Acts of Atonement: A Single Dad Age Gap Romance (Men of WRATH, Book 1)
Acts of Atonement: Prologue

THREE YEARS AGO…

“You have to come clean, Mom.” I swipe at my eyes, trying to keep my vision clear, but the tears just keep coming.

My chest feels heavy—as if an imaginary elephant were sitting on top of me, robbing me of my very breath. Only the proverbial elephant isn’t imaginary, it’s real. It’s a real secret that shouldn’t be mine to bear.

My mind runs through so many emotions—emotions I’ve never felt before. Betrayal. Devastation. Hatred.

Sure, my mother isn’t perfect. Whose mother is? But to betray our family like this? It’s unforgivable.

My mother’s shrill voice cuts into my thoughts. “You have no idea what you’re asking of me, Bella. You are too young to understand.” Her hands practically strangle the steering wheel as she drives us home from the art exhibit—the art exhibit where I had my very first showing. “Besides, you will be off to college before you know it. This isn’t something you need to concern yourself with.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn to look at her. “Bullshit! Tonight was supposed to be my night. But, no. Instead, I have to walk in on—”

Mom’s right arm shoots out to brace me, cutting me off mid-sentence. Her face goes pale and her eyes widen before I hear the screeching of tires and see the flash of headlights illuminating the interior cabin.

The loud noise of metal crashing against metal reverberates through my body as I slam into the center console. Before I can fully comprehend what just happened, the car begins to fishtail off the road, toward the tree-lined river. Inside the car, my body is being slammed back and forth like a rag doll. I try to reach for Mom’s hand, but with all the movement, it’s impossible to hold on.

Random memories flash before me… Mom flipping Saturday morning pancakes, Dad teaching me how to drive, Matt and Max jumping on my bed…

The sound of crunching metal and shattering glass has me closing my eyes, trying to avoid the glittering shards flying straight toward me. My body lurches forward as my head hits the airbag. Fine white powder floats through the air, burning my skin on contact and causing me to cough repeatedly. My nose stings and my throat burns. Realization begins to dawn as the dust starts to settle.

We’ve been hit by another car.

“Mom…” I call out, needing her to make this all okay, but she doesn’t answer.

Despite my mother’s flaws, she is still the one I turn to when I’m scared. And at this moment, I’m very scared.

A silent scream escapes me as soon as my eyes land on her. They focus in and out, trying to make sense of the sight before me. Blood. So much blood. A branch is sticking straight through her torso—puncturing God knows what—and her throat is generating gurgling noises as she tries to speak.

“Shhhh, Mom. Don’t say anything. Help is coming,” I softly whisper, trying to comfort her with my words because I’m too afraid to touch her. “Someone must’ve seen us.”

I reach to undo my seatbelt in an attempt to locate my cell phone, only to replace that the latch is jammed. We’re running out of time. Think, Bella. Think. I need to get help before Mom bleeds out, but every movement causes insurmountable pain and drains me of what little energy I have left.

Wiggling my left foot, I feel what could be my phone. With great effort, I manage to scoot the object backward, despite having limited space between the dashboard and my seat. If I push it back far enough, I might be able to shimmy it within arm’s reach.

I tilt my head upward in an attempt to shift my body closer to the floorboard, managing to reach out and touch the object with my fingertips. “Almost got it…” I grunt out as I push my left arm farther down, successfully grabbing the phone but unsuccessfully retrieving it. Great. I’m stuck. The top of my arm is now pinned between the dash and my seat, making it impossible to pull myself free.

Using muscle memory, I unlock the phone and attempt to blindly dial for help. The call will go to whoever was the last person on my call log. I think it was Dad. God, I hope it was Dad.

As I sit there waiting for the call to connect, the post-adrenaline crash kicks in and my mind begins to wander in and out of consciousness.

Peering out the window, I see the full moon in all its glory and am reminded of simpler times. Times in my early childhood where imagination was reality and anything was possible.

I would lie in the bed of my dad’s truck and stare up at the moon, trying to memorize every nook and cranny of its surface. Sometimes I could even make out a face and pretend it was a fairy godmother, sent to grant me my every wish. If only that were true.

“If you’re out there, fairy godmother, please send help,” I cry out before my vision starts to falter and everything fades to black.