ONE STORY. TWO COUPLES.

The Retrieval Duet by Aly Martinez is a two part series.

 RETRIEVAL is NOW LIVE  and will bring readers the first part of this emotional second chance romance.

TRANSFER (Part Two) will release on September 27th!

NOW AVAILABLE on the following retailers:

Retrieval (Part One):

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2aMnW74

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2aW07Yb

iBooks: http://apple.co/2aH2bFb

Nook:  http://bit.ly/2cOYcsK

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2aFOVxB

 

Blurb

I proposed on our first date.

She laughed and told me I was insane. Less than a day later, she said yes.

It was a whirlwind, but we were happy…

Until we got greedy and wanted a family.

It was a life I couldn’t give her, not for lack of trying. Fertility just wasn’t on our side. We sought out doctors and treatments. Spent money we didn’t have. Lied to our families. Smiled for our friends. Put on a brave face for a world that didn’t understand.

Finally, we were successful…

Until we were forced to bury our son.

We were left broken, battered, and destroyed.

They say love is in the details, but it was the details that ruined us.

This is the story of how I took back what had always been mine.

The retrieval of my wife and our family.

EXCERPT

“Where’d you get beer?” Elisabeth asked as she scrambled from the couch.

“Seth,” I replied, hanging my head and rubbing my eyes.

Jesus, I’d wanted to kiss her. She was being a bitch, spouting shit she didn’t mean just because she was too scared to let me in.

But, even through it, those plump lips were calling to me.

I’d never been able to resist that woman. Despite that we’d fallen apart, it hadn’t changed. The hum for her was still in my veins. It never went away, but for two years, it had been dormant. I’d packed it down so tightly that I’d hoped it had died. But, with one look, my body began thrumming like a live wire.

“Seth?” she asked as she bent over to straighten her tight, black pencil skirt.

It was a rare occasion to catch Elisabeth in something other than a perfectly pressed skirt and a pair of heels. But she’d been sleeping all day. It was wrinkled all to hell and back. The only thing her efforts succeeded in was drawing my attention down to her legs.

Legs that had spent many nights wrapped around my hips as she came while crying my name.

Shit. I should go.

But, after the way she’d latched on to me that morning, I wasn’t going anywhere.

“My assistant,” I answered. “I had him pick you up a bottle of wine, too.”

She blinked. “You have an assistant? Who delivers you beer? And your ex-wife wine?”

“No, I have an assistant who does whatever the fuck I need him to do. And, luckily for us, beer and wine happen to fall into the whatever-the-fuck-I-need-him-to-do category tonight.” She fought back a smile as I finished, “So do gyros.”

“Damn. I need to get one of those,” she mumbled to herself.

I smirked. “Cash my checks and you could afford one.”

It was a dick move, bringing up the money right then. But, despite her expert hand in decorating, that little starter house we’d bought with rose-colored glasses now needed a shit-ton of work.

Her back shot ramrod straight, fury crinkling the corners of her eyes as she snarled, “I’m not cashing your checks.”

I shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to figure out how to get your own wine and dinner after tonight.”

“I think I can manage,” she fired back.

“Suit yourself.” I pushed off the couch and meandered to the kitchen.

I went to the fridge and leaned in, searching for anything I could snack on. With the exception of at least a dozen Tupperware containers, she didn’t have much in the way of a quick bite.

Snagging a handful of grapes from the drawer, I made a mental note to send Seth to the grocery store after he’d delivered dinner.

Popping the grapes in my mouth one by one, I felt her watching me in what could only be defined as silent awe. I decided my best move would be to ignore it. “You know, I should have invented Tupperware. You alone could keep me in business,” I told her, retrieving a beer and then shutting the door.

She scoffed then muttered, “At least then I would have benefitted from you abandoning our marriage.”

Lava fresh off the volcanoes in Hell boiled in my veins.

I cocked my head to the side and questioned, “I’m sorry. Come again?”

“You should go,” she snapped.

Think a-fucking-gain.

“Nah, I’m good. Got any movies?”

I tipped the bottle to my lips, doing my best to calm the storm brewing within me, all while still fighting the desire to take her to the floor, plant myself between her legs, and remind her how that fucking attitude affected me.

Clearly, she had forgotten.

My cock had not.

“Roman, it’s been a crazy day. Please don’t do this tonight.”

“Do what?” I asked, leaning back against the huge, granite island.

She threw her hands out to the sides in frustration. “What you always do.”

“What do I always do, Lissy?”

“This!” she yelled.

I frowned and took another pull from my beer. “Haven’t been in our kitchen, drinking beer, in a long time. I hardly think it’s fair to say I always do it.”

Her eyes nearly bulged from her head. “My kitchen, Roman. This is my kitchen. Not ours. And you know good and damn well that is not what I’m talking about.”

My lips twitched as I pointed the neck of my bottle at her. “No. What I know good and damn well is that I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about. Or why you’re slinging unnecessary and, might I add, undeserved attitude at me like a short-order cook at the bitch house.”

“He did not say that to me,” she whispered to herself.

When I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, she swung a pointed finger toward the door and yelled, “Get out!”

I grinned, crossing my legs at the ankle. “You always were cranky when you were hungry.”

And that was the exact moment her head exploded.

Want More?

Pre-order Transfer (Part Two)

Releasing September 27th

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2b3AJ6S

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2aW0WAf

iBooks: http://apple.co/2beFszd

Nook: http://bit.ly/2c6BYR9

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2aW1So5

Meet Aly Martinez

Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.

After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.

 

 STALK HER: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Excerpt

Prologue

Roman

 The house was dark when I quietly twisted the lock so as not to wake her. God knows she needed the sleep. I didn’t know how she still functioned when her days were filled with tears and her nights weren’t much better. It was precisely the reason I stayed gone as much as I did. Or so I’d thought as I’d thrown myself into work. Money couldn’t solve my problems, but it might have been able to solve hers.

 My body ached, and my lids barely stayed open despite the pot of coffee I’d downed not even an hour earlier. It was a miracle I had been able to drive at all. I should have just crashed at the office, but after yet another failed prototype, I’d needed an escape.

Instead, I’d gone home—the very place I’d spent so many nights trying to avoid.

Only one foot was over the threshold when I suddenly froze.

“Elisabeth?” I called, flipping the overhead light on.

My shoulders fell as I found her sitting on the sofa, her long, blond hair curtaining her face and suitcases surrounding her feet.

“What’s going on?” I asked as my gut wrenched, already knowing the answer.

I had no right to be surprised. I’d all but forced her hand. If I was honest with myself, it was what I’d wanted—for her. However, none of that made the pain of reality any less agonizing.

My heart raced. “Elisabeth?” I prompted again, needing to hear her say the words almost as much as I dreaded it.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” she whispered at the floor.

Acid rose in my throat.

Out of habit, I dropped my keys into the basket she’d bought when we’d first moved in. “If you fail the key basket, the key basket will fail you,” she’d announced with an infectious smile the day we had become homeowners to the two-bedroom-two-bath starter home we could barely afford. It was just seconds before I’d swept her off her feet and made love to her on the hardwood floor of our foyer in the middle of the day.

But such was life as a newlywed.

Inside that house with her was the only place I’d ever wanted to be.

Until the fantasy of forever had worn off and the walls of real life had closed in on us. Once my refuge, our home became an inescapable prison with bars built of my failures.

I couldn’t breathe inside that house any more than I could look her in the eye.

We’d only been married for five years. But, seeing her now, I felt like it’d been a lifetime since I’d peered into her eyes, promising to love her in sickness and in health.

But it wasn’t like she was the same woman, either.

Over the last six months, she’d wasted away both physically and mentally in front of my eyes.

And I’d done absolutely nothing to help her.

But how do you throw a lifeline when you yourself don’t even have a rope to hold on to? I might have been able to keep her afloat for another day, but I’d never have been able to pull her back to me.

We merely existed on the same plane. Living under the same roof, eating meals at the same table, sleeping in the same bed. But we were far from sharing our lives together.

“Are you coming back?” I asked, not willing to accept the truth that lingered in the air around us.

Her deep-green eyes lifted to mine—the red rims and the dark circles doing nothing to hinder her beauty. Swallowing hard, she shifted her gaze to the mantel on the other side of the room. I knew what she was looking at, but I refused to follow her into the past.

That might have been our biggest problem of all.

She was still living there.

And I refused to go back.

“Elisabeth?” My voice softened, but the question remained the same. “Are you coming back?”

“No,” she replied, swiping the tears from her cheeks.

A thousand arrows fell from the sky, searing into my soul. My breath hitched, and my lungs burned. This was it—the end of my life as I knew it. But, in that moment, with her shoulders hunched forward in defeat, I realized that it was the end of hers, too.

Why did that realization hurt more than the lifetime of loneliness that was awaiting me when the sun rose?

I lifted a hand and rubbed my chest, hoping to ease the mounting pressure threatening to overtake me. “Don’t do this,” I mumbled through the pain.

I wasn’t sure who I’d meant that for though.

Was I chastising myself for having asked her to prolong the inevitable just because I wasn’t ready to lose her yet? Or was I asking her to stay in this sham of a marriage for even one day longer?

Probably both.

“You’ll be okay,” she assured me, pushing to her feet and gathering her bag, complete with our Yorkie, Loretta, tucked in her mesh dog carrier.

My pulse quickened, nature’s fight-or-flight finally kicking in. But I’d been in flight mode for entirely too long. There was no fight left.

I stepped into her path. “Elisabeth, please.” I wasn’t sure why I kept saying her name. I secretly hoped that it would snap her out of it, bringing her back to the reality of it all. But it was the reality that was killing us.

“I’ll take off work tomorrow,” I pleaded. “We can talk. Figure things out.”

It was selfish. Completely and utterly selfish. But that was nothing new for me.

Her chin quivered as a steady stream of tears fell from her eyes. “Promise me something, Roman.”

I would have promised her the entire fucking universe if it had made her stay one night longer. But who was I kidding?

We were over.

We both knew it.

“Anything,” I whispered, reaching down to take her hand, desperate for the connection I didn’t deserve.

“Remember to live.” Her voice caught, and a silent sob tore through her.

Cupping the back of her head, I pulled her into my chest.

“I can fix this,” I swore, but it was yet another lie. “We just need time.”

Her shoulders shook as she cried in my arms. “We…we promised. We told him we’d live for him.”

I closed my lids and clung to her tighter.

We were supposed to be fighting and screaming. That was what soon-to-be-divorced couples did. But that wasn’t us. We didn’t hate each other. Elisabeth was my soul mate on every level.

And she was paying the price for that.

Minutes later, the tears stopped and she backed out of my arms. I fought the urge to regain my hold, forcing her to stay. But her sad resolve as she hurried to the mantel and then to the door made it clear it’d be a wasted effort.

Never in a million years had I thought I’d be standing there, watching her walk away.

But, then again, I’d never expected her to have the urn of our only child cradled in her arm, either. A reminder of just how much I hadn’t been able to give her. How much I’d never be able to give her.

My past, present, and future were walking out of my life, and I stood immobile as every fiber in my being screamed for me to drop to my knees and beg her to stay.

To take her in my arms and tell her that we’d figure it out.

To reclaim my life once and for all.

But how would that have helped her?

Staying wouldn’t magically bring back her smile. Nor would it make her look at me with those bright-green eyes that made me feel as though I could conquer the world.

It wouldn’t give me back the crazy woman who argued with her whole heart and loved with her entire soul. No. Those days were gone.

I’d lost that woman somewhere in the bitterness between grief and blame.

We’d been happy once.

But we’d gotten greedy and tried to start a family.

That was her future. Not mine. Regardless how desperately I longed to give it to her…and then selfishly take it for myself.

Sex. That’s how babies are made. Children as young as elementary school are taught the simple biological facts of reproduction.

But what they never tell you is that, for one in six couples, having a baby goes a little differently.

For Elisabeth and me, it looked more like this:

Thirty-six months of crushing disappointment.

Three miscarriages.

Hundreds of tests our insurance company refused to cover because the inability to reproduce was not considered a health condition.

Countless tears.

Helplessness.

Failure.

Failure.

Failure.

Her broken heart.

My empty chest.

Thirty-seven thousand dollars we didn’t have.

In vitro fertilization.

A sperm donor.

A handful of hope.

A positive pregnancy test.

Five months of utter bliss.

Earth-shattering devastation.

A funeral for a child I would never get to see grow up.

A job that became my only reprieve from reality.

And now…losing the only woman I would ever love.

I’d always been amazed by how much punishment a heart could take. I was broken, battered, and destroyed. And yet, much to my dismay, as I watched the front door close behind her, my heart kept beating.

ONE STORY. TWO COUPLES.

The Retrieval Duet by Aly Martinez is a two part series releasing September 2016.

 RETRIEVAL releases on September 13th and will bring readers the first part of this emotional second chance romance.

TRANSFER (Part Two) will release on September 27th!

Retrieval (Part One):

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2aMnW74

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2aW07Yb

iBooks: http://apple.co/2aH2bFb

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2aFOVxB

Transfer (Part Two)

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2b3AJ6S

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2aW0WAf

iBooks: http://apple.co/2beFszd

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2aW1So5

Blurb

 

I proposed on our first date.

She laughed and told me I was insane. Less than a day later, she said yes.

It was a whirlwind, but we were happy…

Until we got greedy and wanted a family.

It was a life I couldn’t give her, not for lack of trying. Fertility just wasn’t on our side. We sought out doctors and treatments. Spent money we didn’t have. Lied to our families. Smiled for our friends. Put on a brave face for a world that didn’t understand.

Finally, we were successful…

Until we were forced to bury our son.

We were left broken, battered, and destroyed.

They say love is in the details, but it was the details that ruined us.

This is the story of how I took back what had always been mine.

The retrieval of my wife and our family.

 

Meet Aly Martinez

Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.

After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.

 

 STALK HER: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads