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  THIRD DATE

  Leah Holt

  Copyright © 2016 Leah Holt

  All rights reserved. THIRD DATE is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely

  coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Third Date

  Connect with Leah!

  Also from Leah Holt:

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Thanks for reading!

  About Leah Holt

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  Also from Leah Holt:

  CHAINED: A Bad Boy Romance

  SLAM: A Bad Boy Romance

  HIS PRICE: A Billionaire Romance

  MY SOLDIER: A Military Romance

  BARE SKIN: A Billionaire Romance

  Cover art: www.cormarcovers.com

  Prologue

  Today was a day that should have been insignificant, one easily forgotten, and tossed into fragments of my memories.

  But today became the day of reckoning, the day of numbing emotions, and unalterable pain. It would be my last breath in the life I knew, and the first breath laid before me by an unseen force I couldn't control.

  If I had only been able to see my future, the surprise and hurt might have been easier to manage. Except I had let myself be blind to the hand that held fate.

  And for that, I will forever send voiceless apologies to my daughter.

  Snatching the bottle from the counter, I turned on the hot water to warm it up. My two month old, Fay, was screaming her head off in the other room, as if her body would implode if it didn't receive food right that very moment.

  The steam from the water had wafted up, coating the cold glass of the window behind the sink. The fog blurred out any and all sight of the two feet of snow that had fallen the night before. The only reminder of its icy hand was the bright white sheen that glowed as loudly as the sun.

  “Mommy's coming, hold on!” I yelled as sweetly as possible from the kitchen.

  I wasn't a single mom, but I sure felt like one. My husband was in the army, and even though he luckily made it for the birth of our daughter, not one week after, he was sent away on a tour that was going to last eighteen months...

  Eighteen months. I can't believe I'm doing this alone for a year and a half.

  Why does it have to be so long?

  I knew his job was important, lives would be saved, and our family had food on the table. But having to be the only one getting up every two hours, the only one changing diapers, the only one feeding, bathing, caring—You get the picture—It was a lot for one person.

  We were living in North Dakota, a world away from family, but I had gotten a lot of support from the other army wives. I was thankful for that, but it still didn't fix the loss I felt of doing it all by myself. Because it wasn't the same, it wasn't my husband.

  All the help in the world didn't compare to the feeling of having my love by my side.

  Twenty years old, married with a new born, and alone, was starting to get to me. But each day I got up, took in a large breath of air, and kept going strong.

  Because that's what I have to do.

  Everyday I would paint my face with a fresh mask that covered my weathered lines. It was easy for me to make everyone think I had it all under control, that help was unnecessary.

  All I wanted was to succeed in the game of motherhood. I wasn't the first woman to be in this position, and I certainly wouldn't be the last.

  But I had underestimated the intense strain having a newborn would put on my shoulders. And each time I looked down on the precious gift my world had been blessed with, all the weight seemed to lift off, and disappear.

  Fay was beautiful, and I loved her with every piece of my soul.

  The crying turned to a gut-wrenching squeal. “I'm coming!” I shouted with a nervous concern. I hated hearing her cry, even though it was just over food. I knew if I felt this awful over a cry for food; a true, valid, painful cry would probably kill me.

  Tapping the rubber nipple against my wrist, the milk felt nice and luke warm. “Here I am, Mommy's here.” Fay was still screeching, her face flushing between a deep red and bright purple with each wail.

  I had no idea that babies could even make the sound that was coming out of her lungs.

  Her lips quivered with a lusting hunger, as if I had just starved her for days. Because, you know... I hadn't just fed her a couple of hours ago.

  Scooping her up into the crease of my arms, her body snuggled into the nook of my elbow. Instantly, I felt her muscles loosen, arms curling in across her chest, letting herself be engulfed by the comfort of my embrace.

  And this is what keeps me going.

  Her mouth puckered up, searching the air for her meal. “Here, Honey, now you'll feel better.” Fay's large blue eyes flashed happiness as the bottle met her lips, then gently closed to the relief of starvation washing away.

  I wonder if her eyes will change?

  Questions of what features she would get from Max or myself had become a playful bet between us. I had deep brown eyes, Max had dark green, my hair was pin straight and chestnut colored, Max's was dirty blonde and super curly.

  Although, you wouldn't be able to tell that if you saw him now from the crew cut the Army gave him.

  My husband was banking on the fact that she would grow up to look like a really cute girl version of him... I was hoping for a sweet mix of the two of us.

  But it was too soon to tell.

  Fay finished her eight ounce bottle in fifteen minutes flat, and I was positive she had beaten some infant formula eating record. A giant man-sized burp exploded from her throat, as her head fell down onto my shoulder. The intense Thanksgiving-size meal had grabbed hold, sending her off into nap number three of the day.

  Easy, easy. Don't wake up... Please don't wake up, I thought as I tried to place her down as gingerly as possible in her bassinet.

  Fay had this horrible habit of jerking her arms out fast whenever I laid her down while she was already out. On so many occasions that little spastic movement had stirred her awake, leaving me with an extremely cranky baby, and no mommy time.

  Thank God that time she stayed fast asleep.

  F
alling back onto the couch, I didn't even bother lifting my legs or getting comfortable. I simply let my body fall and stay right where it landed, that was all I wanted and needed.

  Quiet time with no crying.

  Exhaustion, lack of sleep, and the never ending care of a newborn was taking its toll. I could feel the weight of my lids as they pulled down. Letting my head fall back, tiny anchors had launched from my lashes, stealing away the daylight hours as I drifted between a weird mix of consciousness and napping.

  The sound of my laptop jingled off the desk, snapping me awake. In my state of confusion and delirious sleepiness, I jumped off the couch like the smoke detector was going off.

  The blood had rushed to my head, causing me to sway. Stumbling into the coffee table, my hands shot out to brace the wall, head shaking side to side trying to regain my focus.

  Max... What time is it?

  My husband always tried to face time me at some point during the day, but I never knew when that moment would come. With groggy strides, I made my way over to the desk, only to realize that it wasn't the computer, it was the phone.

  Who's calling me?

  What time is it?

  “Hello,” I said, the words half-heartedly escaping through tired lips. I was still trying to catch my bearings, still trying to lift the fog off my brain.

  The jingle sprung up again, louder and more intense than before. Holding the receiver out, an endless dial tone filled the speaker.

  The doorbell. Damn I need more sleep.

  My feet scraped the wood floor, barely lifting an inch. Reaching the door, I tried to peer through the warped etched glass. But all I could see was a figure; a dark, broad outline of a man standing on the doorstep. The subtle movement of a second set of shoulders caught my eye.

  If I could have seen the change coming my way...

  I wouldn't have answered.

  Not that it would have saved me from the inevitable, but it would have delayed the shock I never let myself imagine.

  Instantly, my heart began to tremble, muscles flickering with a warm dose of anxious blood that coursed through my veins.

  Oh no.

  What's this?

  What's happening?

  “Yes, can I help you?” I asked through the door, my body warm and tingling with fear.

  “Mrs. Davidson, I'm Captain Thomas Webster, can you open the door please?”

  My lungs began to strain to take in air as I turned the handle. I knew what was coming before he even said the dreaded words. Looking into his eyes told me everything I needed to know, and everything I didn't want to actually hear.

  The man's face was drawn back, brows lifting a hair with an empathetic arch. His arms were set by his side, not dangling, but hanging with professional precision. “Mrs. Davidson, the Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your husband, Maxwell, was killed in action early this morning due to small arms fire.”

  That was it, that was all I heard. The room tunneled into a black hole, the world around me grew hazy and started to fade away. A soft, angelic cry echoed in my ears, my brain turning off the switch to process anything else but the words he had just thrown in my face.

  Then nothing.

  Every sound had gone to a horrid silence, I couldn't hear the man, I couldn't hear myself, all I heard were his words.

  My world had forever changed, my life had been forever altered by that one moment.

  And my baby girl would never get to grow up knowing her father.

  A father would never get to hold his child, tend to her wounds, hold her after her first heartbreak, or walk her down the aisle.

  A hole was cast into my world, one I couldn't close or fix. There was no erasing this moment, no magic spell to alter what had happened. My husband was gone, the love of my life was gone within a few words.

  Where was I supposed to go from here?

  How was I going to go on alone?

  How would I raise our child without her father?

  Chapter One

  Kinsley

  Five Years Later

  “Uh, Kinsley! You might want to get out here, the kids are getting restless!” Gina yelled through the screen door of my small patio. Her hair blew softly in the breeze, eyes flickering between the yard and me in the kitchen. Gina's thin lips that normally rested with a birth born frown, twisted and turned up, teeth biting down with a snicker of a smile.

  Oh no.

  “What? Why? What in the world is going on?” I asked, grabbing the freshly topped off bowl of chips from the counter. Making a mad dash for the door, Gina jumped out of the way, giggling to herself as she cupped her hands under her chin.

  It was my daughter's fifth birthday party, and knowing what it was like to have one young child... Add in six more, and it was a damn circus. All I needed was a few elephants and a couple tight rope walkers, and we had the Ringling Brothers in my yard.

  I honestly shouldn't have been surprised, when you have a child, you should expect anything. And why?

  Because anything was always possible.

  One time, at the age of three, my daughter had found a permanent marker; a large, dark black, permanent marker. I of course was asleep, because only kids can be up half the night and still wake up with the roosters.

  When I finally opened my eyes up to her grinning face, Fay had used the marker to color basically everything. But the best part, she had used it as lipstick. I got to spend the next week walking around with a child who looked like they were suffocating because the black had softened to a navy blue.

  Let me just say, the looks I received were not friendly.

  Stepping onto the patio, my eyes widened, huge and stunned as I watched the hoard of kids running through the yard with pails of dirt. They were grabbing large handfuls and tossing it at each other, all while yelling, “Wizard battle!”

  The giant plumes of sandy clouds stayed motionless in the air for a brief second, before finally falling down as a blanket of tiny grains onto their heads. Finding the wind, pieces of the dust cloud broke off, raining onto the food table, and seasoning everything in its wake.

  “No! Kids, no, none of that! No dirt!” I barked down from the wooden deck, as my friends—their parents—all chuckled behind me.

  “Kin, it's fine. Let them play, they're having fun,” Lynn said.

  “Yeah, you remember fun, don't you?” Gina asked giggling.

  Lynn and Gina had been my best friends since our freshman year in high school. They have been by my side through it all; the good, the bad, and hell when it came and stole my world.

  After my husband passed, I moved back to my hometown of Warwick. I needed to be around my family and friends, needed the support and love.

  Fay was my world, but there was no way I could stay hundreds of miles away. I needed more than a wasteland of endless fields and cows. I needed comfort, familiarity, and help.

  Lots of help.

  After coming back, it felt like I had never left. Lynn, Gina, and I, seemed to fall back into our friendship as if I had never moved away at all. And I was grateful for that, because I needed them more than ever in the beginning.

  As time went on, things seemed to settle into place. Life became more bearable as I kept busy with work, and my daughter who was growing faster than a weed.

  But there was always something missing, an emptiness that I couldn't fill.

  “Yes, Gina, I remember fun.” Rolling my eyes, I snickered. “But if you guys don't care about cleaning sandy scalps, or eating gritty dip, then I won't either.” Stepping towards the stairs, my toe jammed a nail that was sticking out, shooting me forward over tumbling feet. The bowl of chips quickly followed, falling like giant snowflakes onto the wood. “Ah! Fu—” The remaining letters got buried under a deep moan, my mind swiftly realizing the tiny ears not far away.

  “The queen of spills lives!” Gina yelled, sipping her beer, and giggling into the metal can.

  Bending down, I rubbed my foot. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, so my feet st
ill don't like me. What can I do?”

  “Kinsley, your feet, your hands, even your brain...” Gina batted her lashes, shaking her head. “They've never liked you. Remember that time at Briar Point, when you were running down to the water and tripped over your own feet?”

  “Seriously Gina, you haven't forgotten that yet?”

  Oh shit, not that story. Please no.

  “Ha, no! I don't think anyone who was there that day could forget. You stood up, your top had been shoved down, and you had mud covering your face and chest. And to top it all off, you didn't even notice your bikini had fallen.” Holding out a single finger, she spoke through giant inhales of laughter. “I think that was the pinnacle of every guy in our schools first boner!”

  Lynn raised her drink as she spoke, trying to swallow the bubbly liquid between chuckles. “What did they all call you after that? Gritty titty? Was that it?” Squinting her eyes, the large hoop earrings brushed her shoulders.

  Dipping to my knees, I started picking up the chips. “Yes, I was gritty titty for longer than I want to remember. Thank you for shaming me on my daughter's birthday. Can we focus on the party now?”

  “Yeah, that's probably a good idea, it looks like they just found the cake.” Gina was leaning over the side, smiling.

  Looking over the railing, the small table I had set up in the yard for the presents and to display the cake, was surrounded by children who were all digging their hands into the fresh white frosting.

  The nicely decorated unicorn cake was now a giant pile of mush, the crisp frosting was streaked in brown dirt, and the dirty faces of the kids were all smeared in white butter cream.

  Expect the unexpected.

  Slamming a palm to my forehead, I closed my eyes tight. “Really? I told Fay not to touch the cake till I said it was time.”

  “And you thought a five year old would remember that with six others egging it on? Come on, Kin, you should know better. With kids, you can never trust them,” Lynn said.

  “Yeah, it's no different than husban—” Gina dropped her words, cutting herself off. “Sorry, Kin, I didn't—”

  Holding up my hand, I said, “It's alright, Gina.”