Estelle's story just about broke my heart. To lose like she did and come through such pain. I loved that she was so strong and even gave good sass. Snake was so good for her. I loved that they connected through the group and it went beyond and became support in such a bigger way. That made me love the tattoos even more. I loved that they gave truth to each other that no one else was able to give them. Their connection was so deep and beautiful. At the same time they had such a great banter and holy hotness they were scorching hot together. I loved their story and hated when it was over. I can't wait to read more of this series.
I give Broken But Breathing 5 hearts!
It’s time to move on.
You’ve grieved enough.
I’m worried about you.
Estelle Noll has heard the same things repeatedly for the past two years. How can one put a time line on recovery from total devastation? She lost the love of her life, child, and home in one day. Broken, depressed, and lost, she battles her way from the darkness and begins to piece together a new life. Xavier “Snake” Kolton is everything her husband wasn’t.
Tattooed, bold, dirty talking, and free-spirited. He makes her feel alive for the first time since the tragedy. Can the M.C. Vice President ever be more than a passing phase?
Xavier "Snake." Kolton knows what it feels like to lose. The Vice President of the Wild Ones MC has spent years dedicated to nothing but his brothers and their commitment to bettering the community. When the fragile curly-haired blonde woman comes into his life, long dormant to him awaken. Can this woman who’s lost more than anyone ever should handle his lifestyle. Should he even ask her to?
Prologue
Estelle Noll never minded storms. The sound of the rain dancing on the rooftop made her smile. The fresh scent and the coolness it always brought were a welcome break from the sweltering summer heat. She sat on the plush grey window seat, viewing the world through the pane of glass. They cracked the screen earlier in anticipation of what was to come. The distinct aroma that came from wet concrete was nature’s perfume. She couldn’t wait to breathe in the crisp, clean scent.
I’m an unrepentant pluviophile. A total lover of rain who found joy and peace in the precipitation. The corners of her lips curled up as her mind went to her mother, Jane Abbot, and her father, James. They gifted her with her appreciation of books, rain, and whimsical things. The English-born couple loved classic literature, and wove wondrous tales about their life in Kent, England.
They’d returned to their hometown five years ago, and Estelle missed them more every day. Soon they’ll be back to prepare for your birth, little one. She rubbed her rounded belly.
A tiny foot kicked in response, and garnered a smile. There’s a living, breathing being inside of me right now. Wonderment filled her. For five years she and Everett tried to have a baby. Therefore, with his low sperm count and her endometriosis this bun in her oven was a tiny miracle.
“I can’t wait to meet you, Emma,” she whispered. Content, she glanced at the worn copy of her name inspiration, Great Expectations, in her lap.
The wail of sirens brought her from Pip and Estelle’s childhood. Tornado warning. The warnings were common this time of year. Closing her book, she studied the sky rapidly changing color. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood on end; a sense of unease flooded her system. She closed the book and slid off the cushion, narrowing her eyes. Had the sky taken on a green hue? The wind had picked up. The branches on the trees shook violently in the wind.
“Stell.” Everett strode into the room. The terse tone and clipped words made her hackles rise.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, standing to greet him.
“We need to go downstairs. The bathroom is the safest place. They spotted a funnel nearby.”
Goosebumps covered her flesh. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead. She toyed with the hem of her maternity top, worrying the material as she rubbed it between her forefinger and thumb.
He moved to the window and struggled to close it. “I’ll close this. You go downstairs, now.”
The bass in his voice put her in motion. Fear slithered its way through her body; worry sat in her stomach like a stone, cold and unyielding. A lump formed in her throat. She gripped the bannister, careful not to trip as she waddled her way down the stairs. Balls of ice hit the windows, walls, and roof with loud cracks.
She jogged toward the bathroom. Fear drove her into the tiny room. She perched on the toilet seat, eager to have Everett in her line of sight. Taking deep breaths, she attempted to keep the panic forming at bay. Her stomach soured. She rocked back and forth to comfort herself and the squirming bundle in her belly. The attempt failed. His footsteps pounded on the steps.
He appeared in the doorway a few moments later. His face was pale as a sheet, and the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes stood out. Lips drawn in a straight line, and dark eyes full of sadness, he presented a grim picture. He doesn’t think we’re going to make it. Tears blurred her vision, and her shoulders shook as she tried to hold in her sobs.
He sat on the edge of the tub and gripped her chin. “Hey. I need you to calm down for Emma, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you or the baby. We’re going to get into the tub, stay down, and pray our asses off. We’ll be interviewed on the news when all this is over. Okay?”
She swallowed the hysteria threatening to rise in her throat like carbonated bubbles full of crazy and nodded. Their lips met in a kiss that smacked of desperation. She poured every ounce of love she held for this man into their mouth mating. Surfacing for air, breathing heavily, they stared into each other’s eyes. She saw everything in his hazel orbs—the fear, the joy, and the determination. Everett Noll had never let her down when it counted. He wouldn’t start now if he could help it.
“I love you, Estelle.”
“I love you, too, Everett.” She had to yell to be heard over the roar that sounded like a massive waterfall.
“Let’s get in. It's go time.” He stood, holding her hand as she slipped into the porcelain basin and rested on her side. She held her belly, wishing she could cradle the babe moving around inside of her in her arms.
The house vibrated, shaking them violently. Her body protested and her teeth rattled. Joints creaked and moaned. He covered her body with his own. The heat from his body, the cold, smooth surface of the tub, and the terror placed her in a crazed limbo. The noise grew loud. It really does sound like a locomotive. Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. The rest of the prayer was lost to her screams as the roof ripped off, and all hell broke loose.
Shyla Colt grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio, but has lived a variety of different places thanks to her wanderlust, interesting careers, and marriage to a United States Marine. She's always loved books and wrote her very first novel at the age of fifteen. She keeps a copy of her first submission letter on her desk for inspiration.After a lifetime of traveling, she settled down and knew her time had come to write. Diving into her new career like she does everything else, with enthusiasm, research and a lot of prayers, she had her first book published in June of 2011. As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there's never a dull moment in her household.She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company. A self-professed rebel with a pen. Her goal is to diversify romance as she continues to genre hop, and offer up strong female characters.
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