tired body into the living room, I found my bestie and Mum whispering. They were close and hunched into each other. It was obvious they were talking about me. Those two were in cahoots.

I crossed my arms, narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips. So what are we discussing, ladies? They both jumped backwards, putting space between them.

Oh … you know, the weather. Mum’s cheeks flushed.

And the newsroom, Sammy added.

Well, they’re both great topics of conversation. I’m sad I missed it. Liars.

We didn’t hear you come in, sweetheart. Mum walked over to me, pulled my head forward, and kissed my cheek. How are you feeling today?

Like flowers blooming in spring. Never better.

Sammy rolled her eyes at me, then huffed. Save us the sarcasm, will you?

What? I feel great.

Yeah, and you look it.

See. Flowers in bloom … Spring … Happiness.

If you say so, petal. Mum smiled. Her blue eyes no longer gleamed like they once did. I knew my downfall was breaking her heart. Have a good day, you two. She winked at Sammy, which pissed me off. Cahoots.

Come on, Ginger, you’ve got your way. I’m up. I’m dressed. Let’s go. I sighed.

Seriously. Is Ginger going to be my new nickname? I ask because I hate it.

Well, yes. It suits you. The ginger hair. The pale skin. Those soft blue eyes. Definitely a Ginger. No longer a Sammy.

I see.

I hopped into the passenger side of her Mazda6. What’s with Dorothy, anyway? Sammy had recently come up with a nickname of her own for me.

She laughed, obviously pleased by her own creativity. The Wizard of Oz. You, my friend, are lost and in need of finding your way home. You need an awakening to slap you back into life.

No, I don’t. I know where I live, so Dorothy is a stupid name.

If you say so.

After bickering about nicknames for the duration of the car ride, Sammy pulled up outside our regular meeting place. We glanced at each other briefly. Ginger then chewed on her bottom lip. She was nervous. Why?

The Coffee Club, she stated, slowly, strangely, although it was obvious where we were. We came here all the time.

Making my way from the car, I tripped on the guttering. Fuck my life.

Come on, hop along like a bunny, Sammy called back to me, entering the restaurant. Booking under Spencer, she stated when I caught up.

Spencer. Yes. Your party has arrived. Please follow me.

Party ...? Sammy, what party? I whispered in confusion. I couldn’t people right now. Why was she doing this to me? "Sammy, what party? I repeated. She said nothing, and before long, I was faced with said party. Ange and Sophie. Great.

"Samantha. Abigail. It’s so good to