Warrior Blue
Page 36
Things weren’t perfect, but our path to recovery was lit with hope. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying the journey.
Dr. Travetti hadn’t come the way I’d hoped she might. She was invited, both by Audrey and me. I wanted her to meet Jake. I also wanted her to see the progress I’d made since our last session so many months ago. But she hadn’t come. She called instead with an apology and an explanation.
“I got my closure at Christmas, and I’m worried that seeing Sabrina’s family again will reopen the wounds that have finally begun to heal,” she’d explained regrettably. “But I wanted to call and let you know, I am so proud of you, Blake. If I haven’t said it enough, I really am, and I do hope I see you again.”
I didn’t think I ever would, but I hoped, too.
Audrey quietly entered the room and closed the door behind her, barely allowing it to click shut. “Oh, my Lord,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I didn’t think that kid would ever go to sleep.”
“He’s excited,” I offered. “It’s been a long day.”
“Oh, I know.” She climbed onto the bed beside me, sitting with her legs crossed. “I just couldn’t wait to get in here with my birthday boy.”
Her porcelain fingertips made absentminded circles along my bicep while she hell my gaze with a quiet affection. Round and round, up and down, her eyes hooded and lips curved into a small smile. A full heat puffed inside my chest, coiled through my throat, and licked with pressing insistence against my tongue until I asked, “How the hell did I get so lucky?”
“I ask myself that question a thousand times a day.”
We had a good life and a good routine. It was an easy, comfortable blanket, wrapping us up in a warm security and reminding us with gentle smiles and gentler touches that this was it. She was it for me, and I was it for her, and I couldn’t create a more imperfectly perfect pairing if someone paid me to.
“I have something for you,” I said, losing the staring contest to look away and grab a book from the drawer in my nightstand.
“It’s not my birthday,” she protested with a giggled laugh.
“Trust me, this is a present for me, too.”
I handed her the book, something she immediately recognized with widened eyes and a soft separation of her lips. When she cracked the spine and opened the pages, she let out a whispered gasp.
“What?” I asked, amused.
“I didn’t think you’d write in it,” she admitted quietly.
“Why not?”
Audrey smiled and cocked her head exhaustedly, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “You’re a little hard to please.”
Snorting, I gestured toward the book, encouraging her to read, and she did.
There wasn’t much between the pages, admittedly. Poetry was something I succumbed to only when the inspiration struck, and that didn’t happen often. Only when life got too loud, too hard, or too much, did I feel the itching need to put pen to paper. But I had, when inspiration called, and I kept every single one.
There was a poem for my birthday last year. One for Thanksgiving and for Jake’s second accident. The prose scribbled on those lines were laced with pain and written with a shaking hand. But then, there were the others that came after. The one I wrote after Audrey and I had made love. The one I jotted down quickly while unpacking her boxes. The one about having dinner with my parents, so overwhelmed by the absence of bitter words and sour faces. The one I woke up to scribble in the dark, about watching her sleep, so overrun by love and the good things I never thought I’d have, or ever deserve but always wanted.
“Blake …” Her hand pressed hard against her chest, fingers splayed.
“I’ve come a long way,” I replied as she continued to read.
“You have,” she agreed.
“That’s because of you.”
Audrey looked up, blue eyes swimming in crystal lakes, and shook her head. “No. It’s because you let it happen. You got tired of standing still, of living in the past with all your guilt and anger, and you decided to start moving. You did that. I was just there, hoping to come along for the ride.”
“Well, it was a bumpy road,” I laughed bitterly.
While clutching the book in her hands, she leaned in, kissed my lips, and whispered, “The ones worth taking usually are.”
To read more about Blake & Audrey,
check out the bonus epilogue:
CLICK HERE FOR YOUR BONUS EPILOGUE
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Acknowledgements
MY LIFE HAS BEEN a complicated maze of coincidence and fate, and all of it has somehow led me here.
Somehow, around thirty years ago, I met a kid who’s mother planted the first seeds of my future. She told me then that my books would one day be on the shelves of the library. I wish I could tell her now that she was right.
Somehow, fourteen and a half years ago (at the time of writing this), I met a guy of impeccable artistic ability. I had no idea then that this guy would one day be my partner in crime, the father of my baby (brewing right now as I type this), my future husband, and the creator behind all of my covers.
Somehow, somewhere around ten years ago, while making beauty videos on YouTube, I met a gal from New Zealand. I had no idea then that this gal would one day be one of my greatest friends and the editor behind all of my stories.
Somehow, over the years, I’ve met an army of people—authors, friends, and readers alike—who have all played a part in putting me where I am right now.
Somehow, several years ago, I discovered these guys, Ryan and Matt Murray, a set of identical twin brothers in Salem, MA. They are both extremely talented tattoo artists, heavily inspired by the history of Salem and the dark, gritty macabre of life and death. I have followed their work for years, and because of them, I felt the pull to write a story about twins living in Salem. While they didn’t do much to inspire Jake Carson, their style of tattooing and physical aesthetic played an enormous part in the creation of Blake. So, thank you to them, for sharing their art with the world. One of these days, I’ll get to The Black Veil Studio and have them carve a piece of themselves into my skin.
I don’t know where I’d be without any of these people. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Dear Reader. I certainly wouldn’t have written this book, that’s for damn sure, but I’m so glad that I did.
About the Author
Kelsey Kingsley is a legally blind gal living in New York with her family and a cat named Ethel. She loves music, makeup, tattoos, and Edgar Allan Poe.
Kelsey is a Slytherin. She curses a lot and she fucking hates cheese.
More books from Kelsey
Holly Freakin’ Hughes
Daisies & Devin
The Life We Wanted
Tell Me Goodnight
Forget the Stars
Warrior Blue
The Kinney Brothers Series
One Night to Fall
To Fall for Winter
Last Chance to Fall
Hope to Fall