City in the Middle Read online

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  Copyright

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  TITLE PAGE

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  City in the Middle

  Book Two in the Amber Milestone Series

  Colleen Green

  Text Copyright © 2018 by Colleen Green.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781977030825

  Imprint: Independently published

  Cover by AWT Cover Design

  Back cover copy by Amanda K., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing

  Edited by Red Adept Editing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  This book is dedicated to the people of New York City. You symbolize the human spirit, which is tough and adaptable. You prove we can achieve anything with determination, if we take the first step.

  Acknowledgments

  I am lucky to have the support of several people. Jay Worthen has played the part of editor and my biggest fan. Thank you for being patient when I go in my office and write for hours. I love being able to take breaks and sit with you and Lucas, our rescue dog that is a Great Pyrenees/Alaskan Malamute. Thank you, Jay, for being my assistant during book signing events and most of all for loving me and encouraging me to keep writing. Ruth Ann Peck, the coordinator of The Wright Writers of Dayton, helped edit this book. You are a source of inspiration for me and many others. Marla Cross introduced me to the group when I was selling my book at a Christmas bazaar. Thank you both for being there. Linda Krumm, Carol LeMaster, April Prether, and Linda K. Carlson, thank you for being beta readers. Mark Casey, my brother, is a retired police captain. Thanks for being my source for police procedure. Marianne, owner of New & Olde Pages Bookshoppe, allowed my books to be a part of her local bookstore. I’ve been able to build a relationship with the readers of Englewood, Ohio, because of her support. I look forward to continuing my friendship with you and your customers who love to read and cook. Emma Rider from AWT Cover Design created an eye-catching cover that I love. Jessica and Kate at Red Adept Editing did a great job helping me polish the words to produce a story that is entertaining. As I continue my journey as an author, I look forward to meeting many other avid readers and authors. To everyone who takes a chance on me as a new author, I want to thank you for reading my books. It means the world to me.

  Prologue

  February, 2000

  For the first time, I walked into my therapist’s office with my head held high. I took four steps to my chair and sank into the overstuffed cushions. For months, I had depended on its snug fabric feeling like an encouraging hug that would give me the confidence to tell Mrs. Thompson all the ugly details of my past. But not that day. I had all the confidence I needed inside of me. I squared my shoulders, looked her in the eye, and said, “I’ve decided that I’m done with therapy. I’m excited about moving to New York and starting my new life.”

  She leaned forward and tilted her head. “How does that make you feel?”

  I held eye contact. “Glad that I’ll never have to answer that question again.”

  “Funny”—she used her pointer finger to push up her Christian Dior glasses—“but answer it just one more time.” Whenever she adjusted her expensive eyewear, it was a sign that she was serious and wanted me to be too.

  “Relieved.” I took a deep breath. “I’m relieved that I don’t need therapy anymore. I’m relieved that I’ve become a stronger person. If I can survive what Jack put me through, then I can survive just about anything.”

  Her eyes lit up, and she closed her pad of paper as her lips turned upward.

  “I’m glad you approve.” I reciprocated the smile.

  “I’m curious, why do you hate that question? You know, ‘how does that make you feel?’ After all, that question is what got you to where you are today.”

  “True. It’s more like a love and hate relationship with it. Answering it made me dig through layers of emotions, and getting to my core hurt like hell. I barely survived the process, hence the hate part.” I took a deep breath, trying not to tense up from just talking about it. “But at least it explained why I did what I did. Now, I can avoid repeating the same mistakes, which is the love part.”

  “I see.” She tapped her pencil softly on her pad. I don’t think she knew she had that habit. Luckily, she only did it when she talked. Otherwise, it would have driven me crazy. “How did you come to the conclusion that you don’t need therapy anymore?”

  “Because I’m over Jack.” I leaned forward slightly. “The hell I endured was all his doing and none of mine. I no longer blame myself for what happened. Yes, I know I never should have taken him back after… after, well, you know. But I did. I wanted to believe that he still loved me. I should have listened to my gut, but I didn’t. Next time, I will.”

  “You have been making progress over the past few sessions. Your depression has subsided. When you talk about moving, you seem sure that a fresh start will help you.”

  “I am sure,” I said. “In New York, I can start over. It will be a clean slate.”

  “Are you sure that there is nothing left for us to discuss?” she asked without tapping her pencil. It was her tell—she wanted me to open up further about the topic. I just wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

  “I’ve rehashed my past. I’ve learned from it. I’ll never forget how Jack’s love had power over me. When he stopped being loving”—I shifted in my chair—“he turned out to be a monster.” I looked down and sighed deeply. “I was devastated.”

  I remembered wishing my relationship with Jack had been a long-lasting romance. I had wanted Jack to desire me as he once did, even though I knew he never would. The depression-filled days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, until I didn’t want to see the light of another day.

  Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat, interrupting my thoughts. I stopped staring at the carpet and looked at her. “Amber, please go on.”

  “Why live without the warm embrace of someone who makes you feel like the most desirable person on earth? It didn’t seem like living at all, not really.”

  For a moment, I remembered when I had reached my breaking point. I had been soaking in the bathtub when I experienced a gnawing temptation to use a razor blade to tear my flesh. I shivered as the memory faded. I looked into Mrs. Thompson’s eyes, seei
ng her instead of the horrible past.

  “Continue,” she said, leaning forward.

  “I gave him too much power. When he loved me, I was happy, but if he betrayed our love, then it felt like my life was over. Relying on his affection for my wellbeing was not wise.” I sighed. “It was a mistake.” I started to roll my eyes and tilted my chin toward the ceiling. “A huge one!”

  “But you’ve learned from your past. That is what’s important.”

  “True. I learned that you can be happy without being loved by a man. I’m frustrated that it took me so long to reach that conclusion, but what is done is done. There is nothing left to say about the past. The only thing left to do is move on.”

  “Figuratively and literally,” she said, grinning.

  “Exactly!”

  She put the pad of paper and pencil on the small table next to her chair. “There is something we should talk about. It has more to do with the future than the past.” She raised her eyebrows.

  My stomach clenched when I realized she was talking about me falling in love again. I wrapped my arms around my gut and breathed deeply, trying to relax.

  “Do you think you can ever trust a man again? Ever love again?”

  My right heel bounced up and down, tapping the carpet.

  She continued. “In order to truly and completely move on, you need to be open to the possibility of falling in love again.”

  I nodded. She was right, but I didn’t know when I’d be ready to love or trust someone again. But maybe I didn’t need to know when—perhaps I just had to know that I could be open to it someday. My foot stopped bouncing, and I rested my hands on the tops of my legs. “I’m happy just to be me, and finding someone someday, well… That would just be the icing on the cake.”

  “You’d be open to the idea, then?”

  “Eventually, yeah. I mean, I really like icing on my cake.” She chuckled softly as I continued. “Just cake is good, but I think everyone is happier with some icing. Don’t you think so?”

  “I do. I must say, you seem to be the most well-adjusted client leaving my care.” She smiled. “It’s not what a person’s been through that defines them. It’s how they survive the ordeal that matters. You’ve gone from depressed, anxious, and timid to confident. You’re ready to start over.”

  “I am, so I must say goodbye.” I got up and hugged her.

  She responded with a light touch despite my firm one. I let go of her. “Sorry. I’m just so grateful.”

  “It’s quite all right. I’m glad I could help. Good luck in New York, although I really don’t think you need luck. I think you’ll make your own success.”

  “Thanks. I’ll send a postcard.”

  She walked me to the door. “I’d like that.”

  A tear of relief trickled down my cheek as I entered the waiting room. I wiped it away as I approached the secretary, ready to make my last payment to the office. With therapy over, I was one step closer to moving to New York City.

  The vineyards of California weren’t the place for me anymore. Even though I was past the pain Jack caused, I didn’t need the scenery bringing back recollections of him. Moving to a new city was for the best. The memories of the heartbreak would fade. I would move to the hustle and bustle of New York with no guarantee that I’d survive after being accustomed to suburban life. The challenge was worth taking, though, because I could reinvent myself. It would be a fresh start. I hoped to adapt to city life and make new friends. I wanted to thrive and become established. If I could live in New York City for a year and not want to move back to California, I’d consider it my home. It was my only goal: move to Manhattan and make it my home.

  Chapter 1

  The wheels screeched as they touched the runway. The long wait to reach my destination was over. I took a deep breath. After the passengers in front of me filed out of the plane, I stood up, gathered my belongings, and headed to the exit.

  I entered LaGuardia Airport. Within a few steps, I was immersed in a never-ending sea of people walking at a brisk pace. I increased my stride to speed-walker level just to keep up with them. As the crowd began to thin out, with people going off in various directions, I saw how full the airport was in the late afternoon. Some people sat waiting for their flights to board. Others were deplaning, which pushed more streams of people into the hallways of travelers. I saw an empty chair.

  I sat down and took a short break from the quick pace. Tucking my suitcase underneath the seat, I rested my feet in front of it, trying to keep it out of the way of the growing crowd rushing by. A new group deplaned, entered the airport, and funneled out among the others. A wide variety of cultures were represented, with Middle Eastern men dressed in the latest fashions walking next to Hasidic Jews who wore black suits, white shirts, black hats, and long, tight curls of hair hanging just past their ears. Italian men exuded raw sexuality from their jet-black hair, dark, smoldering eyes, and warm olive skin as they walked past in sharp business suits. Caucasians, African-Americans, and Asians were scattered among the others. I wanted a closer look at each of them, so that I could admire their style or beauty, but that was impossible. They seemed to have only one objective: to get from point A to point B.

  Once again, the rush started to die down to a manageable level. I walked to the luggage carousel and waited for my suitcases to come around. All my belongings were in those suitcases or in the carry-on bag on my shoulder or in a few boxes that I had shipped to the apartment earlier. Taking a chance on a new life in a city I had never been to and hoping for the best was a big gamble. I located my suitcases on the carousel, picked them up, and strapped one on top of the other so they could be pulled on one set of wheels. Taking a deep breath, I headed toward the exit.

  I looked for Fiona, my new roommate, who was older than me by nine years. She had mentioned her age in one of the letters she’d sent me earlier by way of introduction. Judging by her photo, she could easily pass for someone in her twenties. She was meeting me at the airport to give me a ride to our apartment. I was grateful that Henry, a friend who I had worked with in California, had arranged for me to room with his cousin. Since I had never lived in a big city, having a roomie to guide me around New York was going to be helpful.

  Once I was through the security gates, I saw a sign that read Amber Milestone on bright-pink cardboard. At first, Fiona and I didn’t make eye contact. She swayed back and forth slightly as she stood. The poster she held shook a little. I almost didn’t notice it.

  Is she excited to meet me? I was definitely thrilled to meet her. After I read the introduction she’d sent, I could tell we would become friends. We had common interests. In the note, she revealed a great deal about her background and made me feel like I knew all about her by the time I was done reading.

  She smiled and waved at me. I grinned back and walked faster. She had her hair cut much shorter than the photo she mailed to me a few months ago. The pixie style complemented her oval face, framing it perfectly.

  “Fiona, I love your hair,” I said as I approached her.

  “Thanks. It’s short, but I love it!” She ran her fingers through the blunt layers of her red hair. “So much easier to manage.”

  “I’m sure it is.” Even though I liked my long, naturally curly hair, it did take forever to style it. I wished I had straight hair like hers. Then, I’d probably do what she did and chop it off just so it would be quicker to fix. Then again, Fiona was shorter than I was, so a pixie haircut looked cute on her. But short hair on me would only make me look taller. No, thank you. I was tall enough.

  She took ahold of my two suitcases and started walking at a brisk pace toward the exit. I kept up with her, knowing that if I slacked off, she could blend into the crowd and disappear.

  She looked back and said, “I’m a little wired from drinking too much coffee. I needed it after I stayed up too late last night, thinking of finally meeting you.” I was touched that she was just as excited as I was. “There is so much to show you. Times Square, Statue
of Liberty, Brooklyn Bridge, Wall Street, museums—”

  “Daddy!” A young girl ran past us and into her father’s arms.

  “Shopping, Central Park,” Fiona continued, only to be interrupted again.

  “I was like”—one of the teenagers in a group walking toward us cracked a smile then raised her voice—“hell yes!”

  The group chuckled, blocking out Fiona’s voice entirely. As they finished laughing, Fiona’s words blended into the background noise. I was so exhausted that I didn’t have the ability to concentrate on her voice.

  Fiona squeezed my arm lightly as we walked side by side. “Amber, you didn’t answer me.” She wasn’t carrying the sign anymore. When did that happen? She must have thrown it out while I wasn’t paying attention. “I really want to know. What’s it going to be?”

  “Ah—”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You have no idea what I asked you, do you?”

  “Not really.” I made eye contact. “I’m sorry, Fiona. I’m tired from the long flight. What did you ask me?”

  “I asked you what you wanted to see in Manhattan first. I can’t decide what to show you, so I thought you could pick.”

  “Right now, all I want is a bed to crash on.”

  “Of course. You can tell me later.” Fiona stopped talking. She probably figured if I was too tired to listen, there wasn’t much of a point.

  We walked for a while before she stopped at a BMW and got her keys out of her pocket.

  “Thanks for picking me up, so I didn’t have to take a cab,” I said.

  “No problem.”

  Her sedan gleamed in the afternoon sun. There was no dirt or any scratches on it. “Nice ride. Did you just get it?” I asked as she popped the trunk open.

  “I did two days ago. My boyfriend gave it to me for my birthday. Don’t you love it?” She put my luggage in and shut the lid.

  “It’s great. That’s an impressive gift.”