Showing posts with label L.B. Simmons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label L.B. Simmons. Show all posts

Monday, 24 April 2017

Blog Tour: Into the Light by L.B. Simmons



Title: Into the Light (Chosen Paths Book One)
Author: L.B. Simmons
Release Date: April 25, 2017
Publisher: Spencer Hill Contemporary
 
 
 
 
 
 
When Aubrey Miller begins her education at Titan University, she is no longer the beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl of her youth. In fact, she’s no longer even Aubrey Miller. Now with jet-black hair, multiple sets of eccentric contact lenses, and several facial piercings, she’s veiled herself in complete darkness as a form of protection for herself, as well as others. 
 
As she enters her first year of college, her goal is simple: earn a degree with the least amount of social interaction as possible. What she never anticipates is the formation of very unlikely relationships with two people who will change her life in ways she never believed possible: Quinn Matthews, the overtly cheerful pageant queen, and Kaeleb McMadden, a childhood friend who never really let her go.
Over the years, as their connections intertwine and strengthen, a seemingly indestructible bond is formed between the three. And eventually, the ties of friendship and discovery of first love begin to coax her from her darkened path as they slowly bring Aubrey back to life.
Spanning the course of four years, this is the story of a young woman’s plight to finally  reemerge,finding strength within unbreakable bonds as she delivers herself from her own manufactured darkness and safely back . . . Into the Light

 
EXCERPT

The seconds pass between us as I try to figure out the exact meaning of that statement, when there’s a sudden knock at the door. A wide grin spreads across her face, and her eyes light up with unadulterated glee. “YAY! Our first official visitor.”

Quinn bounces herself off the bed to answer the door, and I take the opportunity to regain control of my private realm as I step onto the bare mattress, dispensing a piece of tape while grabbing my favorite poster. A deep, masculine voice comes from the doorway. I keep my attention solely on the task at hand, not wanting to intrude in case it’s her boyfriend. Using the adhesive, I tack a piece to each of the top corners and adhere the left side of the poster to the wall at the head of my bed, making sure my back is turned to Quinn and her male visitor.

Just as I extend my arm to attach the other side, Quinn calls, “Raven! You have to meet my boarding buddy!”

Great.

Boarding buddy.

The whole reason I skipped freshman orientation. Who needs to be paired up with some random person just to find your way around campus?

I can do that shit alone, as I intend to.

I abort my avoidance mission, turning my head barely over my shoulder, but as soon as I see the person to whom she’s referring, I lose the hold on my poster. The scraping sound it makes swinging back and forth along the wall hardly registers due to my dumbfounded state of shock. Blood quickly drains from my face, and my legs feel as though they’ve been dragged through cement before reattaching to my body.

I pray these reactions comprise the typical response when you see the one person in your life that you never, ever, expected to see again. Otherwise, I’m sure I’m having a heart attack and will be struck dead where I stand within approximately two and a half seconds.

But with one more look into those familiar hazel-brown eyes, with a tinge of green so undeniably familiar, my possibly failing heart is revitalized as a jarring shock spurs throughout my entire body, immediately transporting me to my past.

You see, when I was a little girl, I spent a lot of time alone—Linda worked nights as a nurse, so I became a victim of a lot of television, and most wasn’t child friendly. One night, I was fully immersed in a crime show marathon where they were explaining how some trauma victims store their memories by way of compartmentalization. I then created and defined my compartments, sealing away certain memories where no one, not even me, could access some of them. It’s a very intricate system. For example:

Level 1 memory bin: Very easily accessible. Like an open door, memories flow in and out, allowing my day-to-day function. Items that would fall into this category would be things such as exam schedules, dental appointments, and the name of my new roommate, Quinn.

Level 2 memory bin: A little more difficult to gain entry than Level 1. More like a closed door, where it takes some actual effort to recall these memories. Examples include the time Linda fell down the stairs and broke her collarbone, when I accidentally washed her favorite cashmere sweater in hot water and dried it on high heat, the unfortunate time she attempted to make chicken pot pie, and the death of all the animals Linda brought home. Not necessarily the most terrifying of my memories, but definitely not the best.

Level 3 memory bin: These remain safely behind a locked door, for which only I have the key, and are mostly a lump sum of some pretty painful memories from my past. Some happy, some sad, but all memories that are guaranteed to bring heartbreak over and over again. So they remain locked safely in Level 3.

Level 4 memory bin: Steel door, passcode, and retinal scan required for entry. Some of the most painful of my recollections. The death of my mother, the death of my sister, and the pain associated with both will forever stay hidden in this place.

Level 5 memory bin: Top secret military clearance required. Titanium encases a steel vault buried approximately thirty feet underground. It’s booby-trapped with C4 and other deadly explosives that will be detonated if anyone comes within ten feet. Only one memory resides here, never to be freed again.

Like I said, I had a lot of time on my hands.

But now, as I eye the person in front of me cautiously, it becomes painfully obvious that my Level 3 memory bin has been compromised.

Either that or somehow I unknowingly relinquished a key to the one and only . . . Kaeleb Kristopher McMadden.

 
About the Author

 
After graduating from Texas A&M University, L.B. Simmons did what any biomedical science major could do. She entered the workforce as a full-time chemist. Years later, never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined herself a USA Today Bestselling contemporary romance author as well.
 
L.B. Simmons doesn’t just write books. With each new work, she attempts to compose journeys of love and self-discovery so she may impart life lessons to readers. Several novels later, she’s tackled suicide, depression, bullying, eating disorders, as well as physical and sexual abuse, all the while weaving elements of humor into the storylines in effort to balance the difficult topics. Often described as roller coaster rides, her novels  are known for eliciting a wide range of emotions in each story she tells.
 
 
Author Social Media Links:
 
Website: www.lbsimmons.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/lbsimmonsauthor
Twitter: www.twitter.com/lbsimmons33
Instagram: www.instagram.com/lbsimmons33


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Monday, 11 May 2015

Release Day Blitz: Under the Influence by L.B. Simmons

 






Dalton,
I loved you once. A love I thought irrevocable. A love I mistakenly believed could transcend both time and circumstance. Under the influence of my dimwitted, naïve, traitorous heart, I became intoxicated with what I now know was simply a figment of my self-indulgent imagination. So drunk on the feeling, I couldn’t see what was right in front of my face. So foolishly enamored, I blindly followed my heart into the depths of an emotion that would ravage me. 

Years later, I know now what I wish I knew then. I am stronger. Smarter. Tougher. I will not allow myself to be broken again. 
I loved you.
I raged for you.
I wept for you.
And now, I’m letting you go.










 

Author’s Note:  Under the Influence is the journey of two childhood friends that spans the course of five pivotal years in their lives. It is a story about their discovery of true friendship as it blossoms into first love, their experience of crucial sacrifice and ultimate betrayal, and their endurance of agonizing heartbreak on the way to finding lasting redemption.





Dalton  POV:
 
All that remains is the orange in the sky and the sweet scent of the angel lying next to me. Nothing else.
We watch in silence as we always do until the sun finally sets, then both breathe out a long sigh before I turn to face her. I have something for you. Its not much, but I saw it and thought of you.
Her eyes widen with excitement as an equally joyful smile spreads across her beautiful features. I reach into my pocket and pull out the item I spied just a couple of days ago, buying it as a gift for her birthday, but it turns out I really suck at surprises. Who knew?
Dangling the long strand of black beads in her face, an unexpected rush of anxiety races through my system. Ive never given anyone anything. Ever. I find it extremely unnerving.
Her grin widens further as she extends her hand, uncurling her fingers and exposing her palm. I lower the bracelet and watch as it coils into her grasp.  My eyes rise to meet hers and I swallow deeply, trying to rid the nerves constricting my throat. Its uh Theyre onyxthe beads. I read that they offer protection for the person who wears them. I just…” I clear my throat. I wanted you to be protected even when Im not around.
Her smile is hindered as her teeth graze her bottom lip. I fight the urge to take that pouty lip in between mine, breaking my stare from her mouth and bringing it back to the bracelet before glancing back to her sky blue eyes.
She turns to fully face me, the bracelet still secure in her clenched hand. Her expression timid, she inquires, Put it on me?
I nod and slowly uncurl her grip, allowing my touch to linger on the soft pads of her fingers with each one drawn away. She shivers in response and I breathe a light chuckle through my nose, still amazed each time I elicit those involuntary reactions from her. Once the bracelet is pinched between my fingers, she turns her wrist and waits patiently as I hook the ends together. Releasing it, I watch as it slides gracefully along the skin of her arm to land across the bones of her wrist. My hand instinctively rises and my fingers trace its traveled path, raking over the bracelet as I clench her hand in mine and press a soft kiss in the center of her palm.
Her breath shudders before she whispers, I love it, Dalton. Itsperfect. Thank you.
I feel my face warm with her compliment, so break my eyes away from her to focus on the stars. After a couple of moments of peace-filled silence, I inquire, If you were a color, what color would you be?
Taking her eyes away from the bracelet, she giggles and twists to look at me. What color would I be?
I nod. Yeah…” I stall, stunned with my need for honesty. Its just, sometimes I feel like a chameleon, you know? Forced to change my colors based on where I am in my life.
I release a weighted breath. Lately it feels as though I change them so often, Im nothing more than a fucked-up version of an impressionist painting.
Glancing to the side, my heart lurches as she crinkles her nose in confusion, my absolute favorite of her expressions. My eyes linger the light scattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose before once again seeking comfort in the obscurity of the night sky. To those far away, I project a solid, recognizable image. But in reality, Im comprised of nothing but a series of angry, incoherent brush strokes in every color imaginable. Disjointed.
I twist my neck and pin her with my stare. Broken.
Her mouth dips at the corners before she turns on her side and tucks her hands under her cheek, her blue eyes sincere. Do you think Renoir and Monet didnt know what they were doing? That they didnt purposely place each stroke of their paintbrush in order to create their envisioned masterpiece?
She tightens her gaze. You are a work of art, Dalton. Your own masterpiece, regardless if you choose to acknowledge it or not. Every experience that paints your picture is a stroke made just for you. Each one of them is essential in order for you to grow, to learn, and to teach.
She shrugs her shoulders. You ask me what color I would be? Well, I would be every single color I could because to me, those colors are emotions. Feelings. And life would mean absolutely nothing without the many colors that surround us. The many experiences we live through that propel us forward into the people we are meant to become.





 


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ABOUT THE AUTHOR


L.B. Simmons is a graduate of Texas A&M University and holds a degree in Biomedical Science.  She has been a practicing Chemist for the last 11 years.  She lives with her husband and three daughters in Texas and writes every chance she gets.



 
 



 
 



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