HAPPY RELEASE DAY
From Bestselling and Award Winning Author
Based on a Screenplay by Kevin James O’Neill
“This is the kind of book that wins Pulitzer Prizes.”
– Catherine Lanigan, Author of Romancing the Stone
Publisher: Progressive Rising Phoenix Press
Publication Date: June 30, 2017
A broken man, a dying woman, and a friendship that changes them both.
Franco Allessi is a broken, lonely man who wants nothing more than to outrun the ghosts of his past. For years, he tries to numb the pain of his wife’s death with cheap beer and whiskey. When he’s convicted of drunk driving, the judge revokes his license for six months and orders him to serve fifty hours of community service. Franco chooses Savannah Falls Hospice for no reason other than it’s walking distance from his dilapidated house trailer.
On his first day on the job, he meets Aubrey Brewer, a woman whose time on earth is quickly ticking to a stop. Their unusual connection teaches powerful, life-changing lessons about friendship, acceptance, and the importance of appreciating that precious treasure called Life.
Loree Lough is an exceptional author, and that’s why I approached her about writing the novel for my Feature film, 50 Hours. But I had no idea how wonderful her novelization would be until I read it. Loree was able to dig so deep into my characters. She unearthed and richly developed the filmís skeletal characters and give them three dimensional lives. I am so happy with the book!
– Kevin OíNeill, writer/director/actor/producer
Praise for 50 Hours by Loree Lough
50 Hours is a moving story about love, loss, friendship, and last chances. Itís a reminder that our lives are precious stories, no matter how long or short. This is a must-read for all of us who have been touched by cancer ñ victims, caregivers, family, and friends. This poignant and touching tale will inspire hope in the midst of even the darkest hours.
– Cerella Sechrist, author of the popular Findlay Roads series from Harlequin
You’ll laugh, you’ll cry… 50 Hours is an unforgettable tale of healing, redemption, and the cost of true love. With a delicate pen, author Loree Lough writes an honest and poignant view of what cancer patients face with commendable bravery. A must-read for readers of every kind!
– Rachel Muller, author of bestselling World War II series, Love & War, and the newly released, Phillip’s War
Loree Lough took a difficult subject and turned it into a compelling read with light humor to soften the inevitable sadness that comes with a depressing disease.
– Emma Gingerich ñ author of Runaway Amish Girl; the Great Escape
50 Hours is a book you wonít be able to put down, and its messages of love and compassion will linger with you long after youíve turned the last page.
– Kate James, award-winning author of Sanctuary Cove, Silver Linings, and The Truth About Hope
The novel is a reminder that life is indeed short, but always worth living. And almost alwaysÖ one life will touch many others. Great job Loree!
– Robin Bayne, author of Reunion At Crane Lake. www.robinbayne.com
Emerson said, “To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, this is to have succeeded.” Aubrey and Franco succeeded. Believe me when I say, THIS IS THE KIND OF BOOK THAT WINS PULITZER PRIZES.
– Catherine Lanigan, author of Romancing the Stone, The Jewel of the Nile, and over forty-five novels and non-fiction
To read the complete praises and accolades, visit the 50 Hours Book Page
at Book Unleashed.
Available now. Grab your copy today.
An Excerpt from the Book
Take an inside look at 50 Hours with this sizzling excerpt from the book.
DURING THE DRIVE BETWEEN THE COURTHOUSE AND MAMAíS BOY DINER, David Gibbons barely spoke. Even now, seated at their table near the windows, he remained quiet. Except for reciting his breakfast order, he hadnít said a word, but Franco knew it was only a matter of time before he let him have it with both barrels, as his grandpa used to say.
Finally, when the waitress was out of earshot, he stared hard at Franco.
A-a-and there it is, he thought, running shaky hands through his hair. ìOkay. Look. I know I should have called before all hell broke loose, but . . . but I was testing myself.î
David grabbed the sugar dispenser. ìTesting yourself.î He sounded more like a disappointed dad than an AA sponsor.
ìI thought maybe I could get through it on my own this time.î
ìBull.î He let the white granules stream into his cup. ìYou didnít think. If you had, you wouldíve given a thought to what happened last year. And the year before that.î
Franco knew heíd messed up. Again. And that he had nobody to blame but himself. Head pounding, he rubbed his temples as Davidís spoon clanked against the sides of the mug. Had he ever met anyone who made more noise stirring coffee? He didnít think so.
David pointed at Francoís swollen lips and the bloody butterfly bandage a nurse at the jail had taped over his left eyebrow. ìSo, who cleaned your clock?î
ìWell, there was this pool cue, see . . . î
ìReal funny. I notice youíre favoring your right ankle. I suppose the pool cue did that, too.î
ìNo. That was the work of the biker, attached to the pool cue.î Franco chuckled, then gripped his aching ribcage.
ìBusted ribs too, huh?î
ìProbably? You mean they didnít take you to the ER?î
ìThey offered. I said no.î
David couldnít call him anything he hadnít already called himself.
ìYouíre gonna have one heckuva scar when you peel that bandage off your forehead. Maybe itíll serve as a reminder, help you really think next time you decide to, ah, test yourself.î
ìYouíre all heart, David. All heart.î He smirked. ìExcept for your mouth, of course. Thatís more like another part of your anatomy.î
David waved away the insult. ìYou know how frustrating it is, watching you get this close to earning your one-year chip,î he said, thumb and forefinger an inch apart, ìand then you go and bungle it by pulling another dumb stunt? Every. Single. Year?î
Franco didnít have a comeback for that one. Heíd screwed up. Royally. At least no one got hurt, other than himself. David knew it, too.
The men sat in stony silence as the waitress delivered their food.
David peeled back the top of a tiny jelly container. ìWhen was the last time you went to a meeting?î he asked, smearing its contents on a wedge of toast.
It had been more than a month, but Franco didnít want to open himself up to another firestorm, so he stuffed his mouth with food and shrugged.
David counted on his fingers: ìPushing your limits. Breaking the rules. Avoiding tough questions.î He salted his eggs. ìYou remind me so much of my kid, itís almost scary.î He used his fork as a pointer. ìAnd that shouldnít come across as a compliment, since heís ten.î
TouchÈ, Franco thought, gulping his OJ. He winced when it stung the cuts inside his mouth.
ìMaybe this community service stuff will finally shake some sense into you.î
Heíd been acting like a fool for so long, it had become a habit. And yet he said, ìMaybe.î
ìHow long did the judge give you to choose your community service project?î
ìWell, it just so happens I have an idea.î
Franco stopped chewing. ìYeah?î
ìThereís a hospice, a half-mile or so from your traileró which is lucky for you, since you canít driveóand I happen to know theyíre in need of a gardener.î
Before Jillís death, his landscape business had kept the wolf from the door. In the three years since, the only garden tool heíd touched had been the shovel Clayton kept out back for scooping up his dogís poop. It might be nice, working hard again. Working so hard that he fell into bed too exhausted to have nightmares about the wreck that took Jill from him.
ìYou know the old saying, ëIf it seems too good to be trueí?î Franco lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. ìBut youíve got my attention.î
David explained that his sister-in-law had spent her final days at Savannah Falls. ìSo I know for a fact that itís a great place. I can take you over there, make introductions.î
ìI dunno, Dave. A hospice center? You know better than anybody that Iím not exactly a people person. Dealing with sick people?î He winced again.
ìOh, quit your bellyaching. Youíll be outside, mowiní and hoeiní, and the patients will be insideóî
ìódying.î Hungry as he was, Franco shoved his plate aside, because it hurt to chew, and the bacon and buttery eggs burned the cut on his lip. ìI dunno,î he said again.
ìYouíll do fine, if you just do your job and keep your big yap shut. For a change.î
Franco grinned despite himself. Had it been good luck or bad that put him together with a guy who never sugar-coated anything?
David slid his cell phone across the table. ìCall your lawyer, find out how we go about informing the judge that youíve decided to get back into the posie-planting business. Cause last thing you need right now is to violate courthouse protocol.î
Franco slid Carlisleís card from his pocket, and as he dialed, David said, ìWhen youíre through there, Iíll call Mrs. Kane, the director, arrange a meeting between you two. Sheís a good egg, but she doesnít take any guff, so Iíd watch my step if I were you. With any luck, sheíll put you to work tomorrow.î
ìI have a job, yíknow.î At least he hoped he had a job. Clayton might tell him to take a permanent hike once he heard . . . everything.
It only took a minute to run the hospice idea past the young attorney, and less than that to find out that a phone call from Carlisle would get things straight with Judge Malloy.
He returned Davidís phone. ìThe kid said I should get over to Savannah Falls and sign up ASAP. Said the judgeís office wouldnít waste any time checking up on me. And that I need to keep track of my hours, so that when the paperwork comes through . . . î
Phone pressed to his ear, David wasnít listening, because heíd already connected with Savannah Falls. Franco picked up a slice of cold bacon, and took care not to let it graze his sore lips when he bit off a chunk. He slid the plate close again. Hard to tell when heíd have the timeóor the moneyófor another meal, so he did his best to clean his plate, listening as David explained the situation to the takes-no-guff Mrs. Kane.
ìShe can meet with you this afternoon,î he said, dropping the phone into his shirt pocket.
It was all happening too fast. Way too fast for Francoís taste. ìBut . . . but I need to figure out how to get the Jeep out of the impound lot. And get over to the garage, see if Clayton can find something for me to do that doesnít involve a driverís license.î
ìIíll chauffer you around today. But first things first. Iím taking you home so you can clean up your boozy self. You need a shower. A toothbrush. And a change of clothes.î He wrinkled his nose. ìYou lookóand smellólike something my cat puked up.î
ìCat puke, huh?î Franco smirked, even though it hurt to do it. ìPeople can call you a lot of things, Gibbons, but tactful isnít one of them.î
ìTact!î David got to his feet and tossed a twenty onto the table. ìWho has time for tact with you falling off the wagon and going ballistic every couple months?î
Ordinarily, a crack like that would have set Franco off. For some reason, it struck him as weird penance, because he knew he had it coming.
Prizes up for grabs:
$10 Amazon Gift Card
50 Hours (eBook Copy)
50 Hours (Print Copy)
Contest runs from June 30 – July 8, 2017.
Bestselling author LOREE LOUGH once sang for her supper, performing across the U.S. and Canada. Now and then, she blows the dust from her 6-string to croon a tune or two, but mostly, she writes novels that have earned hundreds of industry and “Readers’ Choice” awards, 4- and 5-star reviews, and 7 book-to-movie options. Her 115th book, 50 Hours, is her most personal to date. Recently released, The Man She Knew, book #1 in her ìBy Way of the Lighthouseî series from Harlequin Heartwarming.
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