End of Lonely Street

ISBN Digital: 978-1-62830-540-1
Page Count: 76
Word Count: 18430
Rating: Sweet

All Toby Lawson wants is to go to college to become a teacher and to be free of her alcoholic mother and some painful memories. But when her mother nearly burns the house down, Toby must put her dreams on hold and return home to care for her. The only time she isn’t lonely and miserable is when she’s listening to her heartthrob, Elvis Presley. His music takes her away and helps her escape from everything wrong in her life.

Noah Rivers has always loved Toby, but no matter what he says, she can‘t get past the fact that her drunken mother once kissed him. He soon realizes the true problem lies in Toby’s belief she’s not good enough for him and in her fear she will be just like her mother.

What will it take to prove to her that she deserves to be happy, and that he would give anything to be the man to make her dreams come true?


“Who kisses better? Me or my mother?”

Noah blinked as if not sure what he’d heard. Then, a hard look came into his eyes, and he set her from him with a not-so-gentle shove. “What the…? I should just leave your ass right here. It would serve you right.”

She ran her nail along his cheek. “Ah, come on, Noah. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? How about you and I go somewhere private and finish what we started at Make Out Point? We’re grownups now. No reason to hold off.”

He raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Good God, Toby, what’s gotten into you?”

“What’s the matter?” Unexpectedly, a sob rose to her chest. She suddenly wasn’t happy anymore. She was deeply, thoroughly sad. “I thought men liked tramps.”

His expression softened, and he gave her a tender smile. “You’re not a tramp, Toby. For God’s sake, your mother really did a number on you.” A dark look crossed his face. “And that bastard, Wes… I wanted to kill him when I found out what he tried to do to you. Don’t let a scumbag like that make you feel bad about yourself. Other people might hold your mother’s reputation against you, but not me. I know the real you.”

Easy for him to say, but he didn’t walk in her shoes, didn’t suffer the ridicule, the shame of being Constance Lawson’s daughter.

She sighed and lifted a hand to brush the hair out of her face. His rejection might sting tomorrow, once she sobered up, but for now, she was spent. She just wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. Sleep for a week.

“Please take me home,” she whispered.

Copyright © 2018 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.