YA/NA Crossover Psychological Suspense
~A lot can change in the space between devising a plan and carrying it out. That space is called the INTERIM.~
High school seniors Jeremy Stahl and Regan Walters aren’t friends. Not even close. He’s a picked-on, picked-apart loser outcast. She’s a cool kid running with the popular crowd. It’s unlikely they’d ever speak to one another. Too bad he’s madly in love with her. But what does it matter, anyway? He’s got no time for love. Only revenge.
Meticulously detailed in the pages of his battered red notebook is his master plan. He’s finally ready to answer every single taunt, jeer, and flying fist—unwarranted abuse that’s spanned six years of his lonely life. He’s justified. He’s ready. But he never readied himself for her.
Regan finds his journal. She reads it, and when he discovers her intrusion, he has to switch tactics. She’s a liability now.
Better fix that.
(WARNING: This is a New Adult standalone containing graphic language and violence, including gun violence. If school shootings are a particularly sensitive subject for you, then I urge you to refrain from reading this book. - S.)
Now after that disclaimer, I'm going to ask that you not be afraid to read this book. Good grief.
Okay. I scared the shit out of everyone. I get that. Perhaps including images of guns and bullets on my book teasers was not the best advertising strategy. So the first thing I want to say is I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for scaring you. I’ve received messages from you asking that I allay your fears. I’ve heard from bloggers who’ve received messages from readers asking if the book has a happily-ever-after. This gives me a little bit of hope: it tells me you want to read Interim, but you’re scared. You’re scared of what it might do to your heart. You’re scared of hurting that badly. You’re scared I’ll take you down into the pit and leave you there, cold and alone, frightened and desperate.
I would never do that to you.
How do I make you feel confident enough to give this book a chance without ruining the ending? I know what you want me to say. You want me to tell you it has a HEA, and I won’t do that because the ending cannot be defined so easily. How can a story about a school shooting honestly have a HEA? When I think of HEA, I think of everyone getting exactly what they want or deserve. Not everyone gets exactly what they want or deserve in this story.
Sooooo, doesn’t sound like I’m doing the best job convincing you, huh? It’s my writer spirit rising up and demanding I MAKE you buck up and take a chance on this story without me assuaging your fears because it’s literature, damnit, and it’s supposed to challenge you! Sheesh. Yeah, literature should do exactly that (you’ll never convince me otherwise), but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold your hand a little. It’s the least I can do after scaring you with all my book teasers and disclaimers.
Will you be scared at the end of this book? Yes. You are going to cry and maybe visibly shake, and you may have to take breaks. If you read Going Under, you may have had to take breaks during the rape scene. Same here. Breaks. And that’s okay. Will you ache for the characters? Yes. You will come to love some you never thought you would, so that aching is inevitable.
Will you finish this story feeling content, maybe even happy? Perhaps even smile at the last line?
YES. A thousand times yes. I can’t say it enough. You will be HAPPY at the end of this story. You may still be crying. You may still feel the ache for some of these characters, but I can say without a doubt that you will be happy. Everyone who received an ARC of this book came away feeling satisfied.
Now just maybe you will take the chance? It is not 95,000 words of utter pain and desolation. I give you many moments to breathe, laugh, swoon, sigh, wish, and hope. Because ultimately, this is a story about hope. And maybe that’s exactly what defines a happily-ever-after.
His heart plummeted when their eyes met that morning. And then the anger bubbled up in his chest almost immediately. The things she must know! He knew she read it. A girl would have read it. Fucking girls. It was written all over her guilty face, her deer-in-headlights eyes. Her body language. He saw the imperceptible tightening of his words against her chest—her biceps flexing as she secured his notebook to her body. Like she owned it. Like she owned him.
The hell you do, he thought.
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