Title Page

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

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

The Invisibles

Bonus Scene ~ DO NOT read if you haven't read Let Me Love yet.

My Thanks

About the Author

Books by Michelle Lynn

CAN’T LET GO

Copyright ©2014 by Michelle Lynn

All Rights Reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in whole or in part by any means.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or are either fictitious or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

1st Round Editor: Liz Aguilar with Book Peddler’s Editing

Editing and Proofreading: Nichole Strauss with Perfectly Publishable

Cover photo: Shutterstock

Cover Design: Sommer Stein with Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Design and Interior Formatting: Christine Borgford with Perfectly Publishable

8 years old

HERE I AM minding my own business, playing on my new Game Boy Color that my dad brought with him today when he picked me up. Another weekend-dad guilt gift. He must have won big, because, usually, it’s just a pack of baseball trading cards or candy my mom doesn’t allow me to have. I think I damaged his eardrum when he handed it to me once we got here. When his palm flew up to his ear I felt guilty, but come on, a blue Game Boy with a 007 Bond game is an eight-year-old’s dream. Especially when I’m stuck in the dingy basement of a ‘grocery store’ for a few hours so my dad can gamble. He’s been bringing me to these underground poker games all over town every other Saturday.

So, I’m right in the middle of the game, with James Bond sneaking behind walls, killing the bad guys and stealing the jewelry, when a girl flops down next to me, huffing loudly. Not willing to lose my place in the game, since I’m about two rooms away from the next code, I ignore her.

“What are you playing?” she asks, leaning over so her blonde hair falls right in front of my screen. You have got to be kidding me. Shifting my body, I move my Game Boy to the side, continuing to play. “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, and I just shake my head.

A few minutes go by and all she does is stand up, sit down, and shift her feet, moving them up on the chair, then down on the floor. She plays with her hair, twisting it around her finger and lifting it up off her neck. I swear, if her elbow jabs me one more time, I’m going to go crazy James Bond on her. I’m out of continues, and I’ll have to start all over again if I die because of her.

Then she digs her hand into her pocket and pulls out whatever is so important that she elbows my arm again, making my fingers fly off of the A button, which, in turn, makes James Bond fall off a cliff and die. My teeth clenched, I turn off the game and glare over at her for the first time.

“Can you please stop moving?” I ask as politely as I can to a girl who doesn’t care that I just lost and will have to replay the whole two levels over again.

“Please,” she says as she rolls her eyes, “it’s a video game.”

“Now I have to do two levels over again,” I whine, and she just glares at me. No blinking, no caring at all.

“I’m pretty sure you have the time,” she says, and I hate to admit it, but she’s right. It’s only been an hour. I have at least four more, unless he loses it all in one shot. That’s only happened one weekend, and I had a huge smile when my dad came out only after a half hour. Unfortunately, the excitement quickly vanished when the rest of our day consisted of him reading over the paper and me wandering around the backyard, tossing a ball by myself.

Turning around from her, I turn my game on again and begin playing. Without warning, she’s leaning over my shoulder, throwing tons of questions at me.

“Stop it,” I demand, shifting my body away from her, but when I inevitably die, she’s right there.

“You died. Can I play it now?” She puts her hand out, and I’m so annoyed, but then I look at her worn clothes. Her shoes have one small tear by the tip of her toe and jeans so thin at the knee that I can see through them.

“Okay,” I say, handing her my new gift like my mom hands me her finest china during the holidays.

She grabs it out of my hands and begins playing a whole lot better than me. She’s breezing past the level I was stuck on, igniting jealousy. Once she dies two levels up from where I did, she hands it back over to me.

Gripping it in my hands, I stare at her in amazement that this girl who appears almost homeless just beat me on my own game. “I have a friend who has one,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m Chrissy by the way.”

“Dex,” I tell her.

10 years old

I BUCKLE MYSELF into our beat-up Chevy Caprice that shows more rust than paint. Not that I should complain, it gets us where we need to be. Driving away from our one-bedroom apartment, excitement churns inside of me with the thought that I’ll spend a few hours forgetting about my shitty life. With the fact that my mom left a month ago and hasn’t returned, I need the disruption more than my next meal. Especially since if we eat or not depends on how well my dad gambles today.

His gambling is out of control, but I’ve learned my lesson on speaking my opinion on that topic. Two weeks ago, he purposely didn’t bring me, which was the harshest punishment he could have given. Hitting me would have been better, because the pain would have been brief compared to a whole afternoon thinking about what I could be doing if I would have kept my mouth shut. The funniest part about it is though, he has no idea I know where he went and what he did. He thought he was keeping it a secret that he went there, that I wouldn’t know he gambled our week’s rent away.

We always park around the corner in some off chance the place gets busted. Up until two years ago, it was part of my nightly prayers that it would. But things changed when I turned that corner two years ago and found Dex sitting in that folding chair. Although I don’t pray for it to remain open, I just leave it out altogether. My eyes glance at the diner across the street, and I imagine all the delish foods they probably make every day while my stomach erupts with a growl sure to be heard from across town. That bowl of Fruit Loops not completely doing its job of filling my stomach as last night’s dinner.