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Every little girl dreams of the fairytale. The one where the white knight rushes in to save her from the clutches of evil. They fall in love, have babies, and live happily ever after.

By that definition, my life should have been a fairytale too.

When I was eight years old, Caven Hunt saved me from the worst kind of evil to walk the Earth. It didn’t matter that I was a kid. I fell in love with him all the same.

But that was where my fairytale ended.

Years later, a one-night stand during the darkest time imaginable gave us a little girl. It was nothing compared to the pitch black that consumed me when I was forced to leave her with Caven for good.

At the end of every fairytale, the happily-ever-after is the one thing that remains consistent. It wasn’t going to be mine, but there hadn’t been a night that passed where I hadn’t prayed that it would be hers.

I owed Caven my life.
However, I owed that innocent child more.
And that included ripping the heart from my chest and facing her father again.


COVER REVEAL: Written With Regret

Aly Martinez

Expected Release Date: 23 May 2019

The first book in Aly Martinez’s newest heartwrenching duet releases this week—with the conclusion following shortly after on Jun 13—and I am so excited to share with you an AMAZING scene from this brilliant new story from an author who never fails to give me all the feels with her storytelling.

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Excerpt

My eyes were bloodshot and my body exhausted when I heard the knock on the door.

I knew.

I didn’t even need to answer it.

I’d spent the last thirty-some hours counting cracks in the ceiling while considering every possible ending to this nightmare.

My favorite was the one where Doug called announcing like he was Maury Povich that I was notthe father. I had big plans for this scenario. I was going to get a vasectomy and then buy a yacht and sail down the coast, where I’d celebrate every child-free sunrise by standing on the bow naked and yelling “Freedom!”Mel Gibson–style. Not that he was naked in that movie. But in the middle of stress-induced insomnia, I’d thought there was no better way to celebrate my eternal childless status than to be naked.

In the scenarios where I wasthe father, I spent my time mentally listing all the ways I would absolutely screw up a child in the next eighteen years. It started with your average run-of-the-mill fears. Things like maybe she would become a serial killer because I worked all the time and she was raised by evil, child-hating nannies. I’d Googled nanny agencies shortly after this and left a few sleep-deprived messages on answering machines, asking for the stats on how many of their past clients were now in jail or on the run from the law. Not surprisingly, I didn’t receive any call-backs.

After that, I moved on to the selfish phase where I obsessed about all things Caven: thoughts of losing my mind while listening to a baby scream all day, juggling work and dirty diapers, toys covering my apartment, and never being able to have sex again. It was a pity party of epic proportions.

In the middle of those manic moments was a lot of moral introspection after I’d considered giving the child up for adoption. There were good parents out there who desperately wanted children. There were also shitty ones like my father who were nothing more than wolves in sheep’s clothing. How would I ever be able to tell the difference?

I might not be a good father, but I wanted to at least ensure that she’d always be safe. Which was far more than I’d gotten growing up.

This thought process led to me texting Ian at four in the morning to offer him a hundred million dollars to adopt her if she ended up being my daughter.

The bastard didn’t even try to negotiate before texting me back with a blunt no.

To say I was floundering was an understatement. Most men had nine months to come to terms with the idea of having a child. God was not an idiot. He knew we’d need every minute of that time to prepare. But, apparently, he also had a twisted sense of humor, because I was only given thirty-six hours.

During that time, I went through each of the seven stages of grief. It wasn’t until a thought struck me that I landed somewhere in the realm of acceptance. I’d been adamant about not passing on any part of my father to a child, but that meant I’d never pass on any of the pure and intrinsic good that was my mother.

So, no, I didn’t know how to take care of a baby. But knowing that even a tiny piece of my mother was lying in a hospital across town, living, breathing, and more than likely still crying broke me in unimaginable ways. It had been over twenty years since I’d had anything more than two pictures of her and a necklace that Hadley had stolen to remind me of my mother.

But, now, there was this little girl.

By eight that morning, the window of time from the genetics lab had expired. I knew the results when no one had called or texted. Bad news was an arrow best delivered in person.

She was mine.

My stomach twisted and the weight in my chest became suffocating as the knock at the door sounded again.

I didn’t move. Not even a muscle. I was dressed, showered, and shaved. Shoes on, wallet and phone sitting on the coffee table in front of me. But I wasn’t ready.

That’s the thing about life though. It operates best on the element of surprise.

There were no choices left. No options. No outs.

There was just me and a baby girl who had no idea the quicksand she had been born into.

Ready or not, it was time.

Sucking in a deep breath, I rose to my feet, tucked my wallet and phone in the back pocket of my jeans, and headed to the very same door where this had all started. I didn’t know the first thing about diapers, cribs, or bottles. But I knew to the core of my soul, with an absolute certainty, that I was going to be a better parent than Hadley. And that was based on nothing more than the fact that I was going to be there for that little girl.

Ian and Doug were standing outside when I opened the door, their somber faces confirming what I already knew.

“Hey,” Ian started. “We need to—”

I didn’t let him finish. There was only one thing I needed to know. “When can I pick her up?”

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The Regret Duet - Recommended Reading Order

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