RECOVERY
Shyla Colt
Copyright © 2012
1 Corinthians 13: Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
Chapter One
Maxim watched as Oceane made her way to the microphone in the center of the stage. The way her well sculpted legs were expertly balanced on a pair of white peep toe heels made his mouth water. Raven tresses flowed past her shoulders and fell in chestnut waves down her back. It was the natural texture he’d always preferred to her flat ironed, sleek look. A scarlet and cream peasant dress accented the toffee tone of her café latte skin, highlighting her slender waist and ample breasts. The wide brown eyes dominated her round face, belying her sweet nature.
But the air of innocence she exuded hide a core made of steel. All five foot five inches of Oceane Dubois’s petite frame was packed with dynamite.
“We’re in for a real treat today, sit back and tune in to Ms. O,” the announcer said before he stepped aside to allow her to take his place.
O was a frequent visitor at Cup of Joe. The quirky coffee spot provided her with an outlet for her poetry. It was her dream to release a book full of her work, but she’d yet to build up her courage. Maxim had been wearing her down day by day before they took their hiatus.
“Today I’d like to read a piece I wrote about finding your way home.”
Her voice was honeyed perfection, warm and bright with a slight accent she’d inherited from her French father. It crept inside, infusing him with her sunshine. Every word that left her lips acted like a balm to his battered soul. This poem was about him. He hadn’t lost her yet.
Maxim inhaled and sent a prayer of thanks to the God who had yet to turn his back on him. Six months earlier he would have heard this sonnet from his fiancée as she performed an impromptu reading while they lay in bed.
As it stood now, he was huddled in the back of Cup of Joe like some stalker just to catch a glimpse of her. His black baseball cap was pulled low, shadowing his features and concealing his distinct golden brown hair. Pain was the last thing he’d ever intended to cause the woman who’d provided him with so much. Maxim had been a lonely lost wreck until Oceane Dubois had worked her special brand of magic and healed the things inside him that were broken. Now the anguish audible in the lines she delivered was a knife to his heart.
* * * *
Springfield High school, 1997
Maxim shuffled his way from the office to his first period French class. The title of new guy could be the kiss of death in high school. He’d realized right away Seattle style didn’t transfer well to Springfield, Ohio. His worn black jeans, black combat boots and a Ramones T-shirt stood out against the sea of loose fitted khaki, baggy jeans and polo shirts. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, releasing a heavy sigh as he continued down the hallway.
Ever since his mom died four years ago, his father had become a complete stranger and life had gone to shit. He was thankful his father had thrown himself into work instead of the bottle like his grandfather, but after all this time the loneliness was hallowing out his sorrowful soul. In Seattle he’d kept busy with friends and his music to hold the frayed ends of together. Here, he had no friends and no idea where to find the music scene. Things looked grim. Music was the grace that had saved him many times over. The deep connection he felt to his guitar, and the songs he composed, took him to a world where no pain could enter. Music was also the path he’d chosen to follow post high school. Yet another decision his father didn’t understand or approve.
Max paused in front of the classroom, knocked and entered. He held his head high and straightened his spine to stand to his full height as the whispering began. Maxim handed his paperwork to Mrs. White, hooked his fingers into his belt loops and balanced
Shyla Colt
Copyright © 2012
1 Corinthians 13: Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
Chapter One
Maxim watched as Oceane made her way to the microphone in the center of the stage. The way her well sculpted legs were expertly balanced on a pair of white peep toe heels made his mouth water. Raven tresses flowed past her shoulders and fell in chestnut waves down her back. It was the natural texture he’d always preferred to her flat ironed, sleek look. A scarlet and cream peasant dress accented the toffee tone of her café latte skin, highlighting her slender waist and ample breasts. The wide brown eyes dominated her round face, belying her sweet nature.
But the air of innocence she exuded hide a core made of steel. All five foot five inches of Oceane Dubois’s petite frame was packed with dynamite.
“We’re in for a real treat today, sit back and tune in to Ms. O,” the announcer said before he stepped aside to allow her to take his place.
O was a frequent visitor at Cup of Joe. The quirky coffee spot provided her with an outlet for her poetry. It was her dream to release a book full of her work, but she’d yet to build up her courage. Maxim had been wearing her down day by day before they took their hiatus.
“Today I’d like to read a piece I wrote about finding your way home.”
Her voice was honeyed perfection, warm and bright with a slight accent she’d inherited from her French father. It crept inside, infusing him with her sunshine. Every word that left her lips acted like a balm to his battered soul. This poem was about him. He hadn’t lost her yet.
Maxim inhaled and sent a prayer of thanks to the God who had yet to turn his back on him. Six months earlier he would have heard this sonnet from his fiancée as she performed an impromptu reading while they lay in bed.
As it stood now, he was huddled in the back of Cup of Joe like some stalker just to catch a glimpse of her. His black baseball cap was pulled low, shadowing his features and concealing his distinct golden brown hair. Pain was the last thing he’d ever intended to cause the woman who’d provided him with so much. Maxim had been a lonely lost wreck until Oceane Dubois had worked her special brand of magic and healed the things inside him that were broken. Now the anguish audible in the lines she delivered was a knife to his heart.
* * * *
Springfield High school, 1997
Maxim shuffled his way from the office to his first period French class. The title of new guy could be the kiss of death in high school. He’d realized right away Seattle style didn’t transfer well to Springfield, Ohio. His worn black jeans, black combat boots and a Ramones T-shirt stood out against the sea of loose fitted khaki, baggy jeans and polo shirts. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, releasing a heavy sigh as he continued down the hallway.
Ever since his mom died four years ago, his father had become a complete stranger and life had gone to shit. He was thankful his father had thrown himself into work instead of the bottle like his grandfather, but after all this time the loneliness was hallowing out his sorrowful soul. In Seattle he’d kept busy with friends and his music to hold the frayed ends of together. Here, he had no friends and no idea where to find the music scene. Things looked grim. Music was the grace that had saved him many times over. The deep connection he felt to his guitar, and the songs he composed, took him to a world where no pain could enter. Music was also the path he’d chosen to follow post high school. Yet another decision his father didn’t understand or approve.
Max paused in front of the classroom, knocked and entered. He held his head high and straightened his spine to stand to his full height as the whispering began. Maxim handed his paperwork to Mrs. White, hooked his fingers into his belt loops and balanced
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