Finding Solace Read online S.L. Scott

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Finding Solace

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

S.L. Scott

Language:
English
Book Information:

He puts the Bad in bad boy. New York Times bestselling author, S.L. Scott, weaves her emotional words with her signature heartfelt style into a second chance, small town romance that will have you falling for the bad boy.
I've done my time as undercover elite security and I'm ready for a change. Seeking redemption and a slower pace, I return to the one place I once vowed not to--Solace Pointe. Then, I was a hometown hero--star quarterback and Delilah Noelle's one and only. Now, I've accrued enough sins to last two lifetimes and want to retire in peace.
I mistakenly forgot how rumors run rampant in a small town, and my return causes quite the ruckus. That's to be expected. I can handle church group gossip. What I didn't expect was for the only girl I ever loved to be single again. I didn't come back looking for trouble, but it seems to be leading me right back to Delilah.
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She puts the Sweet in sweetheart. I finally freed myself from a bad marriage. Running my family farm is hard work, but it's become my safe haven. That is until gossip travels down the grapevine that Jason Koster is back in town. If there was ever a man who held my heart in his hands, it was him.
Then, I had stars in my eyes--a beauty queen and madly in love with the man of my dreams. Now, I live a peaceful life alone on the farm.
I should have known trouble was heading my way, especially since I'm standing here holding the door wide open for him.
~ This NEW revised edition of Solace has 10%+ new content ~
Books by Author:

S.L. Scott



Prologue

Jason Koster

It’s pouring rain, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t look away from my past. Or her.

Delilah Noelle.

Damn.

We shared many shameless kisses with our bodies covered in the slick love we’d made. Carefree hair blowing in the wind. A sunset captured on the back of a rowboat. We were all the good things that first love brings.

Yeah, we were wild in love back then with no cares in the world. Whether by choice or circumstance, all good things must come to an end. Nothing good can last. It’s been a hard lesson to learn, but one that finally sank in.

A love so pure, so innocent like ours could never survive.

And didn’t.

The motorcycle’s too loud to be considered stealth, so I’m sure she hears me coming. A bike like this, even custom and almost costing as much as a small house, will never impress her.

How do I know? Because I never impressed her.

Guess that’s why she left me.

Or did I leave her?

I know the truth, but sometimes, I pretend the facts are fuzzy. Hazy facts or not, four years is a lot of time to pass without living with your other half . . . your better half.

She’d called us soul mates at one time. Maybe she was right, and I’ve been living without half my soul all this time. That’d make sense, though it can’t cleanse the soul I have left, if any.

Now I’m back in the same town I once hated, sitting in front of the same house I once visited daily. And I’m not thinking clearly, much like a night I’d like to forget.

I don’t know what I was thinking coming back here. I don’t know what to think at all.

Maybe . . .

No. She’s not an option. She’s married.

She’s off-limits.

It didn’t stop him back then, but it should stop me now. Crazy memories fill my brain—holding her in my arms and making her promises I intended to keep. Too young to make those kinds of promises. Naïve for thinking I would be her guy forever or she’d be my forever.

Rumor has it he hits her.

If I’m not careful, he’ll never take another breath if we cross paths again. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her kills me inside, but do I have a right to those emotions when it comes to her?

Gossip has gotten back that she visits my mom on occasion to reminisce. That she misses me.

Fuck.

Rumors. Fucking rumors.

Delilah is still so damn beautiful. I see that same look in her eyes I remember from back then. The one that brought me to my knees the first time I ever laid eyes on her.

As I look at her standing on that front porch now, I can’t deny that she makes me feel the same. Her smile, her small wave . . . two things I’ve craved. Missed. I scrub my hands through my hair and question everything I’m about to do.

Why am I here?

Unfinished business or feeling sentimental about a past I can’t reclaim?

What am I doing?

I have no fucking clue, but I do it anyway.

I swing my leg off the bike to find out and then cut the engine to the black Harley. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket, I start walking across a lawn I’ve walked a million times in another life.

The railing wobbles under my hand, and chipped paint pops off. I prop one foot up on the bottom step and stare at her.

Many things in life catch us, distract us, keep hold of us. I’m not one easily caught, though. But the one thing I never seemed to be able to get uncaught in is Delilah.

It’s been too long since I’ve laid eyes on the beauty standing before me or felt a heart I thought had been lost on some dark highway. Here it is, beating to life just from being near her again. I take a deep breath, and say, “Hi.”

Her shoulders drop, the tension falling away as if she’s been waiting for this day and found relief in its arrival. “What took you so long?”

1

Jason

New York is always an option. I hate Manhattan, but I could live in a borough. I could blend into the city life and disappear among all the other ghosts that inhabit the area. I pass the exit, the city no longer a choice, and keep driving south.

I never felt as if I belonged there anyway.

I’ve traveled this country from Maine to Los Angeles, Alaska to Key West. I’ve stayed a few days in a motel outside Atlanta and swum in the Gulf along the Mississippi coast. I’ve drunk whiskey in the open air of Joshua Tree and slept under a blanket of stars in Texas.

I lived.

I survived.

But all roads seem to lead me back to Solace Pointe.

My jersey number still graces the beat-up old sign along the highway. The billboard is just before the exit that leads you to a one-stoplight town with a pharmacy still serving ice cream at the counter and Wilbur Macy rocking in a chair at the corner of Main and First.

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