How the Light Gets In - L.H Cosway

How the Light Gets In

The Cracks Duet Book Two

L.H. Cosway

© 2018 L.H. Cosway

All rights reserved.

Cover design by RBA Designs.

Editing by Marion Archer at Making Manuscripts.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17


About the Author

L.H. Cosway’s Hearts Series

Books by L.H. Cosway


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There is a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.

Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”

Chapter 1

Eleven years later

Manhattan, New York City, 2017

“Ms. Jackson” by OutKast pumped in my ears.

I bobbed my head as I mixed a cosmo, while my co-worker, Danni, shot me a grin from the other end of the bar. The crowds pulsated on the dance floor and hands clutching crumpled bills vied for my attention.

It was just another Saturday at FEST, the nightclub my aunt Yvonne managed. I’d been working here for two months, ever since I moved from Dublin to New York, and I had to say, even if the work was exhausting, the tips were phenomenal. You didn’t get tips like these in Ireland.

Not unless you worked at a strip club.

And I wasn’t talking about mixing drinks at the bar of said strip club.

There was also an energy to this city I hadn’t anticipated. It really didn’t sleep. There always seemed to be something happening. Any hour of the day or night you could find a comedy gig, or an interactive theatre show, or even a doga class. That’s right, yoga for dogs. Whatever floated your boat, you could find it here.

I never expected to end up in a place like this. In all honesty, I thought I’d stay in Dublin forever. Like, forever-ever. When you lived from pay check to pay check, life came with its limitations. But then Yvonne offered to set me up with a job, not to mention let me stay in her apartment. How could I say no to that?

When Gran was still alive, I would’ve flat-out declined, but she passed away last year. I didn’t have anything to stay put for anymore, and it was an odd feeling. For so long I had an excuse not to leave, then I had none.

So I took the leap.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” a suit asked from the other side of the bar. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, his tie loose and his grin even looser.

“Name’s Evelyn, what can I get you?” I replied, professional smile in place. I wasn’t a big fan of being hit on by punters, but such was life when you worked a bar. Some nights I wondered if I should take one home, let them warm my bed for a while, but I always thought better of it. I wasn’t made for one-night stands. Mostly because I fell in love too easily. A charming smile and a well-placed compliment and I was handing over the keys.

During most of my twenties, my misguided, empty heart constantly looked for a person to fill it. Now I was coming to learn that the only one who could repair my heart was me. I had to find happiness within myself before I found it with someone else.

I wasn’t there yet, but I was working on it.

“I love your accent. I’ll take a whiskey sour, on the rocks. Don’t think I’ve seen you here before. You new?”