“Both good questions,” I say. “And—"
“We don’t have answers to them yet.” Xavier cuts across me, and I glare at him. “Keep your hair on, Drill—”
I slam my hand over his mouth to shut him up. “Focus, Daniels.” I’m already a laughingstock among my friends. If they hear his pet name for me, I will never live it down. Never. I’m learning to relax more and to go with the flow, instead of controlling everything, but I still have limits.
“Show them the next image,” I tell Xavier as he switches pictures.
“He’s been wearing a disguise, and I’m willing to bet he dyed his hair that blond color.” I bring my phone in closer to the screen so Rick can see. “Look close. Who does he remind you of?”
Abby spots it first. “Oh my God.” She grabs Kai’s arm, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “He looks like you!”
“Look at his name.” Xavier flashes it on the screen.
“It’s an anagram,” I explain.
Rick is deathly silent, and Kai’s face has turned pale. He grabs the back of the chair to steady himself. “I don’t believe it.” Silent tears stream down his face, and he does nothing to hide them from us. “It’s our brother,” he rasps in a hoarse voice. “It’s Rogan.”
Want to find out what the two missing Anderson brothers have been up to? Find out in The Hate I Feel available now in the Hot Summer School Nights anthology.
Drew will be the last book in the series, releasing sometime in 2022. Subscribe to my newsletter here or join my reader’s group on Facebook for updates as I have them.
Thanks so much for reading. If you enjoyed Sawyer, I would be extremely grateful if you had a few moments to leave a short review on Amazon.
Want to read a completed light bully high school romance? Check out The Kyler Collection. Available to binge read now and FREE to read in Kindle Unlimited. Turn the page to read a sample.
THE KYLER COLLECTION
This box set includes the first three books in the highly-addictive Kennedy Boys series from USA Today bestselling author, Siobhan Davis, and is over 950 pages of heart-stopping drama, intriguing twists and turns, and angsty romance. Complete trilogy that has a happy ending and no cliffhanger.
Two fractured hearts and a forbidden love they can’t deny.
You shouldn’t want what you can’t have…
Faye Donovan has lost everything. After her parent’s tragic death, she’s whisked away from her home in Ireland when an unknown uncle surfaces as her new guardian.
Dropped smack-dab into the All-American dream, Faye should feel grateful. Except living with her wealthy uncle, his fashion-empire-owning wife, and their seven screwed-up sons is quickly turning into a nightmare—especially when certain inappropriate feelings arise.
Kyler Kennedy makes her head hurt and her heart race, but he’s her cousin.
He’s off limits.
And he’s not exactly welcoming—Kyler is ignorant, moody, and downright cruel at times—but Faye sees behind the mask he wears, recognizing a kindred spirit.
Kyler has sworn off girls, yet Faye gets under his skin. The more he pushes her away, the more he’s drawn to her, but acting on those feelings risks a crap-ton of prejudice, and any whiff of scandal could damage the precious Kennedy brand.
Concealing their feelings seems like the only choice.
But when everyone has something to hide, a secret is a very dangerous thing.
Read now FREE in Kindle Unlimited.
Turn the page to read a sample.
The Kyler Collection - Sample
CHAPTER ONE
“You can’t be serious?” I rub a tense spot between my eyes as I level an incredulous look at the bald-headed man sitting behind the other side of the desk. Lowering his chin, he stares at me over the top of his black-rimmed spectacles. Perched on the tip of his rather pointy nose, his glasses are the outdated sort you expect to see on old-fashioned solicitor types.
“I can assure you, Ms. Donovan, that Hayes, Ryan, Barrett, and Company Solicitors do not joke about such matters.” His lips pinch into a disapproving line as he eyeballs me. There isn’t a shred of compassion in his tone or his look. His eyes have a dead, empty quality to them. Like his conscience, no doubt.
He oozes indifference.
And, sure, what does he care? He’s already been paid and the clients who hired him can hardly take him to task over his lack of empathy.
“Why haven’t I heard of this”—I swirl my hands in the air—“Kennedy dude before?”
He huffs out a sigh. “Only your parents can answer that question.”
“Well,” I say, narrowing my eyes, “unless you’ve figured out a way to talk to the dead, I’m guessing that’s one question I won’t ever get an answer to.” I slump a little in my chair as the wall of grief hits me like a tsunami. Although my smart-arse remark may suggest apathy, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
It’s been the same these last three days as the aftermath of the accident finally hits home.
The first four days of what I’m now referring to as my “I wish I was dead too” new life is a blur. I vaguely recall the guard knocking on my door, explaining in a soft, sympathetic manner how both my parents were killed instantly in the head-on collision. Their silver Toyota Corolla never stood a chance against the articulated lorry. According to the Garda report, my parent’s car was mangled beyond all recognition.
My eyes shutter as a horrific vision surges to the forefront of my mind. I wrap my arms around my waist, rocking slowly back and forth in the chair. Intense pain twists my stomach into knots, and a messy ball of emotion lodges in the back of my throat. No child should ever have to see their parents like that. As long as I live, I’ll never be able to erase the memory of their grotesquely distorted faces. But there had been no choice. There was no other living relative to ID their bodies.
Or so I thought.
Until ten minutes ago when my world tilted on its axis for the second time in a week.
“Ms. Donovan? Can I get you some water?” The solicitor’s slightly gentler tone breaks me free from the torturous images bouncing around my brain.
I open my eyes, brushing long, sticky strands of my brunette hair back off my face. The weather has been unseasonably warm this summer, and my hair has not thanked Mother Nature for her generosity. Humidity and thick locks don’t mix. I’ve spent the entire summer sporting a sweaty, frizzy mop atop my head. No wonder I’ve barely scored any action since Luke and I went our separate ways.
The solicitor coughs, attempting to recapture my attention. “Faye?” He leans forward in his chair. “Are you okay?”
I smother my snort of disbelief. Am I okay? Is the old fart for real? No, you idiot! I am not okay. My entire life is about to be upended, and my muddled brain can hardly comprehend the implications. Don’t even mention the fact that I’ve barely slept in days or that my heart is shredded into itty-bitty pieces. Torn asunder at the knowledge I’ll never get to see Mum’s radiant smile again or feel the comforting weight of Dad’s ever-loving gaze, I’m the furthest from okay a person can be.