Acceptance: Reborn

By Rebecca Heidt

In the third installment of the award-winning LGBTQ+ fiction series, Acceptance: Reborn, Selena has succeeded against Ryder and Kieran in the fight for her birthright. And now?

There have been losses, gains, and discoveries on both sides. Old truths have found their way to the light.

Selena continues her pursuit to bring unity to a fractured community while grieving the fresh loss of her Uncle. As she tries to leave Skylar behind her, feeling lost and alone, she carves a path forward, looking for her mother, Rose.

Amid her self-realization, Selena works alongside Elvira to find answers. Will she find the balance she craves? Or will everything that Selena fought for start falling apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Heidt
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223479727

Book preview

Chapter 1:

Akira. You’re Ryder’s sister, my voice more accusing than I meant. That’s the only thing I say before immediately taking the paper from her.

Akira smiles at the fact that I know who she is, putting her hands behind her back. That’s right, I am.

What do you guys want? Skylar asks since I’m unable to continue a conversation.

She’s unfazed by Skylar’s words. For all I know, this is normal for them. We want nothing. Ryder just simply wants to give something in good faith. In the hope that there can be a future truce. He’s sorry for the way our father and Dima acted.

Skylar maintains a blank stare seemingly unconvinced.

I open the paper, looking at the name of Ystad, a town south of us. I hand it to Skylar to see if it means anything to her, she shrugs unsure.

And what is this supposed to be? I ask.

She turns fully to both of us. Selena, it’s where your mother’s being held.

My head snaps up to look at Akira. Wait, what?! 

***

No one speaks. The air around us is filled with deafening silence.

I’m sorry, what did you say? I repeat more aggressively.

I turn to Skylar, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Then I see her eyes moving back and forth deep in thought. Even though she hasn’t said anything directly, her expression answers all the questions I have for her if she knew about this.

The growing tone of the conversation is alerting other people around us. Abigale moves through the small crowd to see what’s going on. I hear the agitation in her voice but upon seeing Akira it disarms her.

Akira? Abigale asks with uncertainty.

To her credit, Akira appears unworried, despite being surrounded by people who don’t want her here. Akira’s smile never moves from its position. Even though her arms are crossed in front of her defensively, her body looks relaxed.

I’m undecided if I like her confidence or if it’s too egotistical.

Abigale, is the only answer Akira gives.

Everyone is waiting in anticipation for Akira to expand on her greeting. But it never comes.

A growing annoyance from those around me is evident. Today is a difficult day for everyone. I start to hear some mumbles and grumblings that she should leave. I hold up my hand to quiet them down. Along with my anger increasing.

I hand Abigale the paper I’m holding while informing her what I was told.

Akira was sent here by Ryder as a truce. And to show he means it, he’s suggesting this is where my mother is being held.

This tips whatever self-control Abigale is holding onto. Her hand that’s holding the paper starts to shake, crumbling the paper slightly.

You have some nerve coming here today like this. Abigale’s voice shakes with the words. After that, her tone turns accusing. With this... trap for us when we should be mourning our fallen. We all know that Lucas and Rose were taken down by your father. I was there for all of it.

Abigale pauses looking around at me and the others taking a deep breath to gather herself. The next time she speaks, the anger, that just moments before, was so prominent is gone. I only hear sadness, I think you should leave.

Akira kneels and places her hand on the ground. Metal pieces come out of the Earth to make a beautiful mandala sun design next to where Uncle is laid to rest.

I’m doing what I’m told and paying my respects, she says but I notice her expression falls slightly. I can only imagine her life was full of taking the blame for her father’s actions. Always trying to get away from someone’s shadow.

I massage my forehead, feeling drained mentally and emotionally.

I know everyone’s emotions are heightened right now. I’m tired, as I’m sure we all are, I say. I look at Akira with warning eyes: not to stir the pot. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like to. Please come by the house in the next couple of days to talk. I would like to go home now.

I turn around, taking the paper back from Abigale’s grasp. Without another word, I walk through the group to the car. They part the way for me as I move closer. The others shortly start following me. Skylar and Abigale take longer but eventually, also follow suit.

One by one, we get back into the cars.

As we drive away, I see Akira still in the spot we left her. Except now she’s sitting next to Uncle’s grave talking to the air. The mandala sun design is more noticeable.

I’m hoping after we return to my house everyone will go home. To my dismay, most of them stay to talk about what happened at the funeral or to share stories.

True to being tired, any questions asked my way will get minimal answers. As soon as I can, I head upstairs to my room. It’s the place of safety and tranquility for me because it is mine.

I shut the door behind me quickly, to cut off the chatter of the others on the opposite side. Whatever strength I’m holding onto falls away like a delicate flower in a windstorm.

Turning around, I look around the room. Sadness surges forward, the day’s events adding to it exponentially.

Before I realize it, I’m grabbing my clothes and possessions throwing them around the room in a fury. Nothing in this room should look clean or perfect, not while there’s so much pain in me. I hate that these belongings represent where I’m at now, showing my old and new life together. The only thing that ends up safe in the rampage is my mother’s maroon and light brown floral blanket that’s resting on the end of my bed.

Eventually, I stop, landing with my back flat on the bed.

For several moments, my hands covered my eyes. Tears are streaming from them. In my pain, I relive the memories from the beginning.

All that time ago when I ran into Dima trying to take that elderly woman’s taxi. Then memories of Ryder coming into my life at the bar. Shortly followed by the eye-opening gala event with him when I first saw Skylar from the balcony.

Once Skylar showed up at that club, I should have known something was amiss. However, I was so pulled in by her and the dreams we shared. I had almost no control over falling in love with her. Right up until the conspiracy with Ryder, her engagement, and learning about a world I didn’t even know about.

Being imprisoned by Ryder, then escaping into daylight. Only to leave to find my childhood home destroyed and my Uncle injured. All of which was left behind for a safe house with Abigale and Ginger to organize a rebellion.

If I never helped that elderly lady and met Dima, Uncle may still be alive.

I think about it as the memories continue to drown me, knowing it holds some truth.

Through the negative spiral, there’s a small voice reminding me of the reality: no matter what version unfolded, parts of this story were always going to happen at some point.

My thoughts turn to Abigale’s safe house and the difference in life it brought Uncle and me. Before, Uncle was only living a fraction of his life while we were in hiding and him raising me. He got his life and more joy back after we moved to Abigale’s house.

The good memories with Uncle that carry love, appreciation, and growth of that time now surface.

Even though I’m still crying, a small smile comes to my lips at his kindness.

From the second we arrived at our temporary home with Abigale, Uncle was there to help and guide me. From learning more about my fire ability, using it in a fight, and learning about my family’s company Tevaxo. My uncle helped connect me to my family’s oracle candle, which led to one of my ancestors.

The last year had revolved around finding new friends, learning who I am, and what I am capable of, and discovering my strength. Uncle was there to guide me through so many new doors, being supportive as I explored on my own.

Him being gone almost doesn’t feel real.

I look around the room with the scattered clothes. The aesthetics of light gray and dark colors give life to a darker environment.

I just learned about my mother. Should I feel happier about the idea of one of my parents being alive? I feel like the generic answer is yes. Instead, all I feel is sadness encroaching on displacement and numbness.

Who do I have to talk about this?

Skylar? I don’t trust her enough to support me the way I need.

Conner? No. Abigale? No. Although they are both people I can turn to, they will not fully understand.

None of these people have any idea what Uncle and I have been through together, the sacrifices we made. I crave, beg, and pray for a second of feeling grounded, gaining any ounce of the clarity Uncle used to provide.

I take off my shoes and socks. I place my bare feet flat on the floor hoping to gain what I’m looking for from the raw materials under me. I close my eyes, concentrating for fifteen or twenty minutes to center myself.

When the chaos in me lessens, I open my eyes. I get the candle, then find each of our places on the floor. I light it with my fire like all the times before, but instead of a green flame meeting me it’s purple.

I stare at it. When did this happen?

Under different circumstances, I’d feel surprised, curious, or even excited. I feel nothing in their place and continue to stare at the fire.

I look over the candle seeking any physical changes. There’s nothing noticeably different. I push mentally for the connection to bridge me to my ancestor, who is the only other source of comfort.

Nothing happens.

I don’t have it in me to keep trying. There’s only emptiness to fuel my ambition. Emptiness and anger waiting much farther behind it.

Extinguishing the candle, I place it back. I make a mental note to try again in the future.

When I turn around, I’m suddenly hit with a feeling of displacement. Displacement that this isn’t my home, this isn’t my reality, or my life isn’t the one I’m living.

I recognize that I’m physically in my house and the items around me are mine. But I feel lopsided and extremely out of place.

I look at my hands, asking aloud, If I don’t belong here, then where do I?

No answer follows. I sigh, hoping some of this will go away by tomorrow.

Chapter 2:

I awaken mid-morning, and even with the depression weighing, I feel well rested. A dread for the day overwhelms me, willing everyone to leave me alone.

A text comes in from Melanie.

Melanie: I made too much breakfast if you’d like some.

She must have heard my thoughts.

Honestly, I’m not that hungry. Regardless, I resign to the idea that I can give up everything except food.

Me: I’ll be down soon.

I begrudgingly get out of bed, leaving my room in pajamas and messy hair. I drag myself to the first floor and kitchen, where Melanie is putting pancakes on a large plate to share.

I huff but don’t feel as annoyed as I’m showing. With everything going on, Melanie’s company is the only one I can tolerate.

I point to the plate that’s now filled as she turns off the stove and puts down the spatula.

Did you make too much with the idea that I was joining you? I ask her with a small smile.

Melanie picks up the orange juice sitting on the counter, making me notice the two glasses.

No, she says as she pours the liquid into both. Well, yes, but you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to.

I grab an empty plate, taking several pancakes to place on it. I’ll gladly take some of these from you, I say, realizing I’m hungrier than I thought.

Adding butter and syrup, I meet Melanie at the small table in the kitchen.

While I start to eat, I glance over to her adding, Thank you, I say with my mouth full with pancakes.

You’re welcome, she says in a soft tone. For the briefest moment, sadness shows up on her face. Her eyes get a briefly distant look to them with any indication of a smile turns into an equal frown. It’s a reminder that just like me, Melanie is struggling with Uncle’s death.

We remain in silence as we eat. I find comfort in knowing that we can still have these moments together, the two of us. It’s a relief that it’s possible to get a form of peace between the two of us, even with more people in our lives.

This peace exists with the void of Uncle’s voice. Grieving together but yet separately.

Melanie is mid-chew when she points her fork to something in the attached room. We should get different paintings to hang up in the living room.

She doesn’t add any more, deeming it enough explanation.

I push the plate away from me, then look in the direction she points.

What’s wrong with them? I ask, too embarrassed to mention that I haven’t noticed.

She looks at me incredulously. Have you seen them?

No, not really, I respond flatly. I’ve been avoiding learning more about the house. I haven’t felt ready.

Go take a look. Then tell me what you think, she says picking up her dish to get more.

I grab my glass of remaining orange juice, leaving my empty plate behind, to go to the room.

Looking around, I observe each painting. I do my best to keep an open mind and not let Melanie’s opinion persuade me.

Each painting shows masculinity and power. This would normally be the living room, but is without a television. In place of it, there’s a larger painting.

I stand in front of the large image, feeling a small frown develop. I perceive it to be very dark and foreboding with blood red, black, dark blues, and deep violets. There is no bright, happy colors or feelings of joy from it. Knowing who the old occupants used to be Ryder and Kieran, it makes sense.

I continue to stand there holding the juice, being sucked into the painting. I can’t help the despair and hurt that comes with viewing it. I may have minimal love for Ryder or Kieran, but I respect what the canvas represents.

I don’t want to spend my life feeling like this.

The thought deepens my frown.

Ryder’s life is represented through this room. He couldn’t or wouldn’t go beyond his pain. I may be in a similar place now, but I won’t stay here.

That’s what makes us different.

I sift through my thoughts, walking back to the kitchen where Melanie is still eating. I drink the rest of the juice, putting the glass next to my plate.

See if we can get some samples of local artists to change the paintings in the house, I say, then walk away.

Gladly, Melanie yells from the kitchen.

Now realizing that a remodel of the house may be necessary, I explore the other rooms.

Turning left, I pass the living area to the meeting room.

The bookshelves line the walls on the left of the room. They run parallel to the desk and long meeting table, attaching to a large, raised section across the entire floor. On the opposite side, etchings of animals and paintings of groups going out to hunt decorate the space.

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief, having not noted this decor either. The wall color behind the paintings is dark brown and a deep brown. I walk along the meeting room to further inspect the raised platform. There’s an animal mural carved within the edging of back room. With difficulty, one of ducks look to be different.

Upon closer examination, I see what looks like a small door handle.

Twisting the handle, it opens up to a smaller room with a table and about six chairs. There are no decorations and the same wooden design the larger room encompasses it. The room, though simple, gives me the feeling of importance. That is where great decisions were made, or great secrets held.

Maybe this was used for safety or to create sensitive plans. 

Closing the door back up, I can’t help the eye roll after resurveying the main room.

It looks like a country hunting lodge.

I journey next to the sitting room, which I broke into once upon a time. The door has since been removed with the doorway remodeled.  Subconsciously, I check that the windows are locked. With it being a sitting room, the colors of the walls and furniture are lighter. Dare I say even a bit feminine?

The lamps and wall decorations are silver and reflective. The furniture is a burgundy fabric with the walls a mix of light silver and dusty rose colors.

I look to my right to see an arch leading into the second sitting room.

Interestingly enough, when I pass under the archway, it’s identical to the one I left except the colors are different. This one has the same burgundy fabrics but with dark turquoise and dusk colors covering the walls.

Huh. That was unexpected. I wonder why these were lighter, I say aloud to myself. Right after I say it, I laugh thinking of a potential answer.

Skylar.

I shake my head, thinking it’s an ironic joke. Even with all of Ryder’s power, Skylar influenced him so much.

Apparently, she influenced all of us.

I sigh exiting the room, and with it, leaving all thoughts of Skylar behind. I head up the stairs to the second floor with its four bedrooms and two bathrooms.

Excluding mine and Melanie’s room, the other two are empty except for a bed and dresser. Both rooms are medium silver with red covers. There’s nothing on the walls, no curtains, and no character. What they do both have, is a light layer of dust demonstrating a unique eeriness to them, coupled with a sense of loneliness. Of a story once upon a time these rooms