Freya Barker - Hit&Run

Copyright 2019 Margreet Asselbergs as Freya Barker

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or by other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in used critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses as permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, mentioning in the subject line: "Reproduction Request

at freyabarker.writes@gmail.com

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-988733-40-1

Cover Design:

RE&D - Margreet Asselbergs

Editing:

Karen Hrdlicka

Proofing: Joanne Thompson

CHAPTER 1

R OSIE

You look like you could do with a trip to the spa and a tub of concealer.

I glare at who I thought was my best friend, as he takes in my appearance with a snicker. Granted, if I look half as rough as I feel, after battling this yucky cold all week, he may have a point. But he doesnt have to rub it in.

Youre mean, I grumble, dragging two large garbage bags through the lobby to the front desk where he is laughing at me.

Just telling it as it is, girlfriend, he drawls, doing that side to side snake thing with his head. Keeping it real.

I snort at that, taking in his carefully waxed eyebrows and newly extended eyelashes. Grant Peabodyan incongruently pompous name that doesnt fit the massive black manis as artificial as they come. Real? My ass.

Shaking my head at his deep chuckle, I choose not to take the bait, and instead redirect the conversation to the buzz that has been filling the hotel the past few weeks.

So? Have you met him yet?

The him Im referring to is the outrageously sexy, daytime-gone-big-screen actor, Kyle Steele, who along with his entourage, has taken over the top two floors of the Spring Ridge Suites. They are filming a movie in and around Grand Junction and picked our hotel for their base. Of course that comes with some annoyances. Like having our personnel parking lot reallocated for their use, while we are relegated to the public parking lot, or the horny fans digging through the towels and sheets in the laundry room in the basement at all hours of the night. Not to mention the trays upon trays of room service leftovers shoved outside almost every door on the top two floors.

Even so, the thrill of having bona fide film peoplecrew, producers, directors, and best of all, actorsroaming our hotel, is admittedly kind of fun. Especially after discovering I share my immature crush on the star actor with my friend, Grant. Ever since admitting that to each other, he and I have a running bet on whos going to meet him first. Since both of us work the nightshift, weve struck out so far. Hell, one of the reasons I give the hotel gym such a thorough scrubbing every night is because I harbor fantasies of Kyle Steele walking in for a midnight run on the treadmill. So far, no luck on that, clearly, because who would willingly exercise in the middle of the night? From what I hear from the hotel grapevine, the guy is an asshole in reality. Still, its my fantasy and I havent given up hope yet.

I did, Grant says smugly.

You did not! I lean over the counter to punch his solid shoulder, only to shake out my fist from the painful impact.

He walked up to me, smiledoh God, you should see his smile, its to die forand held out his hand for me to shake. I touched him, Rosie, and it was electric.

My mouth falls open in shock, but Grant clearly cant keep up the ruse because he starts laughing, and I almost make the mistake of hitting him again. Instead I growl, bend down, and pick up my garbage bags.

Just kidding, Rosebud. All I did was catch a glimpse of him heading into the bar.

If asked, I will deny with my dying breath that I actually performed an internal fist pump hearing that. Catching glimpses is not meeting someone, which means I still have my fantasy. Its the little things that give my life some color, even if it is a childish bet.

Not nice, Grant. Not nice, I admonish him before heading for the back door.

T HESE PAST EIGHT MONTHS , since moving back to Grand Junction, havent been a cakewalk. Looking after a mother with Alzheimers thats progressed to a point where she cant take care of herself anymore is a challenge. Especially when you werent on the best of terms to begin with. I hate to admit it, but her rapid descent into dementia is almost a blessing. Most of the time she cant remember who I am, which means she also cant remember how much of a disappointment Ive been to her. Something she used to remind me of any time I fulfilled my daughterly duties and checked in on her.

After my father died too young from a massive heart attack when I was twenty, I tried hard to fill the hole he left behind in her life, but whatever I did was never enough. How could it be, when I was the reason he died in the first place? At least thats what Mom liked to point out to me at every turn. Eventually, I gave up, but it was still seven years of listening to her tell me how my father would be turning in his grave if he knew I never took the Colorado Mesa University scholarship, before I packed up what little I had accumulated and hit the road. I never wanted to go to school locally, I had my mind set on NYU, which is what our last argument had been about. It took me seven years to rediscover my determination, and follow my own path, and set out for New York. That was fifteen years ago, and sadly, I never made it farther than Denver.

So yeah, I dont miss Moms scathing tongue, but I hate seeing the confusion in her eyes those moments when a random memory surfaces, dragging her back to a reality she no longer recognizes.

When I received a phone call from one of Moms neighbors eight months ago, letting me know shed gone to check on Mom and found her in the tub sitting in ice-cold water because she couldnt remember how to get out, I knew it was time to step in. My mother had warded off any kind of involvement on my part over the years, and other than checking in on her from time to time by phone, Id respected those boundaries. Until now.

Clearly she was no longer able to look after herself and it was time to put the hurt behind me and come home. Im ashamed to say I had no idea how bad things had gotten. Not just healthwise, but financially as well.

It was surprisingly easy to let go of my life in Denver. Sad, really, after setting out all those years ago with big plans. I sold the small condo I didnt love anyway, gave my two weeks notice for a job I hadnt particularly enjoyed doing, and I said goodbye to a man I would never have, despite his promises.