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Back Nana Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title page
  2. Prologue
  3. Part One
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. Part Two
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. Part Three
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. Get on the Mailing List!
  69. Also by Brandon Massey
  70. About Brandon Massey

The wind swirled around them. It flapped the brim of her hat and carried her fragrance to his nostrils. She smelled of rosemary and summer flowers, and a deeper, musky odor that made his heart skip a beat.

Some of the sexiest women he had ever seen had ten or more years on him, and he was forty-one. This woman may have been in her sixties or even older, and damned if he didn’t find her irresistibly compelling.

The front doors burst open, and a woman stumbled outside, sobbing, accompanied by a man who was struggling to console her. The couple went to the other edge of the platform and huddled together.

Troy’s heart twisted. What was he doing out here, thinking of making the moves on a woman while his wife grieved inside? He had few scruples when it came to his sexual exploits, but this was beneath him.

He felt the woman in black watching him closely, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses, lips curved in a faint smile.

“I better get back inside,” he said. “Lily Worthy was my wife’s grandmother. I need to be there for her.”

“Of course.” She flicked ashes away from her cigarette. “Family is important, isn’t it? The ties that bind, dear.”

Troy started to turn away, but a gut feeling kept him rooted in place. “Are you a family friend? Or relative? I’ve got this nagging sense that I’ve met you before.”

“I’m a relative of your wife,” she said. “We go way back, honey.”

“Who are you?”

Smiling, the woman removed her sunglasses. She had large, beautiful hazel eyes.

Just like Monica, he thought, and his stomach suddenly felt as if it had plunged to the ground, because he realized what was coming next.

“I’m her mother.”

2

It was, unquestionably, the worst day of Monica’s life.

Prior to that Saturday, the worst day of her life had been the morning that she had learned that her grandmother, Lily, had died at home, alone, the victim of a something as random as a tragic fall down the stairs. She didn’t think it was possible to feel any more hopeless, lost, or shocked.

But at the funeral, the full spectrum of emotions hit her with the force of a sledgehammer upside the head.