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Download and Read Free Online Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika Book 3) R.K. Lilley good books, online books, books online, book reviews epub, read books. Being a long time champion robinson is used to being fawned over and getting things his way, he lives 'the life'. The musical score from. R K Lilley - (Tristan & Danika 03) Lovely Trigger - dokument [*.epub] Contents Title Page Copyright Dedication Books by R.K. Lilley Chapter One Chapter Two.


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Automatyczne logowanie. Beautiful Lovely Trigger R. Lilley All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of events to real life, or of characters to actual persons, is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.

Congratulations on the huge success of this book and series! You just continue to amaze me! Kimberly Sutherland. Book was boring and I found it hard not getting side tracked. I just wanted to finish to see what happened with the Danika and Trystan.

Another issue was that I just don't like Danika as a character. The author did do a really good job bringing us up to the current time period. But once we got there the story stalled. Sex and a lot of sex. Danika being indecisive. Poor Trystan waiting around like a lap dog. And then a big explosion of emotions followed a HEA. And I mean right after, one of the fastest, rushed endings ever!!

Spoiler Alert!!!! What the story lacked Their emotions on their wedding day!!! What were their vows? First dance? Was Trystan nervous?? Where did they honeymoon??

If this is revealed in a novella, I'll be ticked!

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The knee replacement and therapy?? Based on the timing that would have happened when they were together. Odd that it wasn't mentioned. It's highly addictive and certainly what I would call a guilty pleasure.

Tristan's downward spiral was hard to watch, and the effect it had on Danika was even harder. It left me drained, but compelled to keep going. There was much less angst than in the previous books, but it showed Tristan at his swooniest.

Both MC's changed and grew during the series and remained likable at every stage, which, all things considered, is pretty impressive. They made massive mistakes that I never struggled to forgive, no matter how heartless, callous, or thoughtless they happened to be. This series has a cult classic feel.

It's a "must read" for fans of angst. I don't think I've ever heard a song capture a book's feel so perfectly.

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I will never think about these characters without that song playing in my head, so it's a good thing I love it, because Tristan and Danika aren't leaving me any time soon.

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Get fast, free shipping with Amazon Prime. It was months before I could open up in group therapy. Months of hearing other people's stories. Some of them didn't seem too bad, but others were worse than mine were. One lady, a heroin addict, opened up about neglecting her baby for so long that it died in its crib while she got high. I processed that story for a while, haunted by the way she told it, as though it had happened to someone else.

Something in her disconnect really got to me. Had I disconnected that much from my own life?

And if so, how? How could I have been so selfish, so cruel, as to neglect the things around me for so long? It was numbness I'd been looking for, what we'd all been looking for, and that numbness had turned us into monsters when we used. I had to come to terms with the things the monster inside of me had done.

And with the fact that I was that monster. It was as I began to cope with that realization, to accept it, that I began to open up in group. I am an alcoholic and a drug addict. I'm here because using cost me the love of my life. She wouldn't talk to me directly, so everything went through a very slow filter via Jerry. We constantly met up with complications. It took months just to get the ball rolling. She wouldn't even meet with me alone, as though I was some kind of dangerous criminal.

I tried not to dwell on that. It messed with me, my sanity, my will to stay sober, but I had to focus on the positive. I rounded up a few friends I'd met in rehab. Trinity was a twenty-year-old heroin addict whose parents had already put her through rehab four times.

Her current clean run was the longest she'd been sober since she was fifteen years old. She was a sweet, funny girl, and I had hopes that this time she'd pull through. She was a compact girl, and wore a uniform black T-shirt and jeans.

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Her short red hair was only long in the front, long enough to cover one eye, but she still managed make good eye contact. Todd was a twenty-five-year-old tattoo artist and a pain killer addict.

We wound up in the same sober house after rehab. He was a small guy, skinny, with bleach blond hair and enough tats to make me look like a blank canvas. I'd made the fastest friends in rehab, but unfortunately, many of them weren't lasting friends.

Nearly everyone I'd met had relapsed within the last eight months. The ones that stayed sober with me, though, were like a lifeline, very necessary for my own recovery process. Trinity and Todd were both still staying clean after rehab, still fighting the good fight, like me. They were ideal company for me, going through the same things I was, and so they could understand how hard the coming meeting was for me. They'd been in group therapy with me, so they knew all about my obsession with Danika, and all of the reasons she had to hate me.

We got there early, because I just couldn't wait around any longer. I was jittery with nerves. Wound up so tight that I couldn't sit still. I'd been waiting, obsessed, tormented, consumed for this meeting since the last time I'd seen her.

It simply couldn't end like this. There had to be something more, something I could do to make amends.

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Even if I couldn't be her husband, I longed to have her in my life. In any capacity. I'd take literally anything. I wouldn't be happy with less than everything , but I'd take what I could get. Crumbs, scraps, a taste of what she once felt for me, as a salve for what I still felt in abundance for her. Even that I would take. My hands were shaking so hard that I spilled coffee on my hands as I tried to take a sip of the decaf coffee I'd ordered just to have something to do with my hands.

As we sat there and waited for her, the future so uncertain, no, so likely to turn out in a way I couldn't bear, I'd never wanted a drink more in my life. I shared this piece of information. It was part of the process, to reach out when you felt yourself slipping. It still went against the grain for me, but I was trying my best to learn a new way. Obviously, the old way hadn't been working for me.

Not by any wild stretch of the imagination.

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It's five o'clock somewhere. I burst out laughing and so did Trinity. I was facing the door of the place, on lookout, and so I saw her first. I froze. Every part of my body just seized up as I set eyes on her. At first it, was just at the shock, the sheer joy of seeing her beautiful face, even from several feet away, through a glass door.

Some man opened it for her, and I took her in for one heart stopping moment. She wore a long black skirt that went down to her ankles, her pale pink blouse skin tight, showed off her perfect figure. Her hair was loose and shiny, her makeup heavier than I remembered, and absolutely striking. She was still the most beautiful woman I'd ever set eyes on. I knew she always would be.

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Danika began to walk through the door, and my fists clenched. Have you ever felt like someone just reached into your chest and twisted a corkscrew into your heart? Well, that's what I felt then. It wasn't fucking pretty. I reeled for an endless moment, as I saw just what I'd done, and tried to cope with it, trying to breathe for even another moment, to live in a skin that I despised down to my soul.

I didn't even realize I'd moved to her until I was at her table. My body had moved with no tangible communication to my brain. She barely looked at my face, just one devastating, cursory glance before her eyes became glued to my chest. Oh God. His glasses always perched right on the tip of his nose as he studied me. And he didn't even have a brown leather chaise lounge, as I'd feared. I got to sit up and talk to him like a normal person, not lie down like in the movies.

I sat in a comfortable chair on the opposite side of his desk, and, over time, told him everything. I was a little fixated on that chart of his. Periods where you were still functioning, but you have no memory of it. I call that the weekend.

It was the most bitter pill to swallow; how my own rock bottom had impacted her. I had always been the one to throw myself in front of a punch for my brother, my mother. And my wife. My wife. I'd have done anything to take her pain, to bear her injuries myself. Instead though, I had caused them. But I could not go back. I could not live on what ifs, if I had any hope of living at all.

I suppose that's why I'm here. My brother, my mother, my wife, my unborn child. All of it was because of addiction. We'll get along just fine. Sometimes, though, I hated him, because he gave me the hard truths.

I can see it will be your biggest challenge, as you venture back into your life outside of rehab.

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Instead, I closed my eyes and attempted to accept. Tell me what it means to you. My life has become unmanageable. That one takes a while to process. Now, let's look at the twelve steps as a whole.

An overview, if you will. In essence, they teach us that we cannot play God. There are some things we do not have the power to change, not just as it pertains to using or not using. This also applies to past mistakes. You must accept that you cannot change her mind, and find a way to go on with your life and stay clean. Are you ready yet to accept that? If I could just get her to meet with me, get her to see that I'm getting better, I think it would show her that I've changed, that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to be in her life.

Little by little, I began to accept that it really could be over between us. Not as a break, but as a permanent affliction. It was a very rough pill to swallow. It was months before I could open up in group therapy. Months of hearing other people's stories. Some of them didn't seem too bad, but others were worse than mine were. One lady, a heroin addict, opened up about neglecting her baby for so long that it died in its crib while she got high.

I processed that story for a while, haunted by the way she told it, as though it had happened to someone else. Something in her disconnect really got to me. Had I disconnected that much from my own life?

And if so, how? How could I have been so selfish, so cruel, as to neglect the things around me for so long? It was numbness I'd been looking for, what we'd all been looking for, and that numbness had turned us into monsters when we used.

I had to come to terms with the things the monster inside of me had done. And with the fact that I was that monster. It was as I began to cope with that realization, to accept it, that I began to open up in group.

I am an alcoholic and a drug addict. I'm here because using cost me the love of my life. She wouldn't talk to me directly, so everything went through a very slow filter via Jerry. We constantly met up with complications. It took months just to get the ball rolling. She wouldn't even meet with me alone, as though I was some kind of dangerous criminal.

I tried not to dwell on that. It messed with me, my sanity, my will to stay sober, but I had to focus on the positive. I rounded up a few friends I'd met in rehab.

Trinity was a twenty-year-old heroin addict whose parents had already put her through rehab four times. Her current clean run was the longest she'd been sober since she was fifteen years old. She was a sweet, funny girl, and I had hopes that this time she'd pull through. She was a compact girl, and wore a uniform black T-shirt and jeans. Her short red hair was only long in the front, long enough to cover one eye, but she still managed make good eye contact.

Todd was a twenty-five-year-old tattoo artist and a pain killer addict. We wound up in the same sober house after rehab. He was a small guy, skinny, with bleach blond hair and enough tats to make me look like a blank canvas.

I'd made the fastest friends in rehab, but unfortunately, many of them weren't lasting friends. Nearly everyone I'd met had relapsed within the last eight months. The ones that stayed sober with me, though, were like a lifeline, very necessary for my own recovery process. Trinity and Todd were both still staying clean after rehab, still fighting the good fight, like me.

They were ideal company for me, going through the same things I was, and so they could understand how hard the coming meeting was for me. They'd been in group therapy with me, so they knew all about my obsession with Danika, and all of the reasons she had to hate me.

We got there early, because I just couldn't wait around any longer. I was jittery with nerves. Wound up so tight that I couldn't sit still.