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.
Creeeak.
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…
Kindle: https://amzn.com/B01HYX6DGU
Nook: http://ow.ly/DWE7301ZxX2
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01HYX6DGU
Goodreads: http://ow.ly/TXCz301Wz9W
