It’s here! It’s here!! I have been dying for months to share this cover with you, and the time has finally arrived!! My new novel, NEVER GONNA TELL is a YA romantic suspense and releases on March 17th! Only three more weeks!!!
What do you think? I absolutely adore this cover and give huge, mad, amazing props to Regina Womba of Mai I Design and Kelsey Keegan of K Keegan photography for helping make this cover sizzle!
Wanna know more about the book? Check out the BLURB:
My name is Reagan Wilcox: high school senior by day, kick-ass investigative journalist by night. I’ve always loved observing people—especially when they think no one is paying attention.
I thought I was ready to cover any story. Work any angle.
Nothing could have prepared me for what happened that night. I wasn’t ready for what I saw. And I certainly wasn’t ready for him.
I always knew I’d write the headlines. Now, I just might become one.
Want even more? Here’s an excerpt!!
NOTHING BUT BLACKNESS surrounds me. I can’t move. Why can’t I move? A shiver runs through me, both from fear and the cold of the ground below me. The air is stale and smells like the earth as I try to take a deep breath. I instantly know I’m inside of something, or maybe under something. “Hello?” I call, my voice shaking and barely above a whisper. No one answers. I try again, a little louder, as I fight back tears. The only sound I hear is my heart pounding in my tightened chest, the noise filling my head. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, but still I can’t see a thing. Pain radiates through my arm and head, but fear pulses stronger. The air around me grows thick and heavy. Sweat trickles down my face. My clammy hand trembles like a leaf in the wind as I stretch forward, feeling for something—anything. “Calm down,” I command my nerves. “It’s going to be okay.” But even I don’t believe my lies.
I move, just an inch, to test my arm. The pain is still throbbing, but it’s manageable enough to try to get out from … wherever I am. Taking another stale breath, my right hand reaches out and connects with something hard and scratchy. Wood? It’s all around me, maybe a foot or so away. I push against it as hard as I can with one hand, but it doesn’t budge.
I’m trapped. I can’t move and I want to scream. It’s bubbling up inside, but I quash it back down. Screaming will only let them know I’m awake. That I’m alive. Panic begs to take over, to take control, but I need to get out of here before that happens. I want to take a deep breath, but can’t. There isn’t any to fill my lungs. But there has to be air coming from somewhere or I’d be dead by now, I remind myself. And that’s all I need. I focus on keeping my breathing even, counting each breath. After reaching thirty, I reach up again, trailing the tips of my fingers along the wood, hoping to find a handle or knob, but there is only a large, flat, solid piece of wood.
This is it. My worst fear is coming to life. Everything I worked for, everything I sacrificed, was for naught. My mom and dad’s faces pop into my mind as tears well in my eyes. I was so stupid. So foolish to think that I was doing the right thing. Now look where that’s gotten me.
I’m going to die tonight. I’m sure of that now. All because I vowed that I was never gonna tell.