Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

me.”
    Mike looked at him a while, and his smile slowly faded. “You know what, Sloan? I’m on my third marriage, and you’re still stuck on your first.”
    “You say that like you deserve some sort of medal, like it’s something to puff your chest out about.”
    “It is.” Mike chuckled, though it didn’t sound sincere. “Means I don’t give up. I keep trying until I get it right. Anyway, it’s been a long time for you, buddy. Get back on the saddle, Sloan. It’s high noon. I’ll call you tonight.”
    Sloan had no desire to formulate a witty comeback or argue with the man. At that point, he just wanted Mike out of his damn house so the discussion would end.
    “Alright, take it easy and thanks again, buddy!” He put extra effort into the words and waved his friend goodbye.
    Mike took leave without another word. On a deep sigh, Sloan looked about the dwelling before leaning back against the wall. The muted voices of the movers, their heavy footsteps, and the static from the radio lulled him into a strange, albeit welcome, state of peace.
    He’d been so amped up as of late, it felt good just to sit and be still, rest his bones. The divorce from Katie, his ex-wife, had finally gone through, although they’d been living apart for over a year. Their children were grown, and life went on. He’d won several awards, hit the New York Times Bestsellers list multiple times, and received prestigious recognition for his latest published novel, “I Like Long Crawls in the Dark.”
    He had no idea the suspenseful tale of a twisted, deranged stalker—who ironically was blind and wheelchair bound after a workplace injury—would garner that sort of attention, especially since he’d poured a bit of his soul into it while he’d struggled with a curiously insane, months long bout of writing frenzy fueled by a broken heart. This was exacerbated by plentiful alcohol driven rages and a depression so horrid, it caused him to lock himself away in his home until the task was complete. He promised himself he’d never let that happen again… bestseller or not.
    He hadn’t been feeling like himself, and in an effort to reclaim his life and look at all the progress he’d made during such a trying time, he wanted a clean slate. So, he moved out of his prestigious Manhattan apartment with glass walls and ultra modern minimalist décor, and told himself he had one week to find a new residence and become the writer he knew he was, deep within. Such a place, he decided, would have to be located away from the city, but close enough to his kids, colleagues, and friends where all he had to do was jump in the car and make the trek.
    Besides, he was a bit tired of the city, which was all he’d known his entire life. Since his childhood growing up with his father, sister, and two brothers, they’d been crammed in tiny brick apartments with loud neighbors who woke him up with their belligerent cursing, bloody physical altercations, and overzealous reconciliation fucking. Even when he’d made it out on his own, no matter how modern, expensive, and incredible his pad was, he’d once again be faced with hearing the sounds of the city.
    The roar of the trains clanked over the tracks, the hustle and bustle of frantic energy oozing out of every nook and cranny as people’s feet pounded the pavement and their voices carried. The honking, zooming taxis and delivery trucks blocked left and right turns on his busy commute. He loved and hated those sounds, just like he loved and hated so many prickly, painful commemorations that threatened to resurface and fill his brain with repeating regrets… because sometimes, though aching and sensitive to the touch, they had soft edges…
    But now, he craved soft edges all over, like cool, fresh pillows atop a fluffy set of expensive bed sheets. He needed something a tad quieter, something with charm, but not too remote, and altogether different. He didn’t want to live in Jersey or Maine. He wasn’t