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By Amy Hatvany

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Advance Praise for It Happens All the Time:

"Spellbinding, timely, and unflinchingly honest. This novel will consume you."  (Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author of The Weight of Silence and Missing Pieces)

“This compelling, emotional novel reads like the complex truth behind the headlines. It Happens All the Time is a full throttle story with heart." (Deb Caletti, National Book Award finalist)

“At the heart of this moving novel are characters so vivid and tragically real, you can’t help but understand them as they self-sabotage, even in unforgiveable ways. It Happens All the Time is an important exercise in empathy and an unflinchingly honest look at the impact of all too common traumas.” (Jane Green, New York Times bestselling author)

“Compelling… a must read for Sexual Assault Awareness Month.” (PopSugar)

"Bravely told and intoxicatingly honest, It Happens All The Time is a compulsory read for men and women—it bravely and urgently explores the meaning of consent everyone desperately needs to understand." (Redbook)

“It Happens All the Time delves into the issues of friendship, power dynamics, and consent. With nuance and compassion for her characters, Hatvany reveals the fallout of the ultimate betrayal of trust.” (Kirkus Reviews)

“Hatvany tackles an important, and timely, subject…this title will be appreciated by fans of Jodi Picoult or Diane Chamberlain.” (Library Journal)

“A raw and emotional journey about the shattering impact of sexual assault with the added confusion of the assailant being a loved one. This novel gets to the heart of the deeply pertinent issue of consent…[it] captivates from start to finish and plants a bug of reflection in the mind.” (RT Book Reviews)

Praise for Somewhere Out There:
"It's no secret that Amy Hatvany is a master of creating compelling, beautiful, flawed characters. This time around, Hatvany has reached new levels of aching honesty and brilliant empathy. A daring, compassionate, and deeply human story, Somewhere Out There is Hatvany at her very best. The women of this book will open your mind, break your heart, and stay with you long after you've turned the last page." (Taylor Jenkins Reid, Author of Maybe in Another Life)

"Gripping and emotionally honest." (Stephanie Evanovich New York Times bestselling author)

“Hatvany brings readers a riveting, controversial story of how impactful our childhood experiences are in defining us as adults.” (YourTango)

“Hatvany deals with topics a lot of us are too afraid to discuss. This will definitely get conversations going.” (Redbook)

Praise for Safe With Me:
“SAFE WITH ME is a stirring portrait of two moms, linked by tragedy, who rescue each other in more ways than one." (Good Housekeeping)

“Hatvany does a marvelous job of not letting the plot get too maudlin or ‘ripped from the headlines,’ and her characters have warmth and depth. Readers will find themselves cheering for these women. A good pick for women’s-fiction fans, particularly those who enjoy the realistic stories of Emily Giffin and Kristina Riggle.” (Booklist on SAFE WITH ME)

"In Amy Hatvany's capable hands, richly drawn characters explore everything that is complex, difficult, powerful and poignant about being a mother, a daughter, a friend. SAFE WITH ME is an extraordinary look behind the curtain into the very private pains of women, and the hope that endures when you survive the unthinkable. It will remind you that the human spirit can triumph over all, and you will wish you could reach directly into these pages and hug the heroines." (Stacey Ballis author of Off the Menu)

"Amy Hatvany is a strong new voice in contemporary women's fiction. SAFE WITH ME is a compelling, thought-provoking novel about three women learning from each other as they navigate through a terrain filled with both tragedy and opportunity." (Kristin Hannah #1 New York Times bestselling author)

"Equally heartbreaking and heart-pounding, Amy Hatvany's SAFE WITH ME puts her in the very fine company of Jodi Picoult as an author who takes tender real-life moments and compels the reader to care until the very last page. A book that will stick with you for days." (Allison Winn Scotch New York Times bestselling author of The Time of My Life)

Praise for Heart Like Mine:
“The novel explores myriad themes sure to appeal to fans of women’s fiction: love and loss, parenthood, grief, friendship, and complex family dynamics. Hatvany’s compassion for each female character is evident throughout, and readers will find their hearts, at times, breaking in three.” (Booklist)

“The voices are so down-to-earth and familiar and the events so much like real life that readers will feel like they know the characters…An uplifting and heartwarming experience.” (Kirkus Reviews)

"By turns gripping and revelatory, Heart Like Mine is a sympathetic exploration of blended family dynamics. In her affecting new novel, Amy Hatvany pulls no punches; her characters grapple with life's big moments—marriage, parenthood, death—but she renders each of them with compassion and understanding. Heart Like Mine tells an honest, hopeful story that resonates in all the best ways." (Jillian Medoff bestselling author of I Couldn't Love You More)

"Heart Like Mine fearlessly explores men and women desperate to measure up to the rigors of parenthood, but still failing their children. Hatvany bring sympathy and compassion to the page, while never losing sight of the damage children suffer when their parents make bad decisions." (Randy Susan Meyers bestselling author of The Murderer's Daughters)

"A heartfelt, moving story about the lasting effects of grief amidst family bonds and breakups, and the healing powers of love, honesty, and acceptance. Hatvany writes with such wise compassion for every one of her characters." (Seré Prince Halverson author of The Underside of Joy)

“A palpable love story, emotional search for and acceptance of a lost parent, and a bittersweet ending make for an enveloping, heartfelt read.” (Publishers Weekly)

"Beautiful and deeply moving, Amy Hatvany writes about the tangled web of family in a way that makes you laugh, cry, cheer and ache. This book has so much heart." (Sarah Jio New York Times bestselling author of Blackberry Winter)

“There are no storybook perfect endings here, but this compelling novel raises the possibility of a hopeful way forward.” (The Seattle Times)

“Will delight readers…vivid and written with a depth of feeling.” (Library Journal)

“Compelling…a fascinating look at mental illness—the exuberance and self-loathing, creativity and destruction that then reverberate against the lives of family and loved ones.” (Juliette Fay Shelter Me)

“Like a gorgeous dark jewel, Hatvany’s novel explores the tragedy of a mind gone awry, a tangled bond of father and daughter, and the way hope and love sustain us. It does what the best fiction does: it makes us see and experience the world differently.” (Caroline Leavitt New York Times bestselling author of Pictures of You)

“I’m telling everyone about Best Kept Secret. It’s the realistic and ultimately hopeful story of Cadence, whose glass of wine at the end of the day becomes two…then…three…then a bottle. I love that Cadence feels so familiar, she could be my neighbor, my friend, or even my sister.” (Jennifer Weiner #1 New York Times bestselling author)

“I was transfixed by Cadence and her heart-wrenching dilemma. The writing is visceral, the problems are real, and there are no clear solutions. You won’t want to put it down.” (Emily Giffin New York Times bestselling author of Where We Belong)

Amy Hatvany is the author of Best Kept Secret, Outside the Lines, The Language of Sisters, Heart Like Mine, and Safe with Me. She lives in Seattle, Washington, with her family.

It Happens All the Time

Tyler

I don’t see the gun until it’s pointed right at me.

“Drive,” she says, shifting her upper body toward me. We are in the cab of my truck, me behind the wheel, Amber in the passenger seat. Her arm trembles, from uncertainty or the weight of the weapon, it’s impossible to tell.

I look at her, blinking fast. “Amber, wait—”

“Shut up.” Her voice is stone. Unyielding. She cocks the hammer with her thumb and I jerk to the left, toward the driver’s side window. My shoulders hunch up around my ears and then—I can’t help it—I say her name again.

“I said, shut up!” Amber repeats, this time with a shrill, unstable edge. She tilts her head toward the parking lot’s exit. “Go.” Her index finger rests against the side of the trigger. One twitch, one small movement, and it could all be over.

I straighten and try to steady my breath. Just do what she says. I put the key in the ignition, turn it, and the engine springs to life. The radio blasts and Amber and I both startle; she hurries to snap it off. A bead of sweat slides down my forehead, despite the bone-chilling bite in the air. It’s early November, and it strikes me that it has been almost a year since she came home for Christmas and found me waiting for her at her parents’ house. So much has happened since then. Everything has changed.

I pull out onto the street, telling myself that one of my coworkers inside the red-brick station house must have noticed the two of us together, that something in Amber’s stance or facial expression hinted at what she was about to do. Someone will follow us or, at the very least, call the police. But even as I think these things, I know they won’t happen. My partner, Mason, had already left for home, for his wife and daughter. The paramedic team who took over for us was behind the closed doors of the garage, double-checking inventory in the rig. The firefighters were upstairs in the bunk room, sleeping if they needed it, or in the gym, shooting the shit and lifting weights to pass the time. As first responders, we are accustomed to crises, our bodies conditioned to react. We race toward disaster instead of from it, but we don’t stand by the window, scanning our surroundings, expecting to see it as it strikes.

When I first stepped outside and saw Amber waiting for me in the dimly lit parking lot, I was foolish enough to feel a spark of hope. “We need to talk,” she said, and I nodded, noting that she was thinner than I’d seen her in years. Her face was gaunt, sharp cheekbones and enormous hazel eyes in darkened sockets. Her thin brown hair fell in messy waves to her jawline, and she wore a puffy black ski jacket that only emphasized her stick-slim legs. She couldn’t have weighed much more than a hundred pounds. Nine years ago, when she was fifteen, in the hospital at her worst, she had weighed eighty-two.

“Get on the freeway,” Amber says now, releasing the hammer and dropping the gun to her lap, where she cradles it, staring straight ahead. Her face is shrouded in shadow, making it impossible for me to guess what she is thinking. “Go south.”

“You don’t need to do this,” I say, hoping I might be able to reason with her. “You said we need to talk, so please . . . let’s talk.”

“Just drive where I tell you to drive.” She lifts the gun and points it at me again, this time holding it with two hands, one cupped under the other, her finger still lying next to the trigger.

“Okay, okay! Sorry.” A familiar, tightly wound panic coils in my chest; I worry what might happen if it springs loose. “You don’t need the gun.”

Her eyes narrow into slits. “Don’t tell me what I need.” She jabs the nose of the weapon into my ribs and cocks the hammer once more.

I gasp, and then pump the brakes, slowing to a stop at a red light. My eyes flit to our surroundings, searching for someone on the street, anyone I can signal for help, but it’s three in the morning in our sleepy college town. There are no other cars around.

The tips of my nerves burn beneath my skin, and then I hear my dad’s deep voice in my head: “Don’t just sit there, Son. Do something.”

The light turns green, and Amber pushes the gun deeper into my side, urging me forward. I ease my foot down on the gas pedal, contemplating the ways my father might take control of a situation like this. I see him shooting out his right arm and grabbing Amber by the back of the neck, slamming her head against the dashboard. I imagine his thick fingers curling into a fist and punching her in the face.

But I don’t want to hurt Amber, not more than I already have. What I want is for everything to go back the way it was when we first met—before my parents’ divorce and her illness, before we grew apart and then came back together, closer than ever, last June, after she came home from school with an engagement ring on her finger. I want to rewind the clock, take back the night when the world shattered. I want to erase everything that went wrong.

“I hate you,” she says. Her voice sounds diseased, infected with disgust. “I hate you so fucking much.”

I wince, suspecting that I deserve every bit of that venom, the pain of the gun jammed against my ribs. I might even deserve the bullets inside it. I turn onto the freeway onramp, accelerate, and then, unsure what Amber’s plan might be, I look at her. “I know,” I say. “I hate me, too.”

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