*~*He + She by Michelle Warren Release Blitz – Excerpt & Giveaway*~*

Genre:   Contemporary Romance

HE is trying to piece together his broken life.

SHE is running away from her wedding day.

TOGETHER, their world is a beautiful lie.

APART, their world is a perfect mess.

He + She is a free-spirited romance about soul-awakening second chances, heartbreak, and hopeful beginnings.

Chapter 1

Step Nine: Make direct amends with the people I’ve hurt.

That’s part of AA’s recovery plan, but it’s easier said than done. At least, it is if the prick staring at me from the front door of his farmhouse has anything to do with it. I grip the handle and pull, releasing the Jeep’s door. It creaks open as I step out into the night with determi- nation. Before I’m five paces into the yard, the dickhead meets me chest to chest with the usual look on his face— like he wants to kill me. And the truth is, he has every right to feel that way.

“I told you she doesn’t want see you,” he spits out.

“I know you did.” I meet his gaze, puffing up my chest like some rooster in a cockfight. I set my jaw. “But I need her to know I’m sorr—”

He presses his large hands into my shoulders and shoves me away. I fall backward and slam into my car, making a futile grab at the side mirror before I hit the ground. Sollie Winters is standing over me so fast, all I have time to do is brace myself for the impact of his steely fist before it makes contact with my nose.

I don’t fight back, since I’m desperately trying not to be a fighting person. Instead, I don’t defend myself, I just lie still, allowing him to purge his anger. He owes me every strike to the jaw, every punch to the gut, every spurt of blood, and so much more. Though I didn’t come here for a confrontation, I expected the less-than-warm-and- fuzzy welcome. It mirrors the two previous times I’ve tried to apologize to her since I learned she came home. But I needed to finish this, to finally say I’m sorry so I can get the hell out of town and move on with my life. There’s nothing for me here after what I’ve done. I’ve ruined everything.

These are the words that run through my head as he pummels me one last time. He twists his fingers into my shirt, lifting my wobbling body to my feet, and shoves me back through my open car door.

“If you’re not gone in five fucking seconds, I’m calling the police!” Sollie’s slight Southern twang is more pronounced when he’s pissed. He kicks the door shut and I sprawl across the front seat, a bruised and bloody mess. In the yellow haze of the front porch light, I see his wife run to his side, and though a frail thing, she forcefully ushers him back into the house, where their dogs are barking wildly. She looks over at me, giving me the same apologetic look she’s given me before as they disappear into the house. That’s when I notice a silhouette standing inside the lit window of an upstairs room.

Ignoring his warning, I sit up in the driver’s seat, grip the steering wheel, and lean forward, looking closer. She could be at that window. Right there, watching me get my head split open, painting the front yard red. If she’s look- ing out, it might make her happy to see me this way. If I were her, I wouldn’t be happy until I was dead.

When the silhouette moves across the room and dis- appears, I contemplate one more go of it, despite the fact that my face resembles a rotting pumpkin smashed in the road. I take a second to consider and think of my counsel- or, who urged me not to return for a third time for a third beating. “You’ve done all you can,” Mrs. Mankin drilled into me at our last session. It’s true, I have, everything just short of stalking the girl, but I won’t allow myself to do that. I don’t need more problems than I already have.

I slam my palm to the dashboard, fumble for my keys, shove one in the ignition and turn on my car, revving the engine. Slamming the stick shift into reverse, I peel out of the dusty driveway, swerving as I back out, barely missing the rusted mailbox before I speed away. If I don’t get out of here soon, I know that dickhead will have the cops all over my ass.

Chapter 2

Today was supposed to be one of the best days of my life; a day I would never forget.

Come to think of it, that last part’s true. I’ll never forget it for all the reasons that make you ache inside, the reasons that make you want to give up completely, the reasons that make you want to fold in on yourself like origami paper, folding in and over, making the shape smaller and smaller until you disappear into an infinitesimal dot. And because of this there’s only one thing I’m completely sure of in my soul—I must leave. Right now.

The glass doors glide open and I stomp through, legs weak and stomach hollow from crying my eyes out in the back of a taxicab. I make my way to the end of a winding line of people. Cheery faces turn when they see my big white dress and absurdly long lace train out of the corner of their eyes, but just as fast as their gaze settles in my direction, ready to greet me with well wishes, it slides away with an obvious pinch of uncomfortable guilt. And honestly, I can’t blame them.

“You can go ahead of me.” An older man’s voice wavers as he gestures nervously. With his shifting posture, I can tell he’s trying not to look too closely, but with black mascara dripping down my cheeks, mixing with my face powder, red lipstick, and peach blush, it’s clear that I’m a hot mess.

I make my way to the counter as each person in line shoos me forward in quick succession.

“May I help you?” The airline agent greets me with an unsure smile.

“I really hope so.” I place my handbag on the counter, un- zip it, and riffle through the contents as I continue to talk. “I need a ticket for the first plane out of here.”

From the edge of my vision, I see that there’s a moment of pause on her end, no typing, and no rushing to help, so I look up. The woman purses her lips as if she doesn’t believe me.

“Seriously, not kidding.” My raccoon eyes widen with an attitude.

The agent nods with a heavy sigh, and after a moment of assessing me, her long fluorescent nails tap the keyboard. “Looks like the first flight that you can make if you hurry is San Francisco.”

“Sounds great,” I say but frown. The irony of this location being the first option is a slap in the face. I try not to think about the pain and present my credit card and ID.

“It’s $627 with taxes and fees,” she adds, as though this will make a difference. A few years ago, it probably would have, but not on this god-awful day.

I shove the card closer. She reluctantly takes it, looking at me from over the rim of her glasses, the way she probably does when her kids give her lip.

“Any baggage?” Her gaze scans the floor behind me.

At this question, I laugh loudly and too obnoxiously, be- cause I’m practically manic and sleep-deprived. I have so much baggage, and all I want to do is desperately leave it behind.

“I’ll take that as a no.” She raises a graying eyebrow and continues typing.

I think I’m almost done, free of Maryland, until she pops up on her tiptoes and peers over the wide counter that separates us. “But with the size of that dress, dear, you’ll need two seats.”

“Come on!” I slam the counter with my palm in a moment of frustration because I can see she’s serious, but for the love of God, I hope she’s not.

“Sorry, you’ll never fit into one seat in that thing.” She waves her arm through the air. “Unless you have something else to change into?”

“No,” I say grimly. “I don’t.” I look down at my beautiful wedding dress. It doesn’t mean what it should; it hasn’t since the moment I shimmied into the lace and silk earlier today. Instead, the stupid white cupcake represents everything I’ll never have; at least, not with the person it was meant to be with.

I glower at the thought of what I must do and take a pen from my bag. Using it as a makeshift knife, I punch the ball- point through the outer layer of the fancy fabric, creating a hole large enough to stick my finger through. When I find the perfect grip, I rip off the length of the dress, shredding the hell out of it with all the resentment and sadness that’s boiling over inside. I grit my teeth, holding back more tears. If I break down now, again, they may not let me board the plane.

Around me, people gasp and chatter in reaction. “What’s she doing? That dress must have cost a fortune,” they say. In the commotion, a security guard saunters over. He stands nearby, but as far as I know, it’s not illegal for a crazy girl to trash her own wedding dress in an airport.

By the time I’m done, the skirt looks more like a long, un- even tutu than anything appropriate enough to wear while walking down the aisle. Vera Wang would be horrified. I step out of the extra fabric and kick it aside with my boots. I’m happy that I had the good sense to wear them instead of those stupid heels that Bren’s mom picked out for me.

“Bren.” I say his name under my breath and bite my lip. The vision of his beautiful Crest smile dances behind my eyes. I used to live for that smile.

Somehow, in the wake of my obnoxious behavior, the agent stops giving me crap about the second seat and finishes printing my ticket. She hands it to me along with my ID and credit card. “Your gate’s B62. You better make a run for it.”

 

Read the first 7 chapters of He + She!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Michelle Warren didn’t travel the road to writer immediately. She spent over a decade as professional Illustrator and designer. Her artistic creativity combined with her love of science fiction, paranormal and fantasy led her to write her first YA novel, Wander Dust. Michelle loves reading and traveling to places that inspire her to create. She resides in downtown Chicago.