Smokeshow

Copyright © 2023 by Abbi Glines All rights reserved. Visit my website at www.abbiglinesbooks.com Cover Designer: www.Damonza.com Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com Formatting: Melissa Stevens, The Illustrated Author, www.theillustratedauthor.com No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Table of Contents Copyright Part I Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Part II Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Sneak peek Acknowledgments To Miriah Baker, the only friend I have who is my exact kind of crazy. You make me feel normal when I know I’m not. I’m so thankful I have you in my life. I How often the line fades that stands between love and hate. One This wasn’t my home. It never would be. Home wasn’t a place. Home was a person. If you were lucky, it was more than one person. Because of that, I’d never be able to go home again. My home had been my dad and my brother, Cole. Now, they were dead, and I was alive. I was homeless. Even though I had a roof over my head. “Madeline, honey, breakfast is ready. No hurry though. I don’t have an appointment until nine thirty,” Melanie Houston called from the other side of the closed door. I stood there, staring at my reflection in the mirror, wearing clothes that weren’t mine. Melanie had bought them for me. I would have never chosen these items for myself or any of the other items she had filled the massive walk-in closet with before my arrival yesterday. My mother’s best friend was someone I had never met until she walked into my former neighbor, Mrs. Miller’s, living room with tears in her eyes to take me “home.” Melanie was nice. She had come to save me when I had nowhere else to go. Mrs. Miller barely made it on her monthly check from the government. Staying with her had been temporary. I had been planning on getting a third job in hopes I could afford a place to live. I was a legal adult. I wouldn’t stay with the Houstons that long. Just until I could save enough money to live on my own. “I’ll be right there,” I replied and bit my tongue to keep from reminding her yet again that my name was Maddy. My mother had named me Madeline, but I didn’t remember much about my mother. She had died from breast cancer before I turned three years old. My dad had always called me his “Maddy girl.” I’d never been called Madeline by anyone, except on the first day of school every year. I would correct my teachers when they called roll that first time. Had my mother called me Madeline? There was so much I didn’t know about her. With one last look at the stranger in the mirror, I walked to the door and opened it, then headed down the hallway toward the wide, curving staircase. The chandelier that hung over the foyer appeared to sparkle as the sunlight came through the windows, hitting it directly. Everything was so clean and smelled fresh. That was the first thing I’d noticed when I walked in the large double doors yesterday afternoon. There was no lingering hint of weed or stale beer in the air. The moldy smell that I’d grown accustomed to in our apartment was also absent. Would I ever get used to this? Did I want to? I didn’t miss that smell, and it made me feel guilty. I had hated the stench and complained about it often to my dad and brother. If I could have them back, I would never mention it again. “There you are, and don’t you look beautiful.” I turned to see Melanie beaming brightly up at me as I descended the stairs. “I knew blue would be your color. It was your mother’s color too. Those eyes of yours are like looking at Etta. You do have her eyes.” My dad had once told me I had my mother’s blue eyes. He said they were bluer than the sky and deeper than the sea. I had always wanted the hazel eyes my dad and Cole shared, simply because they looked so much alike. There wasn’t anything about me that looked like either of them. “Mrs. Jolene made homemade waffles with her special strawberry glaze. You’ll love it. It’s Saxon’s favorite breakfast,” she told me and patted my arm. “Let’s go get you fed.” I followed her toward the kitchen as she continued to talk about the different milk options and the juice selection. Breakfast wasn’t something I was used to unless it was cold Pop-Tarts and a glass of water before I hurried to catch the bus. “Oh good,” she said as we entered the spacious white kitchen. “Saxon, you’re eating in the house this morning.” Melanie moved to the side of the island, and when she did, the guy standing there studied me. I, in return, did the same to him. He was tall—at least six foot, if not more—with broad shoulders and dark brown hair that held the slightest bit of curl. His brown eyes were set off by his thick, dark lashes. They would almost