Here's a snippet from See Me, Too. Enjoy!!
He stood from his chair, walked over to the spot on the floor, and sat down. Drawing his knees to his chest, he lowered his head, allowing his tears to flow. He’d done all he could, all that was within his power, to erase what his father did to his mother, because in his mind, if he could only erase it, it would once again be okay for him to admire the man. Not admire, but idolize. He still idolized him, even with the knowledge and evidence of what he really was all around him. He couldn’t shake his father’s sordid past, the demons he’d carried around until the day of his death and never exorcised. He couldn’t shake the suffocating cloud of his father’s madness any more than he could shake his admiration for the man or his envy of his talent and fame. He was even envious of his mother’s devotion to his father and how she protected his legacy even still.
It was ludicrous, ridiculous for such a mixture of feelings to be brewing inside of him. He was a talented writer in his own right. He had a beautiful wife and a child on the way, and he was rich, thanks to the estate his father left behind. But, he couldn’t help it. He wanted more. No, he needed more. He needed to become better than David Moy—richer, more famous, more powerful, and far more revered.
He was tired of standing in his father’s shadow.
He wiped his eyes and glanced around the room. Nothing had changed. The décor was just as his father had left it. He’d forbidden Sandra from changing anything in it. But now he saw the flaw in his logic. How could he ever move from beneath the glare of his shadow if his work space went unchanged? He sighed deeply and decided to buy new furniture, maybe he’d even hire a decorator. This room, along with everything else in the house, would be his, not his father’s.
With a new resolve, he stood to his feet, made one step, and heard a floorboard creak. He frowned. He hadn’t noticed that before. He lifted his foot and stepped on the spot again.
For reasons unknown to him, Jason yanked the Persian rug from the floor, fell to his knees, and inspected the oak flooring. He ran his fingers over the slats of wood and once he found the right spot, lifted the loose floorboard with extreme ease. He gasped softly as his eyes fell on a leather-bound journal nestled beneath the floor. He opened it and his eyes widened as he took in the graceful strokes of his father’s severely slanted handwriting…
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01HYX6DGU