Across The Line By Linkin Park Novels & Stories

he said. “Oh,” I said. I took out my phone, and tried checking up on Melissa. Surprisingly, she was still offline. I locked my phone and slowly dropped it, then looked out the window. The passing scenery was so beautiful. I wound the window down, and felt the rushing wind in my hair. It made me forget everything else and slowly, I drifted to sleep. When I opened my eyes, I was resting my head on the car door. “Ahh” I groaned. My neck hurt so bad that I had to massage it to reduce the pain.

About forty miles from the Florida line, in Waycross Georgia, I pace on the side of the road, gritting my teeth, and kicking at loose gravel with my boots. Our hunter band is caught up in the traffic of a road closure and I’m losing my damn mind at being forced to be idle and stand by. Once again, the tuniculas are fucking everything up, hindering our search of the rogue and the Cross girls, and making us lose valuable time. Every second counts in this hunt. We’ve already burned enough daylight, and with three a.m. quickly closing in, another night will pass for those poor girls in the company of their depraved captor. Only the moon knows what is happening to them. And I shudder at the thoug

She said, squeezing his hand in a reassuring gesture as her small hand held his big hand on its own, spreading a bright smile on his face for the first time in years. Moments passed and both of them remained still, their eyes locked into each other as they gazed through each other's weary and wounded soul, their hands clasped together in a soul soothing hold as if they're healing each other's internal wounds in this vulnerable whirlpool of emotions, connected with the tranquil whispers of calm and a peaceful silence surrounding them. As the music in the car began to play, he closed his eyes again, allowing the soothing melodies to wash over him. The sound of the storm outside was muted, and

Ilana spun the stool around so that her back was to the bar and the movement made her head spin. The urge to flee overwhelmed her once again as her eyes landed on the hordes of people gathered all across the bar but the weight of her exhaustion and the hope of seeing Calix one last time kept her rooted to her spot. She looked away from the crowd, feeling suffocated just by observing the way sweaty bodies grinded against one another and drunken figures tripping and stumbling their way across the crowd. She hadn't really thought about where she was driving to once she'd crossed out of Indianapolis. She'd just started driving without a destination in mind and she'd only realized where she was g

I said softly. He stared at me like he was not sure he had heard correctly. “What did you say?” “The blue line,” I answered. “You waited thirteen years for me to cross it. Tomorrow night, I’ll be in the stands.” For a second, he looked completely unable to speak. Then he turned my hand over slowly and pressed his palm against mine. His hand was much larger, rough with old calluses from years on the ice. “You owe me thirteen years of empty seats,” he said hoarsely.

"Deduct whatever needs to be deducted." He looked at me standing alone at the front desk and, in the end, didn't say anything else. After all, in what family did a wedding get handled entirely by the bride alone, from beginning to end, without the groom's parents ever showing their faces? By the time I signed the final cancellation agreement, night had fallen completely. I returned the pen to the manager. Just as I stepped out through the revolving door, my phone vibrated. It was a message from the secondhand marketplace.

I want to hear everything. Then I opened my laptop, cursor blinking against the white screen, and started a new document. The title came easily this time. “Crossing the Line: When Love and Ambition Learn to Breathe Together.” I wrote the first line slowly, smiling to myself. Some stories don’t end when you close the chapter. They just learn how to keep going. That night, when Ethan’s face filled my screen — tired but smiling — I realized it wasn’t the distance that defined us anymore. It was the choice to keep showing up.

Heather Jenner glanced at the ovulation test strip in her hand. The result was clear—a bold red line. Today was the day. Her body was about to release a mature egg. It would be her best chance to conceive. Without hesitation, she tossed the strip aside and stepped out of the bathroom. In the expansive, minimalist living room, a man lay sprawled across the sofa, drunk. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath. The gentle rise and fall of his throat with each breath was tantalizing.

My attention, however, remained focused on that pile of possessions. It was all about me: the hair tie I had lost at the age of sixteen, the letters I had sent to him during high school, the book I had authored, "Whispers Across the Moon," with my personal signature on the title page. Even my casual thoughts from social media had been printed and bound into a book. ...... And there were... plane tickets between Anglos City and Massachusetts, hundreds of them, spanning from the day Trevis was released from prison two years ago until just last week. It felt like time had stood still.

Hey friends! Thank you so much for reading Yours On the Dotted Line. I hope that you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Here are a couple of announcements/interesting information for you. If you are interested in what I listen to while I’m writing, you can find my playlist “Creative Juices” on Spotify. I love all different kinds of music, so there's a little something for everyone. I write all different kinds of books. If you’re interested, you can find my other books on these platforms: