 by Hope Ford.jpg)
Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
She’s my best friend’s little sister.
A single mom who doesn’t have time to waste on an older, wounded, ex-mercenary.
She’s off limits.
And yet, I still move to her hometown.
I blame it on the job offer and the therapy I get at one of the top rehab centers for wounded heroes.
The truth though … I came to Whiskey Run because Abby Campbell, and her daughter are here.
You see, once upon a time I was a man lost.
Lost in pain. Lost in addiction.
Abby’s sweet face is how I climbed out of the black hole I’d been surviving in since my accident.
I’ve traded one addiction for another though and despite how much I love her, I know I might not be enough.
I might not be the man she needs… no matter how much I want to be.
The Whiskey Men: Wounded Heroes series is about a group of wounded ex-mercenaries. They each have their own battles they’re fighting but with the love of a woman, they no longer have to do it alone. Sweet Addiction is a wounded hero, single mom, brother’s best friend, age gap, small town romance. Each book in the series can be read as a standalone.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
ABBY
I’m sitting in the driver's seat looking up at apartment 1C, debating on whether I should get out of my car or not. I can see the front door clearly from my spot on the side of the road. There are no flowerpots or rocking chairs on the porch. There’s not a welcome mat in front of the door, and the window shades are drawn closed, not allowing the sun to shine in or anyone to see out. There’s nothing that says I should be walking up there and knocking on the closed door.
But that’s exactly what I need to do.
I grip the steering wheel until my fingers turn white, and I force myself to loosen my grip. This is not a big deal. Davis Jones is my older brother’s best friend. They served in the Army together for years until they went to a private organization. Davis has come to my family’s house when he was on leave plenty of times. Well, he did until two years ago. He hasn’t been there since he was hurt.
When my brother called me from some unknown location in the Middle East to tell me that Davis was in Whiskey Run, I didn’t believe him. He’s often teased me about the tiny crush I had on his best friend, and I thought it was all a joke. At least until he told me that Davis really is living just a few miles down the road from me and is working at the Heroes Rehab Center. Two years ago, Davis lost his leg in an explosion, and I haven’t seen him since. Not because I didn’t want to see him. Damn, I wanted to see him more than anything, but I also knew that I was just Zach’s little sister, and Davis didn’t need—or want—me around.
He was across the U.S. then, but now, with him in my hometown, I don’t have an excuse. He’s literally five minutes from my house, and there’s no way I’m going to let another day go on without at least checking in on him. I may tell myself I’m doing it for my brother, but a big part of me knows that I’m doing it for me. I need to see him.
I get out of my old but trusty SUV and stand in front of the building. “One foot in front of the other,” I mutter before I slowly make my way up the sidewalk that leads to his apartment.
When I get to the small porch, I take a deep breath and knock on the door before stepping back and waiting for any kind of noise from the other side.
I’m already looking for reasons to walk away, convincing myself I can try again another day when there’s a thud on the other side of the door and then suddenly it swings open. For just a second, I stand here with my mouth hanging open. My first thought is he’s a lot bigger than I remember. He towers over me, and I have to lean my head back to look at him. His shoulders are broad, filling the doorway. His jaw is pulled tight, and his gaze narrows as he stares back at me. His hair is long and wavy, covering part of his face. It’s nothing like the buzz cut he’s worn since I first met him.
When he continues to frown at me, I’m about to apologize and leave because it’s obvious he’s not happy I’m here. “Hey, Davis…”
Before I can get the whole sentence out, he steps out of the door and onto the porch with me. This close, he’s even bigger, and I suck in a deep breath as his fresh and clean scent fills my nose. He’s still not smiling, but his face softens, and he whispers my name. “Abby.”