BooksBarbecue
Back Snapped
Chapters (48)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
  3. Titles by Alexa Martin
  4. Dedication
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-one
  28. Twenty-two
  29. Twenty-three
  30. Twenty-four
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-four
  41. Thirty-five
  42. Thirty-six
  43. Thirty-seven
  44. Thirty-eight
  45. Epilogue
  46. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  47. About the Author
  48. What’s next onyour reading list?

I slide out of the booth and stand to give her a hug. My hands shake as I touch the person I was resigned to never see again after I last saw her . . . at my dad’s funeral. The scent of her signature perfume wraps me as tight as her frail arms. I lean back, but neither one of us lets go of the other. Her blue eyes shine bright against her pale skin, and her yellowing teeth still look perfect against the pink lipstick she always wears. The comfort of the familiarity she brings me causes the first crack in my defense system.

“You would know if you ever came to see an old lady, wouldn’t you?” She scolds me, but even though there’s not any anger in those words, there is hurt.

“I know.” Shame washes over me and the guilt I’ve been pretending I didn’t feel makes a sudden appearance.

Mrs. Rafter has lived in her little bungalow since 1969. Twenty years before I was even born. Her husband passed away and she wasn’t able to have kids. So, when my parents bought the house next door and—from the stories Mrs. Rafter told me—my mom took special care to not just be a friendly neighbor but to bring her in as part of our family, Mrs. Rafter didn’t hesitate. And I became the grandchild she never thought she’d have. We baked cookies together and watched old black-and-white movies together. She gave me money every time I brought home a good report card, and a serious lecture the one time I didn’t. And when we found out my dad was sick, she was there every Monday with a new casserole and a story about the crazy ladies from her knitting group at church.

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t go back.” I focus on the french fry on the floor that needs to be swept up, unable to look her in the eyes.

While the priest was speaking at my dad’s funeral, I made the decision to do everything I could to never feel pain like that again. And that included cutting off just about everybody from my past. The only reason Liv and Marie made the cut is because they are fucking stalkers and wouldn’t let me avoid them. Mrs. Rafter, on the other hand, doesn’t have the social media or Internet detective prowess to find me.