In a journey for retribution, lines blur between courage, justice, and revenge.
Married since 2005, Erica resides in Las Vegas, Nevada with her four children and can often be found satisfying her sweet-tooth with chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of milk. One day, she hopes to dust off her collegiate rugby skills and dive back into the game.
Facts about the Author
1. When I am not writing, I like to get wrapped up in TV dramas with my husband once the kids are all asleep and the house is quiet! But I do love capturing the funny and tender moments happening all around me every day, in between the teasing, tears, and frustrations of my little ones. (I didn't specify whose tears and frustrations because it's often a combination of all of us!) I also love exercising outside with my Boot Camp friends.
2. I am working on balancing my life! Writing had to take a back seat this past year after my son was born and I had three kids ages four and under to love and care for. Now I'm finally getting the urges to write again and finding a way to insert that into my life right now. This new series will be another contemporary romance that, so far, includes a secret, unethical adoption that rises to the surface when a stranger turns herself in to the police for the death of her child years ago.
My vision blurred like I was walking outside in the rain. It may as well have been raining, with how emotionally drenched and defeated I felt as I marched out of my neighborhood. I didn’t know where I was going. Despite the familiar street, I felt lost and confused. I just knew I needed to keep moving, afraid that if I stood still, the storm of emotions would drown me.
Aaron became a silent companion at my side, keeping fast pace with my hurried steps. My thoughts stewed inside my head, a dangerous concoction of fear, hurt, and fury. My whole life I had worked to salvage this family. My entire purpose for going to college was to help us survive, even if our heads were barely above water. But it seemed the minute I’d left the house, both father and son were falling apart, sabotaging my efforts.
Aaron seemed to sense I was about to boil over because he eventually took my hand and pulled me onto the grass. He stood in front of me with both hands on my shoulders, trying to look into my eyes. I shook my head, knowing if I spoke one word that too many more would spew out of my mouth—bitter and resentful—and I’d never be able to take them back. Aaron’s hands moved to my back and he wrapped me in his arms, pulling my face against his chest. His strong hands pressed into my shoulder blades, holding me together like fractured porcelain.
I let the warm tears fall, one by one. I hoped that by keeping my eyes pulled tightly shut, that the tears wouldn’t find an exit. But they did—steaming one after the other until each droplet became a river, a driving current of emotion merging together. It would have felt dangerous without Aaron’s embrace, but I felt safe anchored in his arms.
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