Jay McLean presents the fifth installment of her More Than series. Contains mature themes. Read More Than Enough read free novels online from your Mobile, Pc. More Than Enough is a New Adult novel by Jay McLean. Even when it wasn't enough. -CAMERON- More Than Her - Jay McLean (2). epub. KB More Than Enough (More Than Ser - Jay caite.info KB.
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Note to Readers Please note than More Than Enough (More Than #5) is part #5 in the More Than Series and should not be read prior to reading More Than This . More Than Enough book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. More Than Enough is book five in the More Than series and may be . More Than Her By Jay McLean Spoilers Alert: I really did try not to spoil to much info. I swear. If you have read the first book of the More Tha. Malorey Andrew.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Zaloguj Anuluj. Taking his hand and gripping it tight, I face the edge. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. He screams, a sound so deafening it rings in my ears.
He said he was doing the same. I was too much of a pussy to admit that his version of avoiding and mine were on completely different spectrums. Now here we are: Leroy shakes his head, never once looking back. We open every door, flip over every piece of furniture. Dave and I eye each other in the small, dark kitchen —the only source of light coming from a crack in the pieces of wood nailed over the window. Gone is the frustration in his words, now replaced with something no one should hear, let alone show.
Especially here. Amidst a fucking war. I walk past him, nudging his elbow with mine as I do. We walk side by side through the narrow hallway, our weapons drawn, until we get to the other side of the house. Then another voice. A different one.
One of a kid. Five of my brothers cramp in the space, all facing the corner just to my left, their weapons aimed, fingers on their triggers. My gaze quickly moves to their target—to a boy no more than twelve holding a semi-automatic, his eyes frantic as his weapon moves from my brothers to me. I was wrong. The air is thicker here. Only here would this situation make any fucking sense.
No amount of training can prepare you for this. One sound. From the corner of my eye, I see him reach into his pocket. The pocket I know carries a picture of his family. He screams, a sound so deafening it rings in my ears.
More gun shots, familiar ones.
Not from him, but from us. He falls to the floor. More screams. It does. The smell and sight of gunpowder fills the air along with the dust and the harshness of all our breaths. I wipe my eyes. Different tone. I pretend not to notice as I take another step, then another, until my ears fill with nothing but the constant roar of my heart. He takes a final breath. A final attempt. A single, final shot. Then I feel the pain. That and an indescribable pain in my right shoulder.
Then there was the flight back home. The stares and the proud smiles as I hopped off the plane. The unwarranted attention and the nods of acknowledgment from random strangers and finally, an eerily silent cab ride home. Still the same single story, timber cladded, tiny home surrounded by a chain-link fence. The TV inside is loud—louder than necessary, like it always has been. The flickering of the screen illuminates the front window of the living room, causing a light display on the front lawn.
I exhale loudly, my left hand going to my pocket and fingering my set of keys. It feels wrong to use them. Almost as wrong as it feels to knock on the door. With another sigh, I turn my back on the house and everything it represents.
Just for a moment. Because I need the time to settle down, to think, to breathe. Tilting my head, eyes narrowed, I stare at the horizon, completely fascinated by it. Strange, I know, but it seems off—the way the sun sets over the earth. It feels calm. And that calmness makes me want to run. The pride in his eyes—pride greater than the smiles from everyone when I landed on home soil. It just made me mad—because while I was here with an injured shoulder, my brothers were there.
And the threats we were all searching for— they were everywhere… even in the hands and eyes of a scared shitless little boy.
It always does. Frustrated, I remove my hat and pick up my bag, then ignore the thumping of my heart as I kick open the metal gate and make my way up the uneven pavers of the path toward my home.
I take one more look over my shoulder at the horizon, hoping the calmness it emits will somehow make its way to me. And without another thought, I drop my bag and raise my fist. Knock knock. I knock again.
Stronger and hard Automatyczne logowanie Zarejestruj. Zaloguj Anuluj.
Opublikowany It didn't give me the courage to fight for him. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. And they did. They ruined us and turned our dreams into nightmares. But now we're back.
And we're fighting. A heart so strong it will never slow. There is a promise so sure it can never lie. He promised me that love forever. Even when it wasn't enough. There is no measure of time. No sounds of the ticking of a clock. Just the rising and falling of the sun. And our own sense of forever. But our forever isn't always. No ache greater than grief. No sound greater than silence. I mean here, in this world. The points where we all determine that the fear of our pasts and the uncertainty of our futures are greater than our need for happiness.
We wanted it with each other. We thrived on the chaos we created.