Dedication

To all souls struggling with PTSD and those who’ve conquered it, your strength and courage are an inspiration to so many of us.

Acknowledgments

A special thanks to Berta Platas, Michelle Roper, Nancy Knight, Haywood Smith, and the late Sandra Chastain, who helped brainstorm this story before it became a romance, prior to its original publication.

Content Warning

This story includes references to and partial descriptions of violence, sexual assault and rape. The main female protagonist suffers from PTSD and anxiety. It also references suicide, depression and animal cruelty. Please read at your discretion.
 

Dear Reader

This book was originally published by Harlequin Books in 2012, in their Superromance line under my pseudonym Dorie Graham. At that time, I hoped to break into single title women’s fiction, but my agent didn’t feel the manuscript was strong enough, so I sold the story to Harlequin. The manuscript went through many edits and much was cut from the original story to conform it to the line. Now that I have the rights back, I have updated Claire, Grey and Lucas’s story to better reflect my original vision.

The Harlequin version focused mainly on the romance and cut parts showing Claire’s healing journey. Here, I have added cut scenes and updated the story. I’ve also connected it to the series that has grown from it.

I hope you enjoy this “author’s cut.” Please also check out Americano Afternoons and Late Night Lattes, the other two books in The Coffee Stop series.

I’m always happy to hear your feedback. Please feel free to reach out to me via dorenegraham.com.

Wishing you joy, love and abundance.

Take care,

Dorene Graham

Chapter One

They had to leave.

 The TV weatherman’s loud tones predicted rain for metro-Atlanta, while the speakers in Claire Murphy’s home office and kitchen blared Van Halen. Claire pounded on her ten-year-old son’s door. Her heart thudded in her ears. 

“Grey, honey, we’re out of here in fifteen minutes.” 

Shuffling sounded through the door, along with a couple of muffled expletives. Claire frowned. “I heard that, mister.” 

The door opened. Grey peered at her, his auburn hair sticking out at odd angles. Dark circles ringed his eyes, making his ivory skin paler than normal. “I’m up.” 

Concern quickened Claire’s pulse. She lifted his chin. “Honey, you look exhausted. Didn’t you sleep well?” 

He rolled his sweet brown eyes. “You didn’t sleep well.” 

She’d tried, but the night had pressed in around her. She shook her head, fighting the chronic fatigue she’d learned to live with over the years. She could never explain to him how sleeping made her feel smothered. 

And gave her nightmares. The terror often clung to her well into her waking hours. Those nightmares made living without sleep a welcome alternative. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I used earphones.” 

“I don’t get why you have to always crank your music. Even with your earphones in, I can tell it’s cranked. How can you do that? Normal people sleep in the middle of the night.” 

“Normal’s overrated.” She ruffled his hair, while making a mental note to lower the volume on her earphones. “Please get in the shower. You’re a mess.” 

“Mom?” He stepped out of his room, looking so grown in his too-small pajamas. 

She focused on a wrinkled print of Abe Lincoln on his knee. Various presidents dotted the rest of the fabric and Grey could not only name each one, but he could recite each man’s years in office, as well as highest accomplishments. They’d bought those pajamas last year, but Grey refused to give them up, even though the sleeves and legs were now too short. 

“Mom?” he asked again. 

Her gaze met his and her throat tightened. The worry in his eyes these days was part of what haunted her sleepless nights. He was too young to bear the weight of that concern. “What is it, little man?” 

He sighed, but his expression didn’t change. “Why can’t you sleep?” 

She waved her hand in dismissal, her gaze dropping. Why couldn’t he remain an innocent child, unconcerned for her welfare? “I sleep. Besides, sleep is overrated.” 

“No, it isn’t.” Anger replaced the worry. “That’s what you say about everything you don’t want to talk about.” 

Claire tamped down on her frustration. She’d be angry, too, in his position. She gave him her sternest mom frown. “Are you going to get into the shower?” 

“I’m going.” He shuffled a few steps toward the bathroom, before turning to her. “You think I look bad this morning; you should check out a mirror.” 

She groaned. Grey could be brutally honest. She loved that and hated it about him. “I’ll take your word for it. Hurry up. I need my espresso. And don’t forget to keep the curtain in the tub and point the showerhead away from that spot I showed you, where the caulk is peeling.” 

“If we were home more, we could fix stuff like that.” 

“I’ll get some caulk and we’ll fix it this weekend,” she said, though the thought of hanging around the house sent a shiver of unease through her. 

His only response was another shake of his head as he continued toward the bathroom, his shoulders stooped as if he carried the weight of the world. Claire pressed her lips together as her unease spiked into fear. 

Had she bolted the door last night? 

She hurried to check, to twist the knob to be sure the door held fast. She pulled aside the curtain in one of the long windows bordering the heavy door. A cat lounged on the hood of her neighbor’s car. Claire scanned the cars in the other driveways, her stomach tight with anticipation, though nothing seemed out of place. A door slammed up the street and the muffled roar of an engine turning over sounded. 

She tried to stem the racing of her heart as she hurried to the backdoor to check that bolt, as well. Satisfied that deadbolt remained drawn, she paused to pick up one of the wooden cabinet drawer fronts that had fallen off in the night. The builders of this house hadn’t cared for quality when they’d installed the heavy fronts on the plastic drawers back in the early seventies. 

She tucked the drawer front into the gap between her refrigerator and the wall, along with the other two that had previously fallen victim to the cracking plastic. The missing fronts made her cabinets resemble a child’s toothless grin, with the gaping holes revealing the contents of her junk drawer, her silverware, and now her cooking utensils. Grey would have one more thing to complain about. She’d have to figure out how to repair them. 

As she headed to the living room to check the sliding glass doors, she grabbed her phone from her purse on the entry table. She made a quick note about fixing the drawers on her to-do list. Swiping her thumb up, she scanned the list. 

Confirm Sunday with Becca. 

Add oil. 

Call car place about noise. 

Research winter break programs. 

She frowned as she checked the bar that secured the sliding glass doors. What did add oil mean? To a recipe? To the car? Her memory wasn’t what it used to be. If she didn’t write everything down, she’d lose half the thoughts in her head, but sometimes she couldn’t decipher her own notes. 

While the splash of the shower sounded from the bathroom and the music and TV blared, she continued her check of each room, each window, and each point of entry. Then she rechecked behind each door, inside each closet. Not until she’d completed the circuit did she breathe a sigh of relief. 

They were safe, and that was all that mattered. She forced herself to take slow, deep breathes, silently repeating her mantra. 

I am safe. I am strong. No one can hurt me. 

Still, the thudding of her heart contradicted her as she turned to finish getting ready. 

~ ~ ~ 

Lucas Williams, owner of The Coffee Stop, frowned as he reviewed the employee schedule spread across his monitor and his gaze fixed on Thursday’s date. September twenty-eighth. Had it been two years already? 

Ken Sanchez, a retiree who worked most mornings, leaned through his open office door, his gray brows arched in his tawny face. “Do we have more coffee sleeves?” 

“I have an order arriving this afternoon, but we have one more case. I can grab them faster than I can tell you where they are.” 

A few moments later, Lucas headed toward the front with the box. He shook stray coffee grounds from his beige hand as Ken turned to him. “I can take those. You’ve got better things to do, boss.” 

“I’ve got it.” Lucas nodded toward the counter. “You’ve got customers.” 

Ken hurried to join Quinn Roberts, who identified as nonbinary. Quinn’s cropped red hair complimented their fair skin and freckles. The unlikely duo made short work of the customers at the counter.

Lucas smiled at the kid veering from the petite brunette with the porcelain skin, who stopped in every morning. She and her son shared the same wide brown eyes. She ordered a doppio. She drank the double espresso shot while waiting for her Americano to go, two pumps of vanilla with cream and the kid always had a banana-strawberry smoothie. 

“Hey, mister,” the kid whispered as he approached. He glanced at his mother, who placed their order at the other end of the counter. 

Curious, Lucas set down the carton. “Can I help you, little man?” 

The boy frowned. “I hate when my mom calls me that.” 

“How about young man?” 

“Grey. That’s my name. You can call me that.” 

“Grey it is. I’m Lucas. What can I get for you? 

“How much is that?” The kid nodded toward a display of espresso machines. “The one on the right.” 

“Good choice.” Lucas reached for the machine. 

“Don’t. She’ll see.” The youngster glanced again at his mother, who’d moved to the pickup area. 

She stood with her arms crossed, her gaze darting over her shoulder at intervals. Quinn dropped a metal filter and she jumped, hands splayed, eyes wide. Lucas had seen that reaction before—in Syria and Afghanistan, and later with Toby. He hoped this woman wasn’t like Toby, harboring some horrible trauma. 

“It’s a surprise.” The boy drew Lucas’s attention to the espresso machine. 

“You want to get that for your mom?” 

“Maybe if we have one at home, we won’t have to rush out every morning. Not that we don’t enjoy frequenting your shop…” The boy grinned, nervously. “But maybe sometimes we could have breakfast at home, instead. Just the two of us.” 

His wistful tone tugged at something deep inside Lucas, called to that part of him he’d retired when he’d finished his last tour with the Army and walked from his EMS days. The boy’s eyes were almost pleading, as though he were grasping at a lifeline. Lucas glanced around for a reason to retreat from that haunted look in the child’s eyes. It reminded him too much of himself at that age—lost and looking for an anchor. 

The boy shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.” 

“Pun intended?” Lucas grinned, though he felt anything but lighthearted. 

As if September twenty-eighth wasn’t enough to deal with, the thought that this poor kid believed an espresso machine would solve his troubles added to his weariness. Lucas glanced at the kid’s mom. The kid wanted more time with her, a quiet breakfast, at least. That seemed a reasonable request. What kind of mother wouldn’t give her kid that? Was she a workaholic, or did she suffer from some other affliction? 

She looked healthy enough. Even Lucas noticed the shape of her body, the tone of her muscles. The woman was physically fit, but that in itself could be a symptom. His buddy, Toby, had been fanatical about working out. After Syria, he’d stepped up his daredevil activities, jumping from planes, scaling impossible cliffs, diving from that seventy-foot rock. He’d needed the endorphins to feel normal. 

But even that hadn’t helped in the end. 

Was the kid’s mother going through the motions? She spent plenty of time in Lucas’s coffee shop, always on the phone or her laptop, conducting her business from the comfort of his overstuffed chairs. Something in her vigilant attitude made it seem she wasn’t ever at ease, though. 

He’d gotten to know many of his customers, chatting with them on a regular basis, but Grey’s mom kept to herself. No matter how involved she was with whatever she was doing, though, she remained on edge, contained. 

No, he guessed she wasn’t comfortable, at least not here. Was she uptight at home, too? 

The kid cleared his throat, drawing Lucas’s attention again to the espresso machines. He asked, “How much?” 

“Well, that’s top-of-the-line.” Lucas tilted his head to the right, indicating another machine. “That one isn’t as pricey, but covers all the basics. It’s eighty bucks.” 

“Eighty? Do you have…some kind of…payment plan?” 

“We can work something out and probably add a discount.” Why he felt compelled to help the kid, he couldn’t say. 

“Really?” Relief filled those brown eyes. 

“Grey?” The kid’s mother moved toward them, Americano and smoothie in hand. Her gaze skimmed over Lucas, then away. “We’ve got to go, honey.” 

“Okay.” Grey took his smoothie and turned to leave with his mom, but then he ran back to Lucas. He stuck out his hand, held Lucas’ gaze and kept his voice low. “We’ll take care of the details next time.” 

Lucas hesitated for half a second as his stomach tightened over the hope in the kid’s eyes. He had no business getting into some secret deal with the boy. A stupid espresso machine wasn’t going to solve the kid’s problems. 

As the boy’s mother took a nervous step toward them, Lucas shook the small hand, feeling he was committing to so much more than helping Grey surprise her, but knowing he couldn’t turn back now. “Deal.” 

A smile split the boy’s face, sending a sense of guilt spiraling through Lucas. Why did he feel like he was promising the boy something he couldn’t deliver? 

~ ~ ~

Grey sighed as Paul Cooper plopped into the seat beside him later that afternoon. He’d been stoked about the espresso machine for most of the day, but Paul had a way of bringing him down. 

“So, what does your dad do? Mine is an attorney. He helps people. Does your dad help people? I don’t get to see him much, but he brings me really cool stuff when he visits. Last week he took me to see the Falcons. It was so cool. Where do you go with your dad?” 

Paul swatted at a stray fly that had found its way into the classroom. “He’s coming to see me next weekend and I get to spend the summer with him. He has a place on the beach. Do you like the beach?” 

Now, he stopped and stared, waiting for Grey’s response. Grey stared back, his stomach tightening. He used to like the beach, but Mom said beaches were overrated. Too much relaxing and peace and quiet. 

He shrugged. “The beach is cool.” 

“My dad said if I wanted to, I could live with him at the beach all the time, but my mom said no way. It’s in Tybee, which is still Georgia, but Momma says it’s too far. Does your dad live with you, or are your parents divorced?” Again, the stare, while Paul waited, his eyes round. 

My dad’s dead. 

He should just say it. It could be true. His mom never confirmed nor denied it when Grey asked. For all he knew his dad had kicked the bucket. If he told Paul his dad was dead then Paul would quit asking all these stupid questions. Grey opened his mouth, but the words refused to form. 

The bell rang, dismissing them for the day and giving Grey a welcome excuse to escape. He gathered his books. “My aunt’s coming to get me. She gets upset if I’m not up front when she pulls up.” 

Paul nodded. “Tell your dad to take you to a Falcons game. Mine let me have a hot dog, popcorn, cotton candy and this ginormous soda. My mom never lets me have that stuff.” 

“Yeah.” Turning quickly, Grey headed for the door. 

He reached the front of the school in record time. Aunt Becca really didn’t like having to wait. As usual, she was one of the first in the pickup line, her ivory fingers gripping the steering wheel. He slipped into the backseat beside his cousin, Amanda, who sat in her booster seat, something sticky dotting her pale face.

Aunt Becca said he wasn’t big enough yet to ride up front. His mom was the same. Only his grandmother let him ride up front, even though his mom lectured her on the danger of airbags numerous times. 

“Hi, honey.” Aunt Becca glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “How was school?” 

Grey shrugged. “It was school.” 

“Why is it dark under your eyes? You look like a raccoon.” Amanda peered at him through circles she made of her fingers. 

“Amanda, that’s not nice,” his aunt said. Again, she glanced at him in the mirror. “You do look tired, Grey.” 

Grey shrugged again as they pulled away from the curb. “I’m fine.” 

“Can we go see Daddy at his work?” Amanda asked. 

“Not today, sweetie. Daddy’s busy.” 

Frowning, Amanda turned to look out her window. After a while, Grey glanced up to find her staring at him again, her eyebrows furrowed. He straightened. “What?” 

“Where’s your daddy? How come I’ve never seen him?” 

Crap. What was it with everyone today? “He’s dead.” 

The words came out sharper than intended. Amanda’s lip trembled. Grey glanced at his aunt, who’d turned in her seat to see him this time. Something like pity flashed in her eyes as she quickly shifted again when the light changed. 

“I don’t know any more than you do, Grey.” 

“He might as well be dead. He could be and we’d never know it.” Grey stared at the back of his aunt’s head. 

She sat stiffly. “Honey, maybe we can talk about that later.” 

“How come he isn’t around?” Amanda’s voice trembled. She didn’t need to be scared. Her dad wasn’t going anywhere. 

“I don’t know. If he’s not dead, I guess he just doesn’t like us.” Grey couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone. 

His aunt shook her head. “The man’s an idiot, if that’s so. Sweetie, what did Miss Penny say about your counting tree?” 

“Is Daddy going away?” Amanda’s voice rose. 

His aunt stopped at another red light and swiveled again in the seat. “Daddy’s staying with us. We’ll call him to say hi when we get home.” 

Amanda’s chin quivered as she relaxed into her booster seat. Grey stared out the window. What was the story with his father? Why wouldn’t Mom talk about him? 

Sidewalks, driveways and manicured lawns flashed by, all part of the suburb of Roswell, Georgia. One thing was for sure. If his dad were a part of their life now, he’d hate it as much as Grey did. 

The hum of the engine lulled Amanda to sleep. Grey’s tension eased as the radio’s soft music settled over him. This is what his mom needed. 

They’d had this before—normal—no rushing from place to place, cramming every activity they could into a day. Maybe Mom had never been a fan of classical music, but she’d at least listened to less acid rock and at a lower volume. If she could experience this kind of peace again, there was no way she’d ever want to go back to running nonstop. 

If only he could get her to slow down for a moment. Excitement ran through him. The espresso machine should do the trick. He’d surprise her with the machine on her birthday. Instead of running out every morning, they could have quiet breakfasts at home. 

What a plan, and the coffee shop guy—Lucas—was going to let him pay over time. He might have to do a few more chores, but with his allowance, he should be able to do it. He settled in the seat, content with his plan. 

~ ~ ~

“I did like you said and I’ve been running nonstop all week.” Peg, one of Claire’s kickboxing students, puffed out a tired breath later that afternoon. 

“And you haven’t thought about the divorce?” Claire asked. 

Music thrummed in the background. She’d been looking forward to this lesson all day. She could sit and work for only so long before she craved physical activity. She’d even be able to get in a run while Grey stayed with his friend. 

She’d dropped her son at school that morning, and then returned to the coffee shop. Her day had been filled with reviewing shipping bids and pulling together contracts. She rolled her shoulders, ready to get moving.  

“Well, I haven’t given myself the chance.” The woman laughed, the sound like a nervous hiccup. 

“Claire, want me to get them started with some warm-ups?” Bill, Claire’s sparring assistant, put on protective pads. 

She nodded, and then joined in. Nervous energy cranked through her. Too much caffeine and too little sleep was never a good combination, but was all she ran on most days. 

Her body loosened with the repetitive movements. She’d trained long and hard for the past three years, earning her black belt in record time. Now, she taught kickboxing two days a week on top of her day job, while Grey had soccer practice after school, or went to her sister’s. 

After the warm-ups, Claire nodded to Peg. “Ready for some sparring?” 

The group fell back as Bill and Peg circled each other. The rest paired off and followed suit, while Claire moved among them, correcting a stance here, giving a quick demonstration there. 

She stopped beside Bill and Peg. Again, a nervous laugh escaped the woman. Peg threw a few punches, striking the pads protecting Bill’s hands and forearms. 

“That’s good, Peg, but you’re holding back,” Claire said. “Loosen up. Try some kicks. Remember to bring your knee up and twist from the hip.” 

The next few punches struck with astonishing force. Bill stepped back as Peg advanced with a kick to his left arm. With a cry, she backed him toward Claire. Eyes wide, Peg threw two more kicks. A left hook. A right and a sidekick. 

Bill stumbled, knocking into Claire. 

Claire threw her hands forward to break her fall as the side mirror rushed toward her. Her shoulder slammed into the mirror and glass shattered over the mat. 

“Oh, my goodness.” Peg gasped. “I’m so sorry. I…I guess I lost control. Claire, are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Claire stared in amazement at the shards of mirror. “Maybe we should take five.” 

Peg nodded, her face crimson. Claire’s fractured reflection peered back at her. It seemed Peg had too much pent-up anger. Maybe telling her to run from her problems hadn’t been the best advice, after all.

Click here FMI on THE COFFEE STOP series.

Click here to read an excerpt from AMERICANO AFTERNOONS, book two in THE COFFEE STOP series.

Click here to read an excerpt from LATE NIGHT LATTESS, book three in THE COFFEE STOP series.

Click here to see more Dorene Graham Books.