2 to 2.5 stars...ish.
It is so aggravating to take a chance on a book and actually buy it, and then not have it deliver.
I was intrigued by this book since it appeared on my radar but hesitated at buying it for the reason I already mentioned, and after reading it perhaps I should just stick to what's on KU for the for foreseeable future. Or maybe forever, since the bell of indie/self publishing can't be un-rung and the drop in the quality of books is unlikely to change.
For the average reader this book will be fine. It's very lightweight reading, which surprised me given the setup of the story. But the writer chose to tell the majority of the grittier parts of the story rather than include the reader and show them. So straight away that disconnect is an issue.
The heroine, Liv, was very immature for almost 30, and shallow as a puddle, always thinking about how beautiful Gabe was, how ripped he was, how women fell all over themselves when they saw him 🙄🙄😑. Yeah, we get it. He's hot. Move on, already.
There was a separation of 7 years between Liv and Gabe, during which Liv just couldn't get her shite together. I think the term 'stage 5 clinger' was coined with people like her in mind and I don't blame Gabe one bit for kicking her to the curb way back then. She was annoying. But while Gabe had more to overcome and did considerably better with his life in those 7 years, the pair of them were very co-dependent and unable to do much more than exist without each other. I get it that people think that's sooo romantic...but is it? Is it, really?
I don't think so. I think it's unhealthy to charge someone else with the responsibility of YOUR happiness. How can you love someone else, or love life, if you can't love yourself and the life you create on your own? How can you make someone else responsible for making you happy and fulfilled when life operates on its own plans and schedule?
In a nutshell, these two were too dependent on the other and if anything ever happened to one of them, the other wouldn't survive it and to me that's not romantic. It's just sad. I appreciate strong, independent characters, not needy, clingy ones.
But Liv and Gabe's co-dependence wasn't what tainted this story for me. I see plenty of this unhealthy attachment in books and it makes sense since most writers these days are young and naive. But that doesn't excuse them from doing their research and that this writer didn't care to do hers was very evident.
Gabe has a TBI due to being in an auto crash. He has seizures attributed to scar tissue on his temporal lobe from his injury and takes meds to control the seizure activity.
So far, so good. Realistic enough.
But the seizures still occur as often as a few weeks to every month or two, and yet he drives a vehicle with an apparently unrestricted driver's license.
Um, no.
I checked on this myself and in the US a person has to be seizure free from a period of three months to a year to drive, depending in which state they live.
Gabe had grand mal seizures and people with them don't just 'fall over and start shaking.'
There are signs - called an aura - hours to moments prior to onset that the person may or may not always notice, but in the seconds before one begins that person is not going to be chatting away unaffected. During the attack a loss of bladder and sometimes even bowel control can happen. And after the attack the sufferer doesn't wake up alert and oriented acting like everything is hunky-dory. The postictal stage of a seizure is a bit more than being 'just tired.'
The setup for Gabe's seizure was a bit contrived - as was much of this story - but Liv's hysteria during it was unacceptable given that she knew he had them. But she really took the biscuit by needing him to comfort her afterwards.
You get that? HE had the seizure, but SHE expected him to comfort HER.
Self-absorbed much?
No respect for that.
However, what made me angry was the handling of the service dog. The important role service dogs play has taken a bit of a hit in recent years by the appearance of 'therapy dogs' - which are basically pets of people with non-medical issues that are given the same latitude as true service dogs. The existence of therapy dogs is a joke because they aren't held to the same standard of training and they undermine the importance of a bonafide service animal and interfere with the animal's ability to properly do the job it was extensively - and expensively - trained for. Therapy dogs are pets with a bogus title.
A service animal is not a pet. You don't treat someone's service animal as a pet, either, by fawning over it and exciting it with enthusiastic handling and exclamations of praise. It's a tool, not a toy. A service animal is 'on-duty,' all the time, and is not distracted by food, attention or noise. It is precisely attuned to its master to the exclusion of all else. It won't race off across the beach requiring it to be called back and it's absolutely not going to leave its master unattended while it goes for a romp through a field of flowers. That is utter bullshit. That dog should be glued to its master at all times until commanded otherwise, and it sure as shite isn't going to detect the cascade of electrical brain activity preceding a seizure while it's totally distracted and a half a mile away! Epilepsy dogs can absolutely sense an aura or possibly even smell one, but from a much closer range.
Roxy was the most piss-poor example of a service dog I have ever seen in a book.
Some think that suspension of belief and so-called artistic license is acceptable in fiction. And it is - in certain TYPES of fiction. That's called FANTASY. In romantic fiction, not so much. The kinds of things I mentioned suggest that the writer is too lazy to be bothered to check their facts or they think their readers just don't care that much. And most don't. But I'm not one of those, so don't piss in my ear and tell me it's raining.
Do better.