Cerella Sechrist - A Song For Rory

He had everything he could want...but her

Even winning Country Music Artist of the Year can’t help Sawyer Landry shake his guilt over leaving Rory Callahan behind. All the fame, fortune and fans he’s earned haven’t relieved his regret over the way he ditched her. But all that’s about to change. Because Sawyer has finally realized that everything is empty without Rory. And he’s returning to Findlay Roads to win her back. Hopefully.

But Sawyer has no idea how hard it’ll be. Rory’s not going to welcome him with open arms. And he’s about to discover a family secret that could ruin everything...

He’d become famous. He’d fulfilled his dream.

But he’d also left her, after years of shared joys and tears, when it was most convenient for him. And she’d spent the past twenty-three months trying to come to terms with the loss of him—her high school sweetheart, the guy she’d waited for throughout army basic training and deployment, the man she’d traveled all over the United States with as they’d performed their music and chased their dreams.

Sawyer had been her soul mate. She was once closer to him than any other person on earth.

Until fame came calling.

“Rory? Aren’t you going to say anything? Welcome me home?”

Without giving it a second thought, Rory turned and grabbed a half-full glass of ice water.

“Welcome home,” she offered and then tipped the water over his head.

Dear Reader,

Think about your best memory. Focus in on that. Try to remember every little detail of that moment, how it touched you, embedded itself in your soul.

Now imagine having that memory taken from you. Not just that one, but every one that came after and each one that came before. You don’t just lose your memories but the emotions and people that went with them. You lose your loved ones, then you lose yourself.

Alzheimer’s leaves you without memories, recognition, understanding, even the most basic forms of knowledge, like tying your shoe or using a phone. Early-onset Alzheimer’s is a rare form of the disease that can develop as young as one’s thirties, effectively stealing not only past memories...but future ones.

My goal when I set out to write A Song for Rory was to find hope within such tragic situations. But that job had already been accomplished for me in the countless personal stories I’ve read about this disease. Patients and caregivers for Alzheimer’s (especially early-onset) have my utmost respect and admiration. You are all fighters, battling to keep what you should never have to lose.

That’s why for every purchase of A Song for Rory, I’m dedicating a portion of sales to Alzheimer’s charities.

In A Song for Rory, I hope you find this truth: that even when memories are taken, love is not.

If you have a personal story on how Alzheimer’s has touched your life, I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me through my website at www.cerellasechrist.comor by mail at PO Box 614, Red Lion, PA 17356.

Cerella Sechrist

A Song for Rory

Cerella Sechrist

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CERELLA SECHRIST lives in York, Pennsylvania, with two precocious pugs, Darcy and Charlotte, named after Jane Austen characters. Inspired by her childhood love of stories, she was ten years old when she decided she wanted to become an author. These days, Cerella divides her time between working in the office of her family’s construction business and as a barista to support her reading habit and coffee addiction. She’s been known to post too many pug photos on both Instagram and Pinterest. You can see for yourself by finding her online at www.cerellasechrist.com.

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To my brother, Caleb Sechrist. Because you’re awesome. But you already knew that.

I don’t care what I said all those years ago when I found out Mom was having a boy. It turns out having a little brother is one of the best things that ever happened to me. Thanks for making so many of my days brighter.

Acknowledgments

To my sister, Carissa Sechrist, for allowing me to “borrow” many of her original lyrics for A Song for Rory. You’re the true genius behind Rory’s and Sawyer’s talent. And extra-special thanks for writing “Rory’s Song” just for this story. Your payment (i.e., pound of coffee) is in the mail.

To my editor, Laura Barth, for helping shape the Findlay Roads series thus far, and to Karen Reid for doing a wonderful job picking up where Laura left off. I’m blessed to work with not just one but two amazing editors. This story is better because of it.

A special shout-out to all my fellow baristas and customers at the Randolph Park Starbucks in York, Pennsylvania. Especially Bruce K. Davis, who kept me on track every week by asking me if I was meeting my book deadline. That next triple-shot cappuccino is on me, Bruce.

Finally, to every family member, caregiver and Alzheimer’s patient who has had the courage to share their personal struggle with this disease—you have taught me about persistence, pride, love, patience, and the power behind each and every memory. Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“AND THE WINNER of this year’s Artist of the Year is...”

Sawyer Landry tensed in his seat as the reigning country music diva, Daisy Elliot, slowly untied the red satin ribbon from the envelope. He knew the cameras would be watching him, so he tried to appear relaxed and prayed the stiffness in his shoulders wasn’t obvious. The auditorium sat hushed in anticipation of Daisy revealing American Heartland Radio’s most prestigious award.

If he managed to win, he could just hear his manager’s reaction. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, sugar! I knew you had it in you! Perle Jackson peppered all her conversations with such colorful dialogue. It was part of a carefully cultivated persona that she put on to disarm others. Sawyer had quickly learned not to trust her redneck shtick. Perle was as ruthless as a Mafia crime boss when the occasion called for it, which made sense if you believed the rumors that she’d actually grown up in Brooklyn, and her Southern accent was as fake as her fingernails. It made Sawyer glad she was working for him and not against him.

Daisy fumbled with the envelope, her bracelet catching on the satin ribbon. She laughed breathlessly, the sound a whiffle of air against the mic.

Sawyer realized he was balling his hands into fists, so he slowly eased them open. There was a collective shifting of the audience as they grew impatient with Daisy’s delay. At long last, she tugged the gold-edged ivory card from the envelope.