Genre: Adult Mainstream Commercial
Word Count: 94,000
Pitch: A wounded soldier's battle with addiction forces him to
confront the very thing he wants to forget: his role in the death of a
comrade killed in an IED attack.
Excerpt: The siren’s wail fell silent as the ambulance pulled up.
Jennifer Fitzgerald stood in front of the Emergency Room doors and watched as the paramedics yanked the gurney out of the ambulance, letting its wheels hit the ground harder than they normally would. The patient squawked at the impact and began complaining in low, slurred tones, but didn’t move, having one arm splinted and the other handcuffed to the gurney.
Normally she should have been angry with them, treating a patient roughly like that. Had she seen them treating one of her patients that way, she would have laid into them right there. But this time, with this patient, she simply stood in bitter silence, her jaw tightening with anger as they wheeled him into the ER.
It hadn’t always been this way. He hadn’t always been this bad. For months she’d told herself it was a temporary thing, a phase he was going through. That he’d pull himself together somehow, the way he’d always done before. It would get better. But as the weeks turned to months and the long spring of his convalescence turned to summer, it didn’t get better.
It had been four months since her husband returned from Afghanistan, and she hardly recognized him anymore.
Excerpt: The siren’s wail fell silent as the ambulance pulled up.
Jennifer Fitzgerald stood in front of the Emergency Room doors and watched as the paramedics yanked the gurney out of the ambulance, letting its wheels hit the ground harder than they normally would. The patient squawked at the impact and began complaining in low, slurred tones, but didn’t move, having one arm splinted and the other handcuffed to the gurney.
Normally she should have been angry with them, treating a patient roughly like that. Had she seen them treating one of her patients that way, she would have laid into them right there. But this time, with this patient, she simply stood in bitter silence, her jaw tightening with anger as they wheeled him into the ER.
It hadn’t always been this way. He hadn’t always been this bad. For months she’d told herself it was a temporary thing, a phase he was going through. That he’d pull himself together somehow, the way he’d always done before. It would get better. But as the weeks turned to months and the long spring of his convalescence turned to summer, it didn’t get better.
It had been four months since her husband returned from Afghanistan, and she hardly recognized him anymore.
Damn. I sometimes wonder what my darling thought of the person who came back.
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