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<\/p>\nThese Hollow Hearts has been in the hands of reviewers for a while now and one thing keeps coming up time and time again. Cheyanne Murphey. She’s a strong personality and people either really like her or really don’t.<\/p>\n
As we move ever closer to the release date for These Hollow Hearts we’d like to introduce you to Cheyanne Murphey by sharing the first chapter of the book. Reader, meet Cheyanne…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!<\/em>“<\/p>\n – Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights)<\/p>\n Chapter One<\/strong><\/p>\n The stain stared up at me from the pile of whites like a hateful Rorschach blot.<\/p>\n I picked up my fianc\u00e9e\u2019s crumpled undershirt and held it for a closer look. What the hell?<\/p>\n Lipstick.<\/p>\n Burgundy lipstick.<\/p>\n A shade which, with my orange hair and pale complexion, I\u2019d never be caught dead wearing. The truth of what I was seeing made the room swim and I leaned backwards into the laundry room wall and slid down until I landed hard on my butt.<\/p>\n What does this mean? The question flickered through my synapses, even though I knew exactly what it meant. There was only one thing it could mean.<\/p>\n The stain was smeared along the collar and then again at the hem, as if the lipstick wearer had subtly made her way down his body. It was left in such an obvious way\u2014such a clich\u00e9 way\u2014that I knew it was meant to be found. A slap in the face from another woman.<\/p>\n A taunt. Check. Your move\u2026<\/p>\n And Brett\u2026 He\u2019d have seen the dark red smears before he casually tossed the shirt into the laundry. Did he want me to see them?<\/p>\n I buried my face in the thin cotton shirt and inhaled.<\/p>\n I closed my eyes as I breathed in, filling my nose with the lingering scents of infidelity. What does she smell like? Look like? Is she prettier than me? Why would he do this?<\/p>\n There was no trace of the burgundy-lipped whore. No sweat or sex or woman\u2019s perfume. Only Brett\u2014the man I loved and who I\u2019d believed loved me, too.<\/p>\n Anger welled through me. Not the useful, searing kind of anger\u2014but something damp and soggy. The kind of anger you fed with wine and Netflix. The kind of anger that couldn\u2019t quite believe what it was seeing.<\/p>\n The kind of anger I loathed.<\/p>\n It was seeped through with hurt and, not surprisingly, love. Traitorous love for the man who\u2019d rescued me when I\u2019d gone on a date with a jock in my junior year and wound up stranded when he got drunk off too many ninety-nine cent margaritas and passed out in our booth at Chili\u2019s. Love for the guy who knew about my family\u2014about what my Mama and her many boyfriends put me and my sisters through.<\/p>\n Love for the man who\u2019d helped me track down my father and then didn\u2019t judge me when I decided I didn\u2019t want to meet him after all. Brett was with me just three weeks ago when Granny took her last breaths and held my hand at her funeral. So when I inhaled his smell from that shirt\u2014even though it was stained with another woman\u2019s lipstick\u2014my brain associated his scent with good. My heart still craved him.<\/p>\n Why? Why, after so many years, would he do this now?<\/p>\n I pulled my knees to a steepled point in front of me and studied the blotted shirt as if it held some clue. As if by looking, I could unlock the puzzle and figure out who. Figure out why.<\/p>\n Does she do that thing I won\u2019t? Was that why he cheated?<\/p>\n I swallowed back a sob and ran my fingers over the stain. It was dried into Brett\u2019s shirt\u2014a part of the material now. The thought of a piece of this woman permanently mingled with something that belonged to Brett\u2014my Brett\u2014made things worse. It kindled a fury that I knew, if left unchecked, could burn down the whole house..<\/p>\n But if there was one thing I\u2019d learned from my childhood\u2014one thing I had grown good at\u2014it was swallowing my emotions. I leaned my head backward into the pale lavender sheetrock and took a breath. Then another. And another. Until my heart rate resembled something normal.<\/p>\n Maybe there was an explanation.<\/p>\n Maybe he didn\u2019t cheat. He wouldn\u2019t. He couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n Could he?<\/p>\n I pulled this last thought around me like insulation against a reality I didn\u2019t want to be true. Of course there was a reasonable explanation. We were CheyanneAndBrett\u2014New Orleans\u2019 own effing Barbie and Ken.<\/p>\n My face decorated a big billboard out near the interstate and was plastered around the city advertising WKLNT\u2014New Orleans only station for up to the moment weather coverage! I\u2019d won awards, and been voted Orleans Parish\u2019s most perky news personality. I\u2019d brought in the most money ever earned for the children\u2019s hospital at their annual date-a-celebrity auction\u2014and that was saying something in a city filled with musicians, artists, and celebrity chefs. And Brett\u2026 well, he was the king of New Orleans real estate. You couldn\u2019t sit on a bus stop bench anywhere in town without leaning back into his hi-lighted coif and perfectly porcelain smile. He was handsome with the kind of face you could trust, and that\u2014coupled with his last name\u2014had served him well.<\/p>\n The buzz of Brett\u2019s electric razor clicked on in the bathroom and jarred me from my thoughts.<\/p>\n My life was falling apart while he was in the other room shaving, unbothered and unconcerned. I sneered and wiped my eyes with the heels of my palms. I was Cheyanne Murphey\u2014a fighter through and through\u2014and I was not going to sit on the floor and sob like some jilted woman from a Lifetime movie of the week while Brett went about his morning footloose and fancy-fucking-free.<\/p>\n I pushed up from the floor, shirt in hand, and marched to the bathroom, swallowing my salty tears and working hard to bury the hurt and anger somewhere deep inside me\u2014in that dark place where I buried all my pain. The place I knew would allow me to believe Brett if he said it was the first time or that he\u2019d never do it again. When he said it.<\/p>\n Because that is all he has to do, I decided, apologize and we will be okay. I may sulk and get in my digs\u2014but Brett was mine. I was not going to end \u201cus\u201d over one little slip up. We meant something. I may even get a bigger diamond out of the ordeal. Not that the one and half carat princess cut that adorned my left hand could be called tiny\u2014but a girl could always trade up.<\/p>\n Brett stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a white towel slung low around his hips. The muscles of his abs and arms were still damp from the shower, and his skin was perfectly bronze from the time he spent at the tanning salon. His highlighted hair was combed straight back from his forehead in a wet pompadour. He glanced at me as I came through the door. \u201cHey babe.\u201d He turned back to shaving.<\/p>\n The noise of the electric shaver turned from a dull buzz to a roar that filled my head sending my temples pounding and making my mind spin. Try as I might, it was difficult to hang on to my confidence with the t-shirt in my hands. My throat felt as if it were going to close and I clenched the side of the bathroom sink with one hand and swallowed hard. Jeez. What was wrong with me? Get a grip, Cheyanne. I pushed through mutinous emotions that were trying to strangle me, and blinked back the tears in my eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cBrett!\u201d I said his name forceful and loud enough to cut through the mind-numbing buzz of the shaver.<\/p>\n He smiled at me in the mirror. Not his work, found-on-the-back-of-bus-stop-benches smile, but his real one. The one that undid me every single time, that had been un-doing me for years. The one that made me willing to do anything to keep him around.<\/p>\n \u201cBrett, can you cut that thing off?\u201d<\/p>\n He flipped the switch and set the shaver on the edge of the sink. \u201cWhat\u2019s up, babe?\u201d<\/p>\n I held his shirt in front of me and opened my mouth to speak but shut it again. I didn\u2019t trust my voice. Didn\u2019t trust the anger and hurt churning inside of me. I was at war with myself, my insides ripped clean in two from the emotions that were spinning around each other like a typhoon of oil and water.<\/p>\n Part of me wanted to punch him and scream How could you? Why? The other wanted to collapse and beg him to stay. To make love right then and there make him promise he\u2019d never leave me.<\/p>\n And yet, quietly in the very back of my mind, both halves of it, a still voice whispered, \u201cThis all has to be a big misunderstanding, right?\u201d<\/p>\n I flung the garment at him, hitting him square in the chest and he snatched it before it fell. It hung from his fingers as he raised his brows and grinned, the dimple in his left cheek making an appearance. \u201cI guess we ruined this shirt, huh babe?\u201d<\/p>\n He tossed it over my head and into the laundry basket in the corner.<\/p>\n I\u2019d expected pleas of forgiveness, stammering excuses, promises it wouldn\u2019t happen again or reassurances it hadn\u2019t happened at all\u2014anything but this. Brett was calm and cool, unblinking. His smile unfaltering. \u201cBrett, what are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m talking about you getting lipstick all over my shirt.\u201d He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned forward and dropped a kiss on my head. \u201cBut don\u2019t look so worried about it. I\u2019m not mad, babe. I am sure we had fun staining it. Amirite?\u201d He started to turn back to the mirror. \u201cBesides, you can get that out with a little bleach.\u201d<\/p>\n Heat climbed my neck and face with sharp pricks like tiny claws.. My knees went slack and my mouth felt as if I were chewing cotton while all that useless, soggy anger expanded in my gut and threatened to boil.<\/p>\n Brett smirked, mistaking my angry flush for embarrassment. \u201cDon\u2019t be bashful. I\u2019m sure we enjoyed ourselves. Now, if you\u2019ll excuse me, I gotta go. I have an early showing. This one is big money, babe.\u201d He clicked back on the electric shaver and leaned over the sink, dismissing me. I continued to stare at him for a moment, before turning on my heels and shuffling away.<\/p>\n What had just happened?<\/p>\n Had he really suggested I scrub away his whore\u2019s lipstick?<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n I parked my ass on the metal bar stool in our kitchen and leaned over my bowl of cheerios. Brett had come through in a whirlwind moments before, wearing his work smile and a navy suit that made his shoulders look even broader and his waist even trimmer than they already were. He\u2019d pressed another kiss onto my forehead, and called goodbye over his shoulder before I\u2019d even managed to open my mouth to tell him to have a nice day. Or to go to hell. I didn\u2019t know which.<\/p>\n I was a mess, all righteous anger and sloppy tears. I wanted him and hated him. I refused to let someone else have him\u2014but didn\u2019t know if I could enjoy his touch ever again. Was it possible to love somebody you hated? Or to hate somebody you loved? Was it possible to want\u2014crave\u2014someone, and yet not trust them? If I am being honest, the craving I was feeling wasn\u2019t for what I had now\u2014it was for what we had been, once upon a time.<\/p>\n Three months ago, Brett\u2019s goodbye kiss wouldn\u2019t have been on my forehead. Three months ago, things were still hot. From the very beginning, our relationship had been equal parts fevered adrenaline, tenderness and rage. Lust and turmoil.<\/p>\n And the sex! Man, the sex.<\/p>\n Three months ago, before he\u2019d proposed, that kiss would have started at my mouth and worked its way down, down, down, until he ended up late for work or rushing out the door with a serious case of blue balls.<\/p>\n Brett hadn\u2019t been my first, not by a long shot, but before him I hadn\u2019t known sex could make me feel like that. Electric. Like lightning pulsed through me, exiting my fingers and toes. Like I could shock someone with my touch. Like I didn\u2019t need oxygen or food or water. Only him.<\/p>\n Only us.<\/p>\n Over the past few months, our usual explosive monkey-sex had morphed into the kind of pious coupling that wouldn\u2019t make an Amish woman blush\u2026 but I\u2019d chalked it up to nerves and Brett being freaked about our engagement and this new direction in our lives. I mean, men get weird about getting married, right?<\/p>\n I was sure the monkey-sex would return after the wedding stress was over.<\/p>\n I\u2019d never considered the turn in our relationship was because Brett was cheating.<\/p>\n And he hadn\u2019t even seemed sorry or at least tried to give me a decent excuse. He\u2019d gone right back to shaving\u2014not even giving me the pleasure of nicking himself out of nervousness.<\/p>\n He\u2019d said it was my lipstick.<\/p>\n No way in hell was it my lipstick. I wore coral. It was my signature shade. I\u2019d been wearing it on air for the past six years and had even been asked about it when I was interviewed by Southern Living for a piece they were doing on weather girls around the South.<\/p>\n Everyone knew I wore coral. Only coral.<\/p>\n Everyone except the one person who should have known me better than anyone.<\/p>\n Brett had dismissed the whole thing so flippantly it had pointed to the truth like a blinking sign. An arrow aimed at his head with electric pink neon spelling out the word CHEATER.<\/p>\n And the problem with knowing something like that is\u2014no matter how much you may want to, how much you may wish\u2014you can\u2019t un-know.<\/p>\n I stirred my spoon through the soggy Cheerios in my bowl. I\u2019d poured the cereal out of habit to give my hands something to do and the thought of forcing down even a single spoonful turned my gills green.<\/p>\n Jesus. Is this happening?<\/p>\n I\u2019d worked my ass off for the future that I\u2019d dreamed of\u2014a future that included Brett and his family\u2019s last name.<\/p>\n I\u2019d clawed my way up from being the oldest daughter of white trash, and I\u2019d dragged my two younger sisters up with me. But while I was one of the highest paid local television personalities, money couldn\u2019t buy a name. It couldn\u2019t buy the open doors that came with being from the \u201cright people.\u201d When Brett had saved me that night at Chili\u2019s, I couldn\u2019t believe my luck. I\u2019d recognized who he was straight away. He\u2019d been with a group of preppy kids, all with expensive haircuts and Lacoste polos. A blonde girl\u2014the kind who probably smelled like soap and designer perfume\u2014hung from his arm like shiny golden tinsel on a Christmas tree, but when our eyes met and Brett realized my situation, he\u2019d pounced on the opportunity to help me, leaving behind his friends and the sparkly, fresh-smelling girl to be my knight in shining armor. Over the course of the following month I\u2019d pulled out every stop to make him mine.<\/p>\n And I had.<\/p>\n What started out as my desperate quest for a secure future had ripened into real love and I\u2019d be damned if I rolled over for the first bitch who looked at him and saw a paycheck. Brett loved me. He\u2019d saved me time and again. He\u2019d always supported me.<\/p>\n Straightening my spine, I used a paper towel to dry my eyes.<\/p>\n Maybe March has some advice. My hippie younger sister and I were opposite in most ways, but she understood the heart in a way that I never did. I grabbed my cell from where it was charging on the granite counter, but before I could press Marchland\u2019s contact, it rang in my hand.<\/p>\n The picture of me, March, and my youngest sister Bradley, from Granny\u2019s birthday party last summer blinked onto the screen. I answered. \u201cThat\u2019s weird. I was just about to call you.\u201d<\/p>\n Marchland took a deep breath, exhaling into the phone, and making me want to wipe dampness from my ear. \u201cI\u2019m at Granny\u2019s. Something is going on with the house.\u201d Worry was thick in March\u2019s voice. \u201cWe need to find Granny\u2019s book. If we don\u2019t Bradley\u2019s scared the house will rip itself apart. It can\u2019t contain its own grief.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, March. I don\u2019t know that I feel up to anything today. I\u2019m kind of dealing with my own shit.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlease, Cheyanne? We have to find that book. It could be anywhere and you know how this house is… And what if we have to work a spell? Me and Brad can\u2019t do it alone\u2014it takes all three of us.\u201d Marchland\u2019s voice ticked up several octaves on the last word as she repeated the rule Granny had drilled into us our entire lives. The idea of doing magic\u2014real magic, not her skin and ink nonsense\u2014scared her.<\/p>\n My breath whistled from between my teeth. \u201cAre you telling me that you\u2019d really cast a spell? And what about Brad? Is she really going to cast, as scared as she is of the curse?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know. But we can at least find the book and see what it says. Cheyanne, it\u2019s an emergen\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n The book! Of course! An idea formed in my mind, clearing away the cobwebs like a broom. I could forgive Brett if I still had a shot at the future I\u2019d always planned, and the book could give me the guarantee I needed! It would have an answer on how to open Brett\u2019s eyes and make him stay with me.<\/p>\n \u201cNevermind,\u201d I interrupted. \u201cI will be there in thirty minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n I hung up before my little sister could finish her sentence and dropped my phone to the bar.<\/p>\n If anything could save my relationship\u2014if anything could offer answers\u2014it was the Murphey Clan\u2019s spell book.<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n The story continues in These Hollow Hearts<\/em>, coming March 12th!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" These Hollow Hearts has been in the hands of reviewers for a while now and one thing keeps coming up time and time again. Cheyanne Murphey. She’s a strong personality and people either really like her or really don’t. 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