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Back Sweet Surrender
Chapters (73)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. TABLE OF CONTENTS
  3. PRAISE FOR K. BROMBERG
  4. ALSO WRITTEN BY K. BROMBERG
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  22. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  23. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  44. CHAPTER FORTY
  45. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  53. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  54. CHAPTER FIFTY
  55. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
  61. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
  64. CHAPTER SIXTY
  65. CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
  66. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
  67. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
  68. CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
  69. CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
  70. CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
  71. EPILOGUE
  72. EPILOGUE TWO
  73. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The thought runs loops in my head, but I’m not sure who I’m talking to: My dad for choosing my brother over me. Nathaniel, the only person who knows what goes on in this house. Or the ugly disease that’s stealing, tormenting, and changing my mom’s mind slowly.

Day by day.

Minute by minute.

The person who I know loves me but who I’m now tasked with taking care of. Alone.

“It’s okay, Momma.” I wrap my arms around her waist and hold on. “I’m here. I’m not going to leave you.” My voice breaks. “I’ll always take care of you.”

She didn’t leave me.

She at least loves me.

But by the time the hug is over, by the time I walk to my small bedroom and shove my duffle bag that was full of hopes back under the bed, she’s already gone.

Maggie Gizmodo is sitting on the edge of the couch. She rocks as her fingers rub back and forth absently at the worn corner of the blanket she always keeps close.

Her mind has retreated to the safety of wherever it goes when she can’t handle the life all around her.

When it becomes sick.

And when I feel most alone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Hendrix

It’s massive.

Jase’s house, that is. Although the thought and the term conjure up a strong visual of his erection in Vegas.

Yeah. Sue me for thinking it but a girl has to fixate on something when her life has been put in a blender and turned on, and to my own detriment, which is what first came to mind.

I shake my head and chuckle at how stupid my thoughts are, especially when I’m standing in a backyard situated on the edge of a canyon. Jase’s house is nestled in the Hollywood Hills overlooking Santa Monica with hints of the ocean in the distance.

The house itself is big and bold and overwhelming. It’s concrete walls with curved edges and travertine floors that could be so very cold but somehow feel warm and welcoming. The bottom floor feels open and flowy with one end of the house leading down a hall toward where there’s a recording studio. The upstairs has one wing with a primary suite that’s separated from the other side by a loft of sorts. That space holds all kinds of BENT accolades and other rock memorabilia, and on the other side of it, where I’m staying, has a couple of en-suite bedrooms.

To be honest, I feel like an impostor living in an extravagant resort. I have a closet full of new clothes that don’t feel like they’re mine regardless of how many times I see them hanging there, color coordinated, and beside a binder from the stylist of how I can use each item.