Sara Hubbard's Blog

A few years ago I participated in a panel at Romancing the Capital in Ottawa, a conference organized and managed by the amazing Eve Langlais. If you haven't been, you should go if she decided to run another one after all this covid chaos is over. The panel was about writing through tragedy, and I was very happy to participate if it helped others overcome their challenges with their writing journey.Shortly after the conference, I wrote this piece. It was kind of therapeutic for me, and I came across it today so I thought I would share. This is how I overcame tragedy in my life and found my way back to writing. It basically came down to the love and support of my husband who believed in me when I didn't. And setting realistic, achievable goals that encouraged me rather than bigger ones that only made me feel defeated.Everyone will experience tragedy in their lifetime. It’s almost a rite of passage. I grew up relatively unscathed, approaching my fortieth year without ever going to a funeral or losing anyone who played a key role in my life. Then 2016 hit, and I had to face the thought of losing my husband and my best friend. Trust me when I tell you that if soul mates exist, he is unquestionably mine. After our first date, I called my mother and told her I would marry him, and he proposed a month later. I couldn’t live without him—at least, not without extreme difficulty. So, when he was diagnosed with cancer, I felt as if all the air in my lungs was sucked out. I couldn’t breathe no matter how hard I tried, and it wasn’t until a year later, when he was in remission, that I could finally catch my breath. I thought this was going to be the worst thing that would happen to me for many years to come. But that was not the case.A month after my husband was cleared, my mother was admitted to hospital with a cough and generalized weakness. She was diagnosed with cancer and died two weeks later. I have never felt such crushing anguish before in my life, and I thought the threat of losing my husband was bad. I had no idea. Even now, almost a year later, there is a hole in my chest that I can’t hope to ever refill. I feel almost hollow when I see something that reminds of me of her, or when something happens and it’s her voice I crave to tell me that things will be okay. I thought, that’s it. Surely, that’s enough. The universe can’t be this unkind. Then my son was diagnosed with a tumor. Though thankfully benign, it is aggressive and has destroyed the growth plate in his twelve-year-old shin bone so we’re looking at more surgery in the future. But it could have been worse. Much worse. My fingers are crossed that we’re done. And so far, we have been.Wow. What a sob story, right? We have all one. They’re different but they’re our own and we all must find ways to overcome our grief and our challenges in life. We have to pick ourselves up, dust off and move on, for our spouses, our kids, or for whoever it is in our lives that need us. We have to persevere, because what else can we do? Let it consume us? No, we’re all stronger than that. Yes, we are. Sometimes you just have to dig deep to find your strength. I found mine in my love for my kids and my husband.One of the biggest challenges I faced after Mom died was forcing myself to work again. As a writer, I’m a creative person and my work involves using my mind to make up stuff that both my readers and I enjoy. After Mom died I couldn’t write at all. I would sit at my computer and stare at the screen or I’d force words onto the page, hate them, and promptly delete them. For months I stopped writing all together. The only emotion I felt was sadness, so how could I possibly write something that would entertain other people? I couldn’t. But it came to a point where I had to suck it up and either go back to nursing full time or start writing again because I have bills. Don’t we all? I wasn’t sure I could do either, but I couldn’t let my family down. My husband, supportive to a fault, would never make me do anything I don’t want to do. He would support me in a sinking ship, even if we were literally drowning. I love him for that. So again, I couldn’t let him down. Or my kids. He said, “Write what you can. Even if means a hundred words a day. That’s it. At the end of the day, it’s a hundred words more than you had when you woke up.” So that’s what I did. One word at a time. Those first few weeks after I made that commitment to him, and to myself, I did exactly what he told me to do.I think part of my problem before my husband convinced me to give myself permission to lower my expectations, I was determined to go back to where I was before Mom died. It just wasn’t realistic. Back then I could write 4000 words a day. I had days where I wrote 11,000. I set those goals for myself when I returned to writing and I wouldn’t come close to my goal and I’d feel defeated and dread sitting down with my laptop every day. After my husband convinced me to allow myself to just get one hundred words I was more positive. Because I could make my word count and then surpass it. That’s what tipped the scales for me. Before I knew it, I was back to writing a thousand words a day, then two, and now, usually around three a day.You can’t expect yourself to be the same after tragedy. You just can’t. You can get past it, but your new normal will be different and you have to accept that. Even if it’s just for a little while. Be kind to yourself. Because you deserve it. We all do. And you need to remind yourself of this every day, even when it doesn’t feel like your truth. I’m getting over losing the person I’ve loved the longest and if I can get over that, I have faith that you can too.

Free to read now! Chapter One of The Heartbreaker. Chapter OneI glance out the long picture window of the Firefly Cafe to watch the snow fall outside. As a car passes by, slush sprays outward and nearly hits the cafe window. I love the snow, but I could do without the slush and the cold. Thankfully, I’m inside near the electric fireplace and I’m toasty warm as I try to break into a local accountant’s social media accounts from my laptop. I’ve been sitting in the same spot for hours and my butt is getting sore, but I don’t want to move. I’m just too damn comfy. Earlier, when it was busier, I debated leaving, but now it’s nearly eleven o’clock and the crowd has long since gone. The only people who remain are me and my aunt, Claire. She owns the place.Sick with a cold, she sniffles as she sweeps the floor near where I’m seated. I glance up at her and notice her puffy eyes and red-rimmed nose. I didn’t notice how awful she looked earlier, but that’s probably because she spends most of her time in the kitchen. She’s such a hard worker. I doubt she’s worked less than fourteen hours a day since she bought this place six months ago. I have mad respect for her; she wanted more than a shitty minimum wage, so she worked her ass off, got a loan, and bought this place. I only hope one day I’ll be able to turn my dreams into a reality, too.“Take a seat,” I tell her as I push out the chair across from me with the tip of one of my black boots.She debates it before trudging closer and all but falling onto it. After leaning back, she exhales loudly. Congestion crackles from somewhere deep in her lungs.“You need to go home,” I tell her.“Another hour.”I shake my head at her.“I’ll be fine,” she says. “Though you should get out of here. I don’t like you walking home late at night.”“I have a rape whistle.”She raises her eyebrows. “Well, that makes me feel tons better. Shouldn’t you be out with friends, anyhow? It’s Saturday night. A year and a half at university, and I’ve never met a single one of your friends yet.”I shrug my shoulders because I’m not sure how to respond to that.“Are you dating?”“I’d have told you if I were.” I lower the screen of my laptop and meet her eyes. “No, you wouldn’t.”No, I probably wouldn’t. “I’m too busy with work and school to socialize.” That’s not exactly true. What is true is that my sole focus right now is getting my degree and working enough to make sure I can pay for it. So far, I’m falling behind. I could always move back in with Claire, but that’s not fair. She has enough to worry about, and she’s already done so much for me. She was kind enough to take me in as a teen, but she doesn’t need to keep helping a grown adult who isn’t her own kid. I’m not her responsibility. “Marla, I worry about you,” she says.“Don’t. And stop focusing on me,” I say. “We were talking about you. Go home before you spread your germs all over the place and the town starts calling you Typhoid Mary.”“Who?”“Typhoid Mary? She was a cook who was sick and infected all the people she cooked for?” She stares at me with a blank look on her face. “She killed people?”She blinks.“Doesn’t ring a bell?” I say.“I have no clue who you’re talking about, but I guess that’s why you’re the smarty pants in university and I’m slaving in a kitchen.”“In a kitchen you own,” I say with a slight smile.She returns it. “I do own it, don’t I?”I nod.She looks around the space, and her smile builds as if she’s appraising her achievements. Her chest puffs up just a touch. She’s proud and should be. She might be the most accomplished person in our whole family. Her face contorts moments later. She inhales sharply before releasing a grand sneeze that echoes through the entire space. I groan. “I’m not playing nice anymore. Go home. This place won’t fall apart if you close early.”“I’ll lose trust. If I say we’re open until twelve, then we’re open until twelve.”Like most cafes, she sees most of her customers in the morning and early afternoon. I don’t really know why she insists on staying open so late. “What if I close for you?” I say.“I don’t know,” she says as she sucks in her lips and thinks it over. I know she trusts me, and I’m more than capable of closing the place even though I’ve never done it before. Closing the store is the least I can do for her after all she does—and has done—for me. At fifteen, when I had no place to live, she welcomed me with open arms. She served as a mother to me when, for all intents and purposes, I had none. I might not have experience with service or am overly comfortable around strangers, but how hard can it be? My gaze flickers up at the clock. “You close in less than an hour. I probably won’t even get a single customer in here.”“You don’t know how to work the cash register.”I chuckle at that. “I’m a computer whiz. I’ll figure it out. If someone comes in, how hard will it be for me to serve them a coffee and a donut and take their money?”“Are you sure?”“Hell, I’ll even mop and wipe down the counters.”She heaves a weary sigh and tosses up her hands. “Okay. You convinced me.”I smile at her. I didn’t think she’d go for it, but I’m glad common sense won out. “Really?”She sniffs and nods. “Thank you.”Her gratitude makes my cheeks flame because I don’t need it. Doesn’t she realize I would do anything to make her life easier? She pushes herself up out of her seat and hangs her head before plodding to the kitchen in the back.The sound of her coughing travels through the walls and permeates the small open seating area. My chest squeezes hearing it. I’m sure she—and anyone else who’s ever known me—thinks I’m cold and insensitive because I have trouble expressing how I feel. The truth is I feel—a lot. And right now I want her to get better. I know she’ll be back here tomorrow to put in another fourteen hours of work, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. She might be more stubborn than I am.When she returns, she hands me the keys. “The code for the alarm is six, seven, five, eight,” she says. “Make sure you leave within three minutes of setting it. After you leave, look through the door at the alarm. The light should be green.”“Six, seven, five, eight. Got it.”“Thanks so much, Marla. I sure could use the sleep.”“No worries. And maybe if you need more help, I could lend a hand around here. You wouldn’t even have to pay me,” I say with a grin.She shakes her head and her expression becomes stern. “No. You’re too busy. You need to keep up those grades. Maybe next year you’ll get that scholarship you’ve been hoping for.”“Sure.”“And then maybe you can work a little less for that PI guy.”“Sam pays me really well,” I say, because he does. Yet, even with the money I get from him for freelancing, I’m still behind on my tuition payments. I have thousands left to pay over the next couple of months or I won’t get my marks for the term in April, and then I won’t be able to continue school in September.“Of course, he pays you well,” she says. “You give him information he couldn’t get anywhere else, but if the police ever find out you’re getting information from hacking, you’ll be in jail.” She lowers her voice, and it takes on a softer tone, as though she’s reluctant to state the obvious, “Like your dad.”I swallow hard and scratch an itch on my eyebrow. I don’t talk about my father so I gloss right over that. And to be fair, he was never much of a father to begin with. She furrows her brow, and though I could take her comment as judgmental, her face says something entirely different. But I still feel the need to justify my actions. “Sam’s a good guy. Sometimes he just needs a little help pointing him in the right direction.”She frowns at me.“Go home and go to bed, okay?” I say, hoping to end the conversation quickly.She pulls me into a hug and keeps me in her bubble a little longer than I like. I didn’t grow up with affection. The family I had often ignored me. For as long as I can remember, Claire is the only one who’s ever hugged me. Even guys I’ve dated never did it. Though, to be fair, the guys in my life were never long-term and they were more about sex than love. I preferred it that way. Still do. Hugging is just too intimate.“Thanks, Marla.”“You bet. I’ll drop the key off in the morning.”“Sure. Or whenever you can. I have a spare.” She lets me go and walks out the door. I follow her with my eyes as she walks by the window. She lives near the end of the street, above the laundromat. I let my gaze wander around the café. The floors are terrible and some of the tables have yet to be wiped down. I shut down my computer and tuck it, and my scrambler, into my book bag before I grab a cloth and start wiping down the countertops. Before long, I have the mop and bucket out and I’m putting the chairs on the tables upside down. I leave a couple of chairs down—just in case—though it’s twenty to twelve and unlikely I’ll see anyone now.The floors are shiny when I’m done. Of course, that’s when a customer comes in with dirty shoes. I sigh and guide the mop in the bucket behind the counter. I glance back at him and only see a set of wide shoulders on the back of a tall, lean body.“I’ll be with you in a minute,” I call out to him.He waves at me over his shoulder and mumbles something before he takes a seat at one of the few booths on the right side of the space. Something about him is familiar, even from behind. Maybe it’s his golden waves. Who has sun-kissed hair in January in Nova Scotia? He slumps forward to rest his elbows on the table and bows his head. He looks like he’s having a rough night so I immediately soften to him. I’ve had my fair share. Sighing, I grab the coffee pot and the tallest mug we have before plodding over to him. A few feet away, I stop and he looks up. My jaw drops. Crystal blue eyes stare up at me. But they aren’t what surprise me. What surprises me is the blackened flesh around his right eye and the swollen lid he can barely see through. On his cheek, a short scratch frosts his bright red and angry cheek. His left hand is bloodied and cut up on his knuckles. Frown lines appear on his forehead and his face pales. He looks at me wide-eyed, like he’s seen a ghost.I realize I know him, but only a little. I’ve seen girls point at him in glass, chat about him, call him a man-whore. A heartbreaker. I’ve heard girls say he’s only good for one thing, but boy is he good at that one thing.He clears his throat and shakes off whatever is going on in his pretty head. His color starts to return.I set the coffee mug down in front of him and pour coffee until it reaches the brim. Some servers might ask him questions or offer him a shoulder to cry on. That’s not me. Perhaps that’s why the only service job I had I got fired from. I hate conversation for the sake of conversation.“Thanks,” he says. I nod stiffly and leave him momentarily to head out back. I find an ice pack in the large walk-in fridge and wrap it in a hand towel. I also grab the first aid kit. When I return to him, I hope to God he hasn’t stolen anything. Though he doesn’t strike me as a thief. His black winter jacket is torn on the shoulder, but I saw the brand name on his chest and recognized it as expensive. I also didn’t miss the designer watch on his wrist that probably cost more than Claire’s three-year-old Honda.He slowly sips his coffee as I return. I hand him the ice pack. He wiggles his jaw back and forth before taking it. When his chilly fingers brush against mine, I pull away quickly. “You’re like my guardian angel tonight,” he says. “You want help with the hand?”He sets his mug down and holds his hands out to flex his fingers. “Sure, if you’re offering. I’m not in the mood to sit in the emergency room for something as minor as this.”“Minor? You look like you got jumped.”He chuckles. “You should see the other guy.”I roll my eyes. Such a guy thing to say. I sit in the chair opposite him and hold out my hand. “Give me your hand.”He doesn’t hesitate. He slides it across the table until it’s near the edge and right in front of me. It doesn’t look so bad. Just a lot of dried blood. I open the first aid kit and push things around until I find some saline. I grab some napkins and put them under his hand. He keeps his eyes on me. I can’t read his expression so I ignore it. “I’m Tate. Tate Donovan,” he says.“Marla.” He’s skinned his knuckles and they’re swollen, but I don’t think any of his bones are broken. Gently, I take his hand and lift it up. It’s an odd thing to hold the hand of a stranger, but I’ve bandaged up fight injuries so many times my instincts take over. He studies me. “Have we met before?”“That’s original,” I say.“No, I’m serious. I’m not good with names.”That must be really inconvenient when he wakes up next to a woman in the morning. “We slept together a year ago?” I say. “Don’t you remember?”His expression changes, suddenly becoming serious. “No, I’d remember you.” He says this so decidedly that it surprises me. Given what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t think he’d remember everyone he slept with.I relax my face and smirk. “All right, you got me. I’m joking.”When his face contorts to smile, he winces, then opens and closes his jaw slowly. When I hear it crack, my shoulders hunch. “Sorry,” he says.I pour a little bit of saline on his cuts and dry them off with some more napkins. I should put on gloves, but I honestly don’t think about it until I’m nearly done. I wrap a rolled-up piece of gauze around his hand and tape it up after biting off a piece with my teeth. “You’re good at this,” he says.“Thanks.”“Are you a nursing student? Or maybe you’re studying medicine?”“Neither.”He raises an eyebrow. He wants me to volunteer what program I’m in. I don’t.“Keep the ice pack on your face. It’ll help.” I let go of his hand.He holds up his hand, turning it over, examining it before his gaze trains back onto me. He’s still waiting for an answer.Sigh. “My dad was a fighter,” I say instead.“Like for sport? Professionally?”“Yep,” I say, not committing to either response.He shakes his head at me, a touch of amusement on the curling edges of his mouth. In truth, my dad fought people who looked at him wrong, who didn’t follow through with commitments, who gave him a hard time, or attitude. He never touched me, though. Never hit my mother either. He wasn’t overly nice to either of us, but I trusted him not to hurt me physically. Compared to the man my mom left us for, she had it good with my dad. Tate takes a long drink of his coffee and I stand, about to start closing up.“I don’t like to fight,” he says suddenly. I slowly lower myself back down onto the seat. I’m not sure why. Maybe his need to justify his actions makes me curious. Or maybe I feel bad for him. Or maybe this scene is so familiar to me, it feels comfortable.“If you don’t like to fight, then why did you?” I ask. He shrugs. “Sometimes it’s unavoidable.”I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “If you say so.” My dad said the same thing. Only he never had fancy lawyers to bail him out of trouble like Tate probably does.“What time do you close?” he asks when he catches me looking at the clock above the counter.I strain in my glasses to see the clock. My prescription is old, and I probably should have invested in a new pair a year ago. Getting them updated isn’t a priority. “A few minutes. Did you want something?” I ask. “We have a couple Boston creams left, a strawberry cream Danish, and a sad-looking leftover chocolate peanut butter ball.”“Sad?”“It’s way too small. A leftover. Claire usually gives those to people who bring their dogs in here.”“Who’s Claire?”“She owns the place, and she bakes everything except the bread. It’s all pretty good.”He takes a long drink of his coffee. “Coffee’s not great.”I shrug. “I think it’s been there a while. It’s not her specialty. People come here for her food.”“How long have you worked here? I’ve been here a bunch of times, but I’ve never seen you.” Like he’d notice. “I don’t work here.”He raises an eyebrow.“Claire is also my aunt. She was sick tonight so I offered to lock up for her.”“That was nice of you.”“I’m a nice person.”He chuckles.“But working in service isn’t really my thing,” I add.“Why’s that?”I pause. From what I know of this guy, he’s not someone I would waste my time on. He’s a rich boy with good looks, girls fall all over him, and he gladly accepts all the attention he gets. Not that there’s anything wrong with all of that. I just don’t think it’s fair that some people are blessed with everything and don’t have to lift a finger while the rest of us struggle. I don’t get why the world works like that. It just seems unfair. If Claire hadn’t taken me in when I was fifteen, I would have been on the streets. That’s why I’m determined to get my degree and the best paying job I can. I know life will be better when I don’t have to worry about money anymore. I bet he’s never had to think about that. Is it his fault? No. But it still irritates me, and I consider walking away and forgetting about him. Yet I don’t move.“I don’t want to wait on people,” I say finally. “People bother me.”He chuckles. “Should you say that to a customer?”I shrug. “Probably not, but I guess that’s why Claire has never asked me to work here.”His gaze intensifies. I don’t look away because I don’t have it in me. Maybe that’s what dad gave me, his inability to back down. In fact, I lean into the stare before he finally laughs and looks away.“You’re a little intimidating,” he begins, “and I don’t scare easy.”“Me?” I shake off the thought. “I don’t think so.”He touches his temple and strokes the bruising.“What was the fight about?” I ask, pointing to his eye.“Do you care, or are you just being polite?”“I don’t care. And I’m not being polite.”He laughs. “You do care or you wouldn’t ask.”“You’re reaching. Call me curious. People and their motivations interest me,” I say quickly.“I like your honesty.”“It’s the best policy.”“So I’ve heard.” He adjusts in his seat. His jacket makes a scratching sound as he moves. I suspect he has more injuries under those well-fitted clothes. He’s going to hurt in the morning once all the adrenaline wears off and the injuries have a chance to really sink into his skin. Every morning after drinking and fighting, my dad would wake up in pain and I would leave acetaminophen and water by his bedside to help him hurt less. I was doing this as young as six years old. He was all I had. Mom had already left by then.“Well?” I say to prompt him.“You know, when my friends and my roommates ask me what happened, I’ll probably make up some bullshit story to make myself look good. I’ll give it a twist to make them laugh. They’ll torment me for weeks until they eventually forget about it. But…”“Don’t bother answering if you’re going to lie to me. I’ve been around liars my whole life, and I don’t have the patience for it.”“That’s really sad.”I shrug.“Okay.” He absentmindedly circles the rim of his cup with his fingers. “I might have slept with someone I shouldn’t have.”“There’s a shocker.”He rolls his eyes and then pauses a long moment before he adds, “She was married.”“Mmhmm.”“You’re judging me,” he says.“No, you’re judging you, or you wouldn’t be planning on lying to your friends about it.”“That’s not why I’d lie.”Confused, I still. “So why would you?”He hitches a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter.”“It clearly does to you.”“I was sleeping with a married woman, and her husband found out. I’m not sure how he tracked me down, but I had practice earlier and he was waiting for me when I came out. He took a swing at me, and I didn’t fight back.”Liar. “Then why are your knuckles skinned?”He frowns and then smiles. “All right, the first few hits were free. I let him have them, but I warned himif he kept going, I’d fight back. He decided to keep going.”“You let him get those first shots in because you thought you deserved it?”He nods. “I don’t know if that’s noble or stupid.”“Nothing about me is noble. If I want something, I take it. I don’t really think about the consequences.”“That’s shitty of you.”He laughs weakly at that. “I know it is.”“Why are you telling me all this? You don’t even know me.”“Because you asked.” He hitches a single shoulder as he frowns. “And I don’t know, I guess to get it off my chest. You said you don’t like people, so it’s not as if you’re going to broadcast it to everyone at school.”“This is true. Though I could blackmail you.”“Go ahead. You won’t be the first.”I open my mouth to speak and then snap it shut. Not my business.He lets go of the cup and makes a fist with his hand, flexing and unflexing his fingers. “Also, if we’re being honest, you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone I trusted.” His expression becomes shy. I wouldn’t have guessed that anyone like me ever graced his social circles, but I don’t see a trace of a lie in the set of his eyebrows or any shifting in his eyes. I’m sure he’s telling the truth so I wonder why the reminder makes him look so sad.He drinks the last of his coffee and checks his watch. I look up at the clock on the wall. It’s already a few minutes after midnight. “I guess I should close up,” I say. He holds up his coffee mug. “Thanks for the coffee.” He reaches into his wallet and drops a twenty on the table. I pick the bill up and attempt to hand it back to him. “Don’t worry about it. I would have thrown the coffee out anyway.”“What about the tip?” “For a coffee? I think I’ll live without the fifty cents.”“Easy now. I might have given you a whole dollar.”“Big spender.” When he smiles now, his face lights up for the first time since he walked in here. I can see, even through the beat-up face and ripped clothes, why he appeals to girls. There’s something extra about him. Something I can’t describe. A girl could easily fall prey to a guy who smiles at her like he does. Not this girl, though. But I have to give him credit for making me swoon at him for a total of three seconds.“It’s pretty shitty out there,” he says. “Can I give you a ride home?” I look at the fat snowflakes falling from the sky. It’ll be dark and cold walking home, but I don’t know if letting him drive me home is a good idea. In fact, I’m sure of it.“It’s the least I can do after you nursed me back to health.” He holds up his bandaged hand. “I’d do that for anyone who walked in here looking like you.”“Because you feel bad for me?”“Yeah.” I try to keep a straight face, but end up letting a smile leak into my expression. He mirrors it. “Since you want to help, you know what would really make me feel better?”“I can’t wait for you to tell me,” I say, knowing from the sudden gleam in his eye, and from what I’ve heard of him, where this is likely going. “Forget about me driving you home. Come back to my house with me.”I laugh out loud. “For what? Sex?”“Oh, hey, calm down. You’re moving too fast. But if you think it’d help with….you know…the pain.” He winces as he rests his bad hand against his chest, hand on heart.I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to sleep with you no matter how thick you lay it on.”He waggles his eyebrows. “Thick is my specialty.”I laugh so hard I start coughing. “Tate, you’re not as awful as I thought you were, but I’m not going home with you. I’m not going to sleep with you, and I never will.”“Promises, promises.”I fold my arms over my chest and stare at him.“All right. No sex tonight.”“Or any night,” I say.“Why?”“What do you mean why? We don’t know each other.”“We don’t need to know each other to have sex. It’s therapeutic. It feels good, and I’m pretty sure you’d want less from me tomorrow than I’d want from you, and that kind of turns me on. No one gets hurt, but we both get something out of it. Think of it this way, you can tick a one night-stand off your bucket list.” Bucket list? I scoff at that. “A one-night-stand isn’t on my bucket list.”“Are you saving yourself for marriage?”“No, I’ve had one-night-stands before.”“Really?”“Really,” I say. “So what is on your bucket list?”I sigh, then shake my head at him. I’ve never thought about it before. Truth is, I’m young, so planning on a list of thing to do before I die hasn’t been a priority—thank God. But when I really think about it, I can’t think of anything good to add to it. Being self-reliant has been the only thing I’ve ever really wanted. “I don’t know. What’s on yours?”He looks away and fidgets with his hands. He looks shy again, and it really looks good on him. Cocky might be attractive to some, but I don’t find cocky honest. I think it’s a mask.“I’d like to swim in the Olympics.”“Really?”He nods. “It won’t happen, but it’s always been my dream.”“How do you know it won’t happen?”“I’m good, but I’m just not that good. I’m twenty-two, and I think I’m a little too old to get there now.”“Bullshit.”He laughs. “You want it, make it happen, or you don’t really want it that badly.”He nods as he considers my words. “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe I want it but just don’t want to put the work in that it would take to make it happen.”“Which leads me back to my first argument—you don’t want it that badly.”“Man, you’re tough,” he says.I offer him a little shrug. “I don’t tell people what they want to hear. Maybe that’s why I don’t have a lot of friends.”“It’s their loss.”“You’re trying to butter me up so I’ll sleep with you.”“Yes, I am. Is it working?” he asks.Would a one-night stand be so bad? It’s not like I’m against them. In fact, I prefer them. You don’t get hurt by one-night stands when both people accept what it is going in. I don’t have to worry about messy relationships or getting hurt if he doesn’t call, or feel smothered when he does. Sex is simple. He gives me bedroom eyes that smolder. I swear his eyebrows weren’t hooded before, or maybe they’re starting to swell from the punches he took. “I’ll regret you if you say no,” he says softly while his eyes search every corner of my face.Would he? Would I? I am curious to know what all the fuss is about. “Sex? No strings attached?”When he leans forward, my breath catches. “Just one night?” I parrot quietly. My body stirs at the thought of it. He’s easy to look at, and it’s been a long time. We’ll walk away in the morning like it never happened. He’ll be satisfied, and if his experience level means anything, so will I. “Or do you have something better to do?” he asks. I take in a deep breath and glance down at my computer. I almost laugh at the way tonight played out. Never in a million years would I have guessed tonight would end this way, but here I am. Do I have something better to do? “No,” I say finally. “I don’t.”

A new website! Finally! I've been using a Blogspot website for years and haven't had the time to make a change. And also, it just seemed really daunting to start a website from scratch. I finally made the leap and it's coming along, though I will continue to work on it over the coming months. Hope you like it so far! This is my first official post on this site, and I'm happy to announce it coincides with a new release. The Player is available now. This book...oh, this book! It had a completely different plot originally that just didn't work. I had to delete it and start from scratch. And I'm glad I did. There is something very attractive and sweet about the new hero, Tyler Hawk. He's a misunderstood rock star who's looking for love but is too afraid to open up and let anyone in. Our heroine is kind of the opposite. She's looking for a knight in shining armor and yet the guys she seems to attract are the absolute worst! I am always really critical of my books. I even debated not publishing this one at all, but the more I read and edited it, the more I fell in love with Tyler and Kat. I am hoping you do, too. And if you read The Player, please be sure to leave a review and let me know what you thought. I try not to read reviews, but honestly, I read them all. Some are mean and critical, but that's okay. If they're constructive I try and incorporate them into other books going forward. I want to deliver books to you that are great. I want you to love the characters and the worlds I create. So please be sure to tag me if you write one. And thank you for taking time in your life to read my books! It's truly humbling. Happy Holidays readers! I hope your New Year is filled with happiness!

Chapter One
As I stand in front of the judge, waiting for her to sentence me, perspiration covers my body. I’ll be the first to admit I sometimes act impulsively and do stupid things. I’m well known for it. But I’ve never done anything criminal. Not until two months ago. Now, I have to face the music. I was in love with a guy who I thought loved me back. I was sure of it, even when I decided to pay him a surprise visit last September. He was feeling sick and planned on spending the night alone in bed. I thought I’d bring him some chicken soup from the store because, well, I can’t boil water. I made a mistake. I used the spare key when he didn’t answer because stupid me thought he might be asleep. Nope. He was stuffing another girl’s vagina with his cock like it was a Thanksgiving turkey. Something inside of me snapped that night.I suppose I could have pleaded temporary insanity in court. The judge might have believed me—she may have even sympathized with me. But I didn’t do that. I would have, had there not been a curve ball to my crime. Instead of smashing my exes boyfriend with a baseball bat I beat up an identical car in the parking lot of his condo building. How the hell could I have known there were two blue Mustangs there with the same yellow racing stripe down the hood? “What’s next?” I ask my lawyer as we leave the courthouse. It’s late October in Spruce Valley and, though the sun is shining, there is a chill in the air that forces a shiver through my body. I zip up my jacket and descend the courthouse front steps, matching my long-legged lawyer’s speedy pace. He adjusts his tie. “Someone from community service will check in with you about a placement, and a probation officer will also be in touch. Follow their instructions, keep your nose clean, and you’ll be fine.”It’s a hard thing to reconcile that I’m going to have a criminal record and a probation officer. I’ve always been a little reckless, but I’ve never been in trouble with the law before. And I wouldn’t be now if I’d smashed the right car—Brad never would have called the cops on me. I would have paid for his damages, too, if he forced me, and been done with it—and him. Prick.“Try to keep that temper of yours intact, Emily,” he says with a smirk.I’m glad I amuse him.  “I don’t have a temper.”He halts and turns toward me. I look up at him just as he tips his head forward to look at me from underneath his thick but sculpted brows. “Well, a video from the Summerset Condo Association would suggest otherwise. And so would Mr. Green.”Touché, ExpensiveLawyer. Touché. “Good luck, Emily,” he says as he holds out his hand. I take it and we shake, his grip soft but mine not so much. “Call me if you have any issues.” He gets into his sportscar that screams mid-life crisis, slides on his designer aviators, and waves at me as he revs the engine. I hope this is the last time I ever see him. Not because I don’t like him. He’s fine for an overpaid lawyer—thanks, Mom and Dad. But I’ve decided to be good. The threat of jail is enough to make any girl want to walk the straight and narrow. I might be tough on the outside, but I’m not strong enough to survive jail. I’ve seen Orange is the New Blackand I’m not interested in becoming someone’s bitch. 
It’s almost a week before I hear from either my probation officer or the community service team. The former comes first. My probation officer’s name is Matt Erikson. Over the phone, his voice comes off like a drill sergeant. He wants to see me every week, on the same day and at the same time, no exceptions. He’s going to be a peach, I can tell. When I finally talk to my community service team member, I hold my breath while she tells me about my assignment because I know it could be bad—real bad. I expect to spend my sentence in an orange jumpsuit picking up trash along the highway or digging ditches. I don’t get either of those things. “You want me to assist a police officer with teaching kids how to play hockey?” I parrot to make sure I hear her correctly. “Yes. Is that a problem?” Her stern voice indicates that it better not be. “No. Not at all.” It sounds fine. Not tough at all. It would be a cake walk if I could skate or if I had any experience with kids. I don’t have either. “You start January third, and you’ll report to Constable Brad Corkum.”My chest tightens at the mention of that awful name. It’s not his fault he shares the same first name as my douchebag ex-boyfriend, but it’ll be hard to be around him and not think of my ex. “That’s a long time away.” I was hoping to get it over with instead of having it loom over my head for months.“You’ll have six months from that date to complete your hours. Check in with me the week before so we can confirm details.”  “Thank you,” I say. “I’ll see you then.” I end the phone call and hold the phone against my chest, muttering a curse. Teach hockey?My lawyer told me I need to satisfy a bunch of criteria to get my community service signed off as complete. This includes doing a satisfactory job. How the hell am I going to do a good job teaching kids to play hockey when I can’t even skate? This just means I need to spend more of my time prepping for it. Eighty hours of service, my Aunt Fanny. How about the eighty hours I’ll spend making sure I can skate well enough? Good thing I don’t start until the new year. The only person I can think of who can help me learn to skate is my best friend Charlie’s boyfriend, Ozzie. He plays for the local major junior team and is hoping to make the Canadian Hockey League. He’s good enough to make it, too. He’s a busy guy, though, so I know it’s a long shot. And I hate to ask for his help because the free time he has, he gives to Charlie. I don’t want either of them to see each other less because I screwed up. But I figure he might know someone who can help me if he can’t.
“They want you to what?” Ozzie says. He stands by the recliner of the apartment he shares with Charlie while she and I sit on the couch. I’ve just relayed to her everything about my community service and my probation. Compared to community service, probation will be a cake walk. A phone call once a week, no drinking, no breaking the law. No problem.“I’m going to be helping kids learn to play hockey,” I say. Ozzie holds his stomach while he laughs. “It’s not funny,” Charlie says, laughing. “I mean…come on? I took you guys skating out at Miller Pond last Christmas, and you spent more time on your ass than on your skates.”“You’re not helping,” Charlie says. He holds out his hands in surrender. “I apologize. Look, I wish I could help, but I’m slammed.”I figured this might be case. Deflated, I heave a sigh and collapse against the back of the sofa behind me.“But I have a friend who might be willing to help. He loves a good cause.”“Mandatory community service is a good cause?” I ask. Who knew?He shrugs. “Sure. You’re helping kids, right? And he already helps teach kids at Tillerman rink, anyway.”“I could pay him if it helps.”“You could offer, but Michael’s got his own money, so I doubt he’d take it. Especially if he’s doing it as a favor for me.”“Michael!” Charlie bounces on the couch, and I eye her, curious. “Yes! I love Michael. He’s so nice. His girlfriend’s kind of a witch, though, and I’m sure she’ll have something to say about it if he agrees, but hopefully he’ll ignore her.”Who is this Michael character and why did Charlie seem so excited when Ozzie tossed out his name? I know she has friends of her own, but it makes me feel left out. We haven’t spent as much time together lately as we used to. “Who’s Michael?”“You know,” Charlie says, nudging me with her shoulder. I wait for her to explain. All I have right now is a first name.“You know!” she repeats. Like I can see into her mind. Ozzie covers his mouth to block a smile. She does this all the time, and it’s both frustrating and cute. She tries to explain something without giving me a single detail and expects me to know what she’s talking about. “He plays for the Muskrats.” That’s our university hockey team. “He’s the guy that…you know…he’s big and has blue eyes…and short hair.”“Oh! Right! I know exactly who he is.” I don’t.Ozzie helps her out. “Goon.”“Goon?” I repeat. Although Goon is familiar to me, I don’t know him all that well. We run in similar circles, but I’ve maybe said two words to him since I started school here last year. What I do know of him doesn’t convince me he’s the right guy for the job. He’s a brute who spends more time in the penalty box than on the ice. I need someone with patience. Charlie and Ozzie think he’s going to be my savior? I open my mouth to protest but snap it shut. He can skate, and I guess that’s the most important thing here.“I’ll give him a call,” Ozzie says.“You’re the man.” I hold out my fist and wait for him to bump it. He chuckles as he approaches, and after a fist bump that knocks my knuckles a little too hard, he bends down and kisses his girlfriend while I shake the sting from my hand. “I gotta shower and get to the gym. Behave, ladies.”“Sure, babe. Love you,” Charlie says beaming up at him.He runs the back of his hand down her cheek before walking away. It’s sweet and almost a little too intimate to watch so I look away. I ache for the time when I thought I had someone who felt the same way about me as Ozzie does about Charlie. Almost two months later, and I both hate and pine for my ex. The wound he gouged into my heart hasn’t healed, and I’m not sure it ever will. Perhaps if I saw it coming? Perhaps if he wasn’t good to me? Neither of those things happened. I was blindsided, and I think that’s why I reacted so badly. The pain was too much, and it hit me all at once. We’d even talked about moving in together and getting married. What a fool I’d been to think he might have been the one.People often say you know when you’re being cheated on. That even if you don’t know, somewhere deep down you have an inkling. My mother sure knew my dad was unfaithful. I knew. She just didn’t care. They only broke up because my dad admitted it and left her for wife number two. He’s on number four now, but he should be divorced from that one by the end of the year. I’ve always judged Mom for turning a blind eye. Now that I’ve been through it, my perception has changed. There was a short time after Brad cheated on me, and when the world seemed to be against me, that I thought about taking him back. Charlie had Oz, and I had no one. I was empty and alone, and being around Brad and his friends and their girlfriends gave me a sense of belonging. But I changed my mind and, well, news got around about what I’d done to that car. Brad was less excited to get back together after that. Everyone on campus took to calling me the “crazy bitch.” Good thing—about Brad, not about the whole crazy bitch thing. I would have hated myself for getting back together with him. Perhaps more than I do already. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss him, though, and I hate him for that, too. I still think about what could have been. There are times when I pick up the phone and my fingers hover over the numbers in his phone number because I miss his telephone voice or the way he used to say, “Love you, beautiful” every night I called to say good night. Yes, I loved him. I really did. And he ruined me. But I let him. I’ve always run toward love with open arms, falling hard and fast for guys who never deserved it. But no more. I think for a little while I’m going to try to be alone, and I pity any guy who thinks he can change my mind.Make sure to preorder a copy! This book will release on June 29th.
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So I cut a lot of words from The Goon. A tremendous amount, really. I thought I'd share some with you. This one didn't work for several reasons. One, it add too much to the beginning when the story needed my hero and heroine to come together before the fifth chapter. Lol. So...enjoy! The story has changed slightly. She doesn't bite the cop in the final story...her crime is something different entirely. But I guess you'll have to read the book to find out :-)

Deleted Scene from The Goon. Copyright 2018.


I lay on a hard surface with an arm slung over my face to block out the bright florescent lighting. My stomach rolls and I clutch it with my other hand. What the hell happened last night? But then I remember and the pain of my boyfriend’s betrayal sours me more than that awful tasting alcohol. I remove my arm and stare up at the stark mostly white ceiling with specks of dirt and yellow stains—from what I couldn’t say and I don’t want to guess. Realization hits me hard when I turn my head to the side and see the metal bars locking me in a large cell with no fewer than four other women. I’m in jail. What? I’m in jail? I spring to a sitting position and almost lose everything in my stomach. Bile crawls up my throat and I swallow it down as I lurch forward and sprint to the cells. With my hands gripping the cool steel I yell, “Hello! Hello! Please! Anyone!”“They won’t come unless someone’s bleeding.”I consider that, but then, I’m not that desperate and blood makes me vomit. I don’t need anymore incentive to start cover the floors with what’s left in my stomach. “I don’t understand. I can’t remember a damn thing.”A lady with milky white skin grins a me with one of her front teeth missing. She’s wearing a corset made of red leather and a black miniskirt. Her long hair is neatly braided and tied back into a bun. If it wasn’t for her missing front tooth I’d call her attractive, but it’s hard to see past it. “What happened to your tooth?” I say before I can stop myself. “Johnny. Mother fucker. He said he’d never hit me but when I took a baseball bat to his back, I guess all bets were off.”This lady took a baseball bat to a guy’s back? I rattle the bars. “I need help! Hey!!!!” The girl laughs. The other girls scattered on benches around the room continue sleeping, one snores louder than a bear and rolls over. Drool drips from the corner of her mouth. “Don’t worry, twiggy. I ain’t going to hurt you. And from what I saw last night, you might give me a run for my money.”I stop rattling the bars. “What…what do you mean?” “You came in hooting and hollering at three o’clock this morning. Asking the cops if they ‘want some’? You were going to fight a cop? I mean, I’d love to do it, but in here? You’re in their world. You know what I mean?”“I was trying to fight a cop?” Oh dear God. What did I do? I slowly release my hold on the metal and walk to the nearest bench. Slowly, I lower myself into the seat and my head hurts as I try to remember. I was at Brad’s sister’s place. The bastard was cheating on me. Choked up, I move past the memory. Then what? I grabbed the alcohol and started walking. I went to a bar…one I hadn’t been to before. Along the highway. And then…and then nothing. I hold the side of my head as it pound and feels as if it might splinter. “Can’t hold your drink, huh? When you see the judge just tell him you’re an alcholic and they’ll make you take some courses.”The judge? Oh, God. I’m going to cry. “My mom used to say liquor’s the devil. Makes people do all kinds of stupid stuff.”“I’m not an alcoholic.”“I ain’t judging.”“I’m not,” I say firmly.She holds up her hands and leans back abasing the dirty white wall. A door opens and slams shut. I spin around and watch a man in uniform approach. He holds a ring of keys in his hand. He looks tired and the wrinkles in his forehead doesn’t help him any. The hair on his head is more silver than black. He stops by the door and props his hands on his hips. “When am I getting out of here?” the girl says.“Not for a few hours at least.”“And me?” I say, standing. He glares at me like my dad does when he catches me doing something stupid. All judgey-like. “Oh, she’s sober. Well, look at that.”“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. For whatever I did. I’m not this person.” I point to my chest. “This isn’t me.”“Well, this is you. And if you can’t hold your liquor then I suggest you stop drinking.”“I don’t even drink that much.”“Mmhmm,” says the girl behind me. I glance at her and then back to the cop. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”“Oh. You don’t remember telling me to ‘eat a dick’ last night after turning over a garbage bin in the park?”I cringe and shake my head.“You calmed down for a minute after I told you I was going to arrest you. Then you asked me my name and after I told you, you told me to ‘suck it’. To which I responded with restraining you. You then bit me.” He holds up his hand and there is a hint of teeth marks in a gentle curve along the side of his hand.“I didn’t,” I say with a gasp.“Yeah, you did. That’s assault on an officer.”I lower myself to my seat. That’s bad. Like, worse than bad. I could go to jail and do some serious time fro that. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I don’t remember a thing.”“Uh huh.”“I don’t understand what I would say all that to you. It’s just not like me.”The door opens and another cop peeks his head. “Brad, they’re ready for Hanes.”Brad? I slump and heave a long sigh. Now I understand. His name is Brad, like my cheating ex boyfriend. It must have triggered my anger. I want to blame Brad for all of this. Truth is if he hadn’t cheated I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t have grabbed the bottle of alcohol and went to a bar and got drunk off my ass. I wouldn’t have bit the cop. But I know this is all on me. “Please. There must be something you can do? Anything! I swear I’ll do anything.”“Put your hands through the hold please.”I pad forward in my sock feet. Tears spring to my eyes when I think of missing out on the best years of my life. Of never getting a job because of what I’d have to admit to in an interview. I’m not a kid anymore. At twenty-one this is going to follow me forever. With my hands closed, I slide them through the hold and he slaps the cuffs on me nice and tight. They bite into my wrists almost immediately. I guess I deserve it. I did bite him. “Take a step back.” He opens the door and gestures with a finger for me to come forward. I follow his directions, keeping my head down. “Don’t I get my phone call?”“Right now you have court. After that you call whoever you want.”He grips my elbow and walks alongside of me as we head for the door. After looking up at the camera above the door, it magically opens and we walk through. Only when we’re on the other side does he continue talking to me.“YOu meant what you said? You’d do anything to get out of this?” he say, his voice low.I’m about to nod but suspicion stops me. “I’m not going to have sex with you, if that’s what you’re proposing. I might have hit rock bottom but that’s taking it to a whole new level.”He eyes me and stops, making me stop with him. “I’m not sure what to be more offended by, the fact that you think I’d propositioning you for sex of that you think having sex with me is worse than your current situation.”“Oh. I’m sorry. It just came out pervy.”He rolls his eyes. “I sure hope you’re a diamond in the rough. Because I spent hours in the emergency room last night just to get a tetanus shot.”“I’m so sorry.”“Shut up and listen. You go in front of the judge, you agree to classes for addiction and you volunteer community service. I have a project I could use some help with. But I need someone willing and someone who’ll show up when they’re supposed to and on-time, ready to work. You agreed to hat and I’ll testify on your behalf.”“Oh, really? You’d do that?”He shrugs. “I’ve taken a chance on people less deserving than you. And trust me when I say, you haven’t endeared yourself to me a whole lot in the last twelve hours.”I want to ask if my father had something to do with this. I got picked up for drinking as a kid and once I got picked up for breaking into my school. Dad made those go away. Does he know about this? But I don’t care why as long as I don’t go to jail. “You won’t regret this,” I say, my voice high-pitched and desperate. “I swear.”“Mmhm. You know how many times I hear that?”“I’ll prove it.”“We’ll see. Now, tell me, how are you on skates?”Skates? What the fuck? I can barely put one foot in front of the other. I took power skating when I was five and after a full year of lessons I still had to pad my ass because I fell so damn much. “I’m an angel on skates,” I lie. Then I take the lie a step further. “Everyone says so.” If I weren’t in handcuffs I’d be slapping my face with my open palm. “Well, Emily, I guess today is your lucky day.”“I’m in handcuffs and am facing a long time in jail…so today isn’t really my lucky day, sir.”He nods. “You flashed a homeless guy who told you he’d marry you when you got out of jail. You were making out with him as I dragged you away.”
“Please stop talking,” I say quietly as he starts to walk again and I hobble along faithfully beside him. 

I'm so excited to share the final cover for The Goon. Designed by the amazing Anna at Cover Couture with cover photo by Lindee Robinson (models Travis Robert Bendall-Model and Brooke Shevela). It's a standalone novel with an HEA, using secondary characters from the first book in the series, Pucker Up. 


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Did you enjoy Tainted Blood? Good news. The preorder for the sequel is available at select retailers! More will become available closer to the date. Although the release date is September, I am shooting for a much earlier release. Make sure you sign up for my newsletter to get a release notice. I never spam and I only put out maybe three or four a year.

Here is the cover for Flesh and Blood, designed by Cover Couture! I love this so much and I hope you feel the same.


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I'm giving away 10 copies of Tainted Blood (Blood Hunter #1) on Goodreads. You can enter to win a copy below! Good luck. .goodreadsGiveawayWidget { color: #555; font-family: georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: left; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; background: white; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget p { margin: 0 0 .5em !important; padding: 0; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink { display: inline-block; color: #181818; background-color: #F6F6EE; border: 1px solid #9D8A78; border-radius: 3px; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; outline: none; font-size: 13px; padding: 8px 12px; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink:hover { color: #181818; background-color: #F7F2ED; border: 1px solid #AFAFAF; text-decoration: none; } Goodreads Book Giveaway Tainted Blood by Sara Hubbard

Giveaway ends March 20, 2018.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

When I began writing with the hope of being published, I only wrote paranormal novels. As time went on, I started writing contemporaries instead and sort of abandoned the supernatural. I still don't know why. But then last year proved to be one of the most difficult of my life and I found it very difficult to continue writing. From my mom's sudden diagnosis and death and my son's tumor and everything in between I was d.o.n.e.  Writing contemporaries became a chore and I lost my muse. When this happens it's a good idea to change things up so I began writing an urban fantasy novel and the thing practically wrote itself. While I won't stop writing contemporaries completely, I'm going to try very hard to finish this series while sprinkling in some contemporary novels in between. The first book in my new series is called Tainted Blood and it will release in March. It's about a normal book store owner who's life becomes surprisingly fantastical when she's bitten by a vampire who promptly dies. I really hope you give it a try. Happy reading :-)
Here is the full blurb:
Sometimes destiny punches you in the face...
Or takes a big gulp from your jugular.Bookstore owner Emily only experiences fantasies and supernaturals through the books she reads until she comes face to face with a vampire who bites her and then drops dead.
  
Upon hearing about her toxic blood, two vampire brothers kidnap Emily and force her to agree to help them kill their original master in exchange for her life and the life of her sister. But the longer she stays in their company, the more she realizes she was living a life she was never meant to and she needs to embrace her new normal. Even if giving in to her destiny will cost her hundreds of supernatural enemies who threaten to send her to an early grave. 
Preorder links:
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