RELEASE DAY! LOVE ALWAYS, DAMIAN BY d. Nichole King

Love Always, Damian

(Love Always Series Book #2)

by d. Nichole King

Released: May 26th 2015

Publisher: Limitless Publishing






They say time heals all wounds. 
What a load of bull. It’s been four years, and Kate’s voice still echoes in my mind. 
Every. Damn. Day. 
I numb her memory when it taunts me. In college, I drown her out with booze and easy lays. 
I can’t do what she asked. 
I can’t let her go. 
Not even when Lia shows up, freaking ripping what’s left of me to shreds. Caring about someone isn’t worth the deadness that follows after they’re gone. I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask for her. 
And I sure as hell didn’t plan to miss her when she walked out of my front door. Now, if I want to keep her, I have to straighten myself out and earn her. I can’t screw this up. 
Because if I do, I’ll lose more than just Lia. 

I’ll lose my life…




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••*´¨`*•.☆•Excerpt••*´¨`*•.☆•

It takes me an

hour to get to the cemetery. After Mom and Liam died, I never stepped foot

here. Not until Kate convinced me to come. It had been one of her five wishes.

One through three I’d done because she was with me. Because I loved her. I

promised her number four, so I followed through. Number five, though?

Number five is

impossible.

I come here often

now—day, night, whenever I need to be close to her. Even in death, Kate draws

me in. To this place where she’d only trodden once when she was alive.

I grab the three

bouquets of flowers from the passenger seat and swing the door open. When Kate

brought me here four years ago, I barely managed to get out of the car. Now

it’s easy.

Too fucking easy.

I don’t even think

about coming anymore. It’s automatic. Routine, like my nightly shots of

whiskey.

It shouldn’t be

like this. In three short years I lost the three people I loved most. Death

sucks, and I’ve had my fill.

I slam the door

closed and tread over the grass. The three identical stones jut up from the

ground, and even when I’m here after dark, I don’t have a problem seeing them.

They’re etched into my memory.

The idea to have

Kate buried here beside my mother and brother was entirely mine and entirely

selfish. The Browdys had asked me to help with her funeral arrangements, and

other than the time of the graveside service, this had been my only request. This

way she’d be close to me.

Shade from the

elder tree casts a shadow over them. I stand inside its cover from the sun,

facing the cold memorials. These pieces of granite have no real connection with

the people they were.

Hell, they didn’t

even pick them out. Didn’t see them, yet their names, dates of birth and death

are etched into them as if they’d been owned by those they claim to represent.

Cemeteries—these

stones—aren’t for the dead.

No, they’re for

the living.

My gaze trails

over the Celtic symbols engraved at the center of each one. Identical to the

tattoos inked into my body. Faith. Brotherhood. Hope.

My eyes linger on

Kate’s as they usually do, and the memory of when I’d given her the trinity

heart necklace pours over me.

“It’s the Celtic symbol for hope. Now you’ll always know

where to find it,”

I’d told her.

Damn. I’d given it

to her so she’d think of me whenever she needed me, but really, it was I who needed

her.

I take a deep

breath to hold myself together. I lost everything the day Kate died.

I rake a hand

through my hair and shut my eyes. Out here, away from everyone, I don’t have to

pretend that I have a fucking clue how to live without her.

Out here, it’s just

me.

In front of Kate’s

gravestone, I lower myself to the ground, dropping the flowers at my side. My

chest is empty, yet somehow, it hurts. It’s the same damn thing year after

year—aching to see her smile at me just one more time. One more and I’d be

satisfied, I tell myself.

I know it’s a lie

because one more smile from her would never be enough. I need to touch her, run

my fingers over her warm skin and protect the hell out of her.

But I’m a failure.

I had the power within me, in my blood, to save her, and I failed.

I can barely see

the inches in front of me as I break down. Four years ago, my father sat here

with me and told me the pain would never go away, but it would lessen over

time.

What a load of

bullshit; the pain has only grown.

“I miss you so

damn much, Katie,” I say even though she can’t hear me. And that thought kicks

me in the gut as much as anything. No matter what I say to her now, she’ll

never know any of it.

I slide my

fingertips over her name: Kathryn “Katie” Browdy. Seventeen short years on this

earth and I only had her last months. They were the best months of my life.

I sit with her

until the sun begins to send streaks of gold over the horizon. Even though Kate

would be disappointed, I need to pick up more liquor before I head home. I have

to have something to get me through this pain.

A gust of wind

rustles the dead flowers I left on their graves last week. I scoop them up and

replace them with the fresh ones I brought. Daisies for my mother, some generic

flowers he wouldn’t give a shit about for Liam, and red roses for Kate.

Always red roses

for my Katie.

“Love you, Mom,” I

murmur, fanning out the daisies in the vase beside her headstone.

Then I move onto

Liam’s. “Take care of my girl, man,” I tell him, then I remember how I’d taken

care of his. “But if you touch her, I’ll fucking kill you.”

I squat down and

lay Kate’s roses at the base of her stone. There’s nothing I could say to her

that I haven’t already said a million times. So I settle for the words I

couldn’t say until just before she died. “I love you, baby. I’ll always love

you.”





✯✯ Meet d. Nichole King ✯✯






Since I was born and raised in Iowa, I like to create stories where my home state is the setting. There’s nothing like small-town Midwest scenery to create the perfect backdrop for an amazing tale!

I’ve always loved to read and write. I’ll read anything: Classics, fantasy, contemporary, mystery, horror. It doesn’t matter as long as it draws me in. As a kid, I was raised on authors such as Lurlene McDaniel, R.L. Stine, Danielle Steele, Mary Higgins Clark, Stephen King, and Shakespeare.

Writing-wise, my fondness lies in the YA/NA genre, though I do have a couple of women’s fiction stories swimming around in my head. 

When not writing, I’m usually curled up with a book, scrapbooking, or doing yet another load of laundry.

Along with my incredible husband, I live in small-town Iowa with my four adorable (yet ornery) children and our dog, Peaches.




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