"Ready or Not" is the follow-up book to "Take Two".
Olivia Bowsher stumbled upon the truth after twenty five years- life as she knows it has been distorted and carefully planned by her family and late husband Jakob.
Revelations of Jakob's clandesti...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Flashback
"Close your eyes."
I obey my dad's suggestion, my back in perfect posture, resting on the balls of my feet.
"Listen."
I quiet my breathing and stretch my eight-year-old ears, and I'm hyperaware of a susurration of fabric rubbing together, likely my brother's legs as he circulates. I tense when I'm cognizant that Will is behind me and to the left, my weakest spot.
"Stay present, sure listen, baby," my dad says in an orotund voice--that voice is the one I heard during training, and it is the one I utilize for my most complicated choices.
Will is my confidant and cheerleader, my mom is my conscience—and my dad, his spirit lives on in me.
Cormac Graham is the backbone that taught me patience and fortitude is a lethal weapon. He also drilled into me knowing when enough is enough.
When I lost my parents, a chunk of that died with them. I lost a part of me, my identity, and never gained it back.
"Tell me what you noticed when you listened," Dad prompts.
My small voice answers without hesitating, "Will is here—he's standing in my southwest quadrant, barefoot."
"Good, Bug! Do you feel confident when you open your eyes you can handle sparring with your brother?"
"Fight me."
They both let out a harsh laugh at my words, and I open my eyes, lightly spinning to face my brother.
He crouches low and springs toward me, trying to wrap his hands around my hips.
I leverage myself again his spread legs and wrap my hand around the back of his neck, the other grips the back of his tricep and pivot my body in between his legs.
I roll us down toward the floor sideways, taking Will with me, tightly gripping his arm in a straight stance.
Will has no choice but to be forced down as I catapult him around, my legs and hips acting as a fulcrum to hurtle him effortlessly toward the ground, landing on his back, my legs pressing across his shoulder down his torso.
My ten-year-old brother groans and looks up at me, tipping his head backward, "Ouch."
I release him and kiss his forehead before clambering to my feet, "Excellent, Livvie baby," my dad beams, leaning down to kiss my forehead, too.
