My Better Life by Sarah Ready
Thank you to Social Butterfly PR and Sarah Ready for sending me an e-ARC of this book to read and review! I love this series (you can read my review of book 1, Chasing Romeo, here: Chasing Romeo by Sarah Ready) and was so excited for this newest installment.
Will he ever remember?
And what happens when he does?
My Better Life, a laugh-out-loud enemies to lovers rom-com from author Sarah Ready, is out now!
When East Coast elite and wealthy bachelor Gavin Williams wakes up in a rural West Virginia hospital, he doesn’t remember who he is or where he’s from.
He doesn’t remember his heiress fiancée, his luxury homes, his exotic travels, or his private plane.
And he especially doesn’t remember insulting local country-girl and fiery redhead Jamie Sutton, smashing her dreams, and leaving her in a pinch.
So when a redhead in overalls stands over his hospital bed and convincingly tells him he loves banjos, hound dogs, and rustling chickens, what’s he supposed to do?
Suddenly Gavin is scrambling to fit into a country life that doesn’t feel familiar and that can’t possibly be his. A wife? Kids? A chicken coop?
His life is full of holes and secrets, desires and dreams, and as Gavin learns more he begins to wonder—will he ever remember? And what happens when he does?
Fall in love today!
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Keep reading for a look inside My Better Life!
My head hurts.
There’s a crowbar in my skull tearing my brain apart. I can’t think it hurts so much. I want to peel the pain away, scratch it out of my head. It’s been like this for two days now, ever since I woke up in this horrible place.
Amnesia. Who gets amnesia? Isn’t that something that only happens in made-for-television movies? The doctors don’t know who I am. No one knows. Not even me.
And the doctors claim I may never remember.
I try not to think about that, because if I do, I feel as if I’m entering a dark, tiny room, and for some reason, that terrifies me.
The doctors also said that my memories may come back all at once, or in a slow trickle over time. But there’s nothing I can do but rest and wait and see what happens.
I don’t know anything about myself. But I do know that I don’t like to wait and I don’t like not moving. Even now, I itch to get up and leave. There’s someplace I’m meant to be, someone I want to see, I can feel it. I just don’t know where or who.
I pray that I’ll remember, or that they’ll find me.
I glare at the woman standing in front of me. She’s not pretty. I don’t know why this strikes me as something I care about, but there it is. She’s not cute.
I don’t recognize her. Not at all.
“Who are you?” I flinch at the noise of my own voice. It feels like nails punching into my head.
She blinks at me. And I decide to amend my earlier opinion. She’s not pretty, but her eyes, her lavender blue eyes, are stunning. She nervously licks her lips, her pink tongue darts quickly over her wide mouth and she looks down at the hospital sheet pooled around my hips.
“Billy,” she says, her voice soft like flowing honey. “It’s me, Jamie.”
I start to shake my head, but then stop. Because that hurts too. I want to say, who is Billy, but then I realize Billy must be my name.
I can’t remember…I can’t…I can’t remember my name.
Billy.
Okay.
Billy is short for William, and when I think William, there’s a whisper there at the edge of my lost memory.
“Who are you?” I ask again.
She clasps her hands in front of her chest, innocent blue eyes wide, frizzy red hair a halo in the hospital light. “Baby, it’s me. Jamie. Your wife. I’m here to take you home.”
My wife? Her face blossoms into a beatific smile, like the Madonna under the shining light of heaven. I can’t say anything, except…
“No.”
Because I don’t know who I am, I don’t know who she is, and I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know one thing. I never would’ve married a short woman with red frizzy hair, a flat chest, unflattering clothes bought off the rack at a discount superstore, and a southern drawl that sounds like it’s echoing off a hillbilly’s mountaintop.
I would never do that.
I don’t know who I am. But I do know that I have a certain taste in women, and this Jamie person doesn’t hit the mark.
At all.
“Sorry. No.”
She grins at me. “Aww. Come on, Billy baby. Gran and the kids are waiting in the station wagon.”
That’s when my world screeches to a halt.
“Kids?”
“Course. Elijah, Tanner, and Shay. Lord almighty, Billy. How hard did you hit your head?”
She leans forward and brushes her fingers, cool as a spring morning, over my forehead.
I stare at her with rapidly expanding horror.
We’re married?
We have kids?
I’m…Billy?
I grasp my pounding head in my hands.
“I’m Billy?”
The woman, Jamie, drops a sharp peck on my cheek. Her innocent smile has a jagged edge.
“Always the jokester. Come on, honey, you’ve got work in the morning. Pumping the poo outta the outhouses.”
And that’s when I know. The reason I can’t remember who I am is because I don’t want to. An unattractive wife? A station wagon? A horde of snotty-nosed kids? Pumping poop?
Apparently, my life is hell.
And by the stubborn look on the woman’s face, this nightmare life of mine, it’s not going away.
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