Falling In Together
BRIDGEPORT LAKE SUMMER SERIES BOOK THREE
Danielle ARIE
FALLING IN TOGETHER
BRIDGEPORT LAKE SUMMER SERIES-BOOK THREE
Two Strangers. Two Secrets.
One Tiny Heartbeat.
Cover by Parker Book Design
Edited by Sarah Calfee of Three Little Words Romance Editing
Copyright Information
Falling In Fast © 2020 Danielle Arie. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
SENSITIVITY CAUTION
The content in this book includes the topic of suicide. The author is aware that this may be a sensitive topic for you, as it is for her, and took great care in approaching the subject.
If you are struggling with this issue yourself, or know someone who is, help is just a phone call away:
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
1-800-273-8255
DISCLAIMER
The events, characters, firms, and settings depicted in this novel are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The views held inside this novel are a reflection of the author and not those of any collaborative party.
To all the single mamas. Your dedication is incredible and your perseverance will mark the world. May you stay the course and may your children one day rise up and call you blessed. My hat is off to you.
STAY IN TOUCH
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Contents
Chapter 1
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
Epilogue
ONE
Acknowledgments
About the Author
One
-LATE JULY-
-CARTER-
Being back at Bridgeport was like an out-of-body experience. When I closed my eyes, smelled the thick scent of pine, and heard the campers’ laughter, it was almost like I was seventeen again. Like Megan was sitting at the end of the dock, toes in the water, laughing along with the rest of the campers. Like she was the source of the guitar strums floating across the warm breeze and sinking into my bones.
But that skinny kid with the guitar, sitting on the shoreline, wasn’t Megs, and I wasn’t here for summer camp. I was twenty-four, and limping around on a prosthetic leg.
I’m here, Megs. I wish you were too.
It hurt to be here after everything had gone down. A huge part of me wanted to abort this mission and head home.
But I had to make things right with Dad. I owed him my life. If that meant check-ins with Pastor Gregg three times a week, I’d do it. Morning devotions. Attending church. Being honest about where I was at. Whatever it took.
Sighing, I followed the gravel pathway up the hill to Pastor Gregg’s house—in the permanent resident’s zone—and checked my watch. Nineteen hundred hours exactly. Time to report for duty.
But Pastor Gregg remembered the old me. He probably wouldn’t recognize me now. I couldn’t make myself knock at his front door yet. Instead, I scanned the surrounding sequoia pines, watched the limbs stirring in the breeze—the whispering and sighing sound they made aggravated the loneliness I’d been fighting back since I got here.
Sequoia pines always brought me back to Bridgeport, no matter where I saw them —their wide bare trunks, their limbs that didn’t start until about fifteen feet up. Megs and I used to gaze up at these pines when we sat by the lake. She used to say it was like they were all connected, their limbs weaving together like a couple holding hands.
The door creaked open, and Pastor Gregg smiled, gray eyes shining. “Carter Wilson. Been a while, hasn’t it? How’s it going, son?”
“It’s going, sir.”
“Why don’t we take a walk around the lake? Get you reacquainted with the old place. How long’s it been since you were a camper here yourself?”
“Seven years. Feels like a lifetime.”
“I bet. I want to offer my condolences. My wife, Amy, and I were devastated when we heard the news.”
“Thanks.” I cleared my throat, just sitting in the discomfort of it. Normally, I’d change the subject, but that wouldn't be an option with him.
Pastor Gregg was supposed to be my counselor for the rest of the summer. Besides camp director, he was apparently a licensed therapist—and my dad’s old friend. Between the two of them, they’d worked out a deal so I could get out of the house, make some money, and stay in compliance with my regular therapist’s reqs.
“I’m happy you decided to work the rest of the summer. The mountains have a way of healing a person better than almost anything on earth.”
“Glad to be here.” I drew a shaky breath, trying to focus on our conversation. Over the phone, Pastor Gregg told me that the car accident, the loss of my leg, and even Megan’s death were the least of his worries. He wanted to help me get right with God
My heart pounded so bad thinking about the accident that it drowned out Pastor Gregg’s voice.
I drew a deep breath through my nose and hyper focused on his tan safari hat and the dark brown drawstrings fluttering in the breeze beneath his scruffy chin. I listened to the insects buzzing in the woods around me, breathed in the pine scent.
The pounding lessened.
“You all right, son?” Pastor Gregg asked, frowning.
“Yes, sir.” It was all I could give him.
“Good. So, how’s it been going since you got up here?”
“I feel like Megan’s about to walk around a corner.”
“Is it too much? I understand you met here.”
“It’s powerful, but I’m dealing with it.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir.” Wait. I’d promised to be honest. “Maybe.
