My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1)
My Soul to Keep
Copyright (c) Kennedy Ryan, 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of the book.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art:
Cover Photos:
Editing:
Lisa Christman,
Adepts Edits
Proofreading:
Interior Design & Formatting:
Dedicated to those who pursue their dreams relentlessly.
Don’t ever stop!
Let’s go into this knowing I could screw it up. Having so many people who have been awesome that I might inadvertently leave someone out–well, that’s a great problem to have. There have been so many bloggers, readers, and other writers who have been an absolute blessing. There really isn’t another word that could fully encompass my appreciation. So many awesome folks in the romance community have supported me, and I KNOW there are a few I can’t get outta here without mentioning. There’s a close cluster of amazing writers who I have turned to over and over again who are always there for me. My pub buddy Sofia Tate for always making time to read for me with such an exacting eye. I love you deeply, m’friend. Corinne Michaels, my paper bag when I hyperventilated over self-publishing for the first time. You’re one of the smartest ladies I know, and there is a place reserved in my heart for you! Adriana Locke, whose wisdom and pure heart have guided and encouraged me too many times to count. Mandi Beck, my #SweetDirty, who always takes time for all my dumb questions, and who makes me laugh HARD all the time. To AL Jackson for taking time last year to read some chick she’d never heard of, and who remains one of the most generous writers I know. To my Indie Chicks, thank you for answering questions, offering support and demonstrating community! Thank you to my awesome betas–Margie, Mary Ruth, Michelle, Sheena, and Shelley. You guys sure did put up with a lot on this one. Thank you for your honest opinions, and your patience when I asked for it over and over and over . . . and over . . . again. Thank you to Melissa Saneholtz, patron saint of clueless authors, for not making me feel like an idiot when I didn’t know things and for deftly redirecting me when I thought I knew it all. You are rare, and I’m so lucky to have you in my corner. Like I tear up when I think about what a blessing you are to me. Thank you sincerely, honey. To all the bloggers who have shouted for this book and for me personally–I’m indebted to you. None of this really works without you. You are the engine. Sometimes I know, even though yours is a labor of love—it can feel thankless. THANK YOU to all the beautiful bookworms who work behind the scenes to make sure we know about all the amazing books! To the lovelies in my book group, you guys are KEEPERS! Thank you for making me smile every day.
Last, but in no way least, thank you to my son, who taught me about unconditional love without ever speaking a word. And to my husband . . . Geesh. You are amazing. I’m a writer, but I couldn’t imagine a hero better than you. You are my best friend and maybe the only person on earth who would put up with me. All I want with you is a couple of forevers, okay? Is that too much to ask?
And everyone reading this book. Thank you for taking a chance on me and for sharing this journey. It means the world.
MAMA HAS BEEN DYING ALL DAY.
ALS is a stealthy thief. It stole Mama’s wide, crooked-tooth smile and left her face a plane of twitches and jerks. That funny
snap, snap
she’d do with her fingers before she started making a fresh batch of biscuits? That saucy little pop and sway of her hips when she raced around the house on Sunday mornings, late for church? ALS snatched those long ago. Now, Mama’s fingers lie limp at her sides on the bed sheets, the complete stillness startling and sad.
ALS is a slow assassin and it’s been killing my mama for five years.
But I only realize now that the sound of her breath—barely a wheeze breezing past her lips—is the sound of her dying
today
.
“Mama?”
I bundle up a question and a plea into that one word and pray for an answer to either. I’m asking if she’s still here. I’m begging her to stay. Oh, I hear that thin, labored breath. I feel that thready pulse, faintly thrumming through the vellumed skin of her wrist. I know she’s
alive
, but is she still
here
? I’ve sensed her soul wrestling with her body all week, trying to break free for the promise of Heaven that keeps Mama going on her hardest days.
