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Eight, Nine, Ten…Let’s Do It Again!

My life has been chaotic.  Between the Black Irish series and Sorceress of Savon plus the husband, three children and all the blessings and tragedies that go along with them I don’t have a lot of free time.

There are, however, things that have to be done – or in my case stories that need to be told.  And I can’t wait any longer with this one.

If I learned anything with Black Irish I learned I have two major motivators:

– a deadline or

– family, friends and loved ones demanding to know more of the story.

And the latter usually gets me moving faster.

Before I invite you to step inside my rabbit hole I offer a warning: this story may contain situations that might make someone uncomfortable.  This is a zero flame kind of story.  However the heroine has a chronic medical condition – and those rarely are pretty.  

Thank you for coming along and keeping me on track.


A Very Special Thank You to Keoni and everyone at Hard Drive MMA in Cedar Rapids for being patient with me and teaching me the ins and outs of Mixed Martial Arts.  Hopefully my version of a MMA gym will do you proud.


If the blessed day arrives that this book is published along with my others, I am sure the publisher will have to cut off all my dedications.  But on this blog I dedicate this to just one:

To my Sissy – until we find a cure


Breaking The Cycle

It was the sound of machinery and iron, the smell of sweat and strong disinfectant.  Max bent under the dead lift rack to pick up a couple of discarded towels.

Max loved his job at Roadie’s Gym.  The place was modern and state of the art.  The exercise equipment was calibrated and perfect.  Roadie made sure of it himself.

Roadie wasn’t his real name.  Truthfully Max wasn’t sure what it was.  Roadie’s wife signed the paychecks.  Roadie got the nickname from working on the road crew of one of the big time pro-wrestling companies.  He learned work out tips from the trainers there and when the time was right he quit and opened his gym.

Max smiled as he gathered the roaming disinfectant bottles scattered around the free weights area.  This is the life he wanted- Roadie’s life.  Not that the constant travel all over the world assembling and disassembling wrestling rings appealed to him.  Max wanted to own his own gym.  He wanted to know he made a difference when it came to someone’s health.  Max envied Roadie.

Max spun as he heard a long string of curses come from Roadie’s office.  Roadie stormed from his office, his face and nearly bald head growing redder by the second.

“Blast it!” Roadie fumed.  “Chloe called in sick again!”

Max slowly exhaled as the rest of the personal trainers he worked with started to gripe.  Chloe called in sick a lot, at least once a month.  Everyone at Roadie’s Gym was sick of covering her classes and personal training sessions.  Even Max used her name in vain a time or two especially when he was stuck training Mrs. Rozinski.  The rotund woman liked to flirt a little too much and stunk of cheap perfume.

It didn’t make sense to Max.  Chloe seemed to love her job.  The petite brunette was always happy, always energetic when she was at the gym.  Her big deep brown eyes were always sparkling.  Her shoulder length brown hair was always in a neat ponytail.  The clients all loved her when she was there.

Max sighed.  The clients weren’t the only ones who loved her.  He had to admit he had a huge crush on Chloe.  He had since she started at Roadie’s.  He worked up the courage a couple times to ask her out.  It always happened on those inevitable days she called in sick.

Max looked at the nearest calendar, a puzzled look etching on his face.   Thursday.  Chloe always called in on Thursdays.  What bar in Minneapolis had ladies night on Wednesdays?  And why was Chloe only getting drunk every third week?

Roadie’s voice broke Max from his thoughts.  “Max, you are going to have to cover Chloe’s kickboxing class.  And her appointment with Mrs. Rozinski.”

Max groaned as he threw the dirty towels he held into the hamper.