Christian wouldn’t tell me. He insisted on waiting until we were together to translate. I tried to cheat and use a translation app but it said something about streaming ice cream with a duck paddle. He assured me that wasn’t accurate.
He takes the letter from me now and reads softly for the two of us.
Emma
Zvykol som utekať aby som unikol. Teraz utekám k tebe. So slovami to dobre neviem, ale v deň keď som ťa spoznal hviezdy zostúpili na Zem.
S láskou
Christian
Yeah, I’m grinning like an idiot when he finishes. The words sound way better coming from his lips and there’s no way it translates to something about duck paddles. I swear, a condition of us living together will be that he teaches me Slovak, even if it’s just so I can listen to him speak it.
“Okay, hot shot. So what does it mean?”
“Hot shot?”
“Braggart.”
He lifts a brow, and I shove him. “Quit stalling and tell me what it means.”
“You really want to know?”
“Christian!”
He laughs and shrugs with a mischievous glint.
“I will tell you. I promise. Tonight.”
“What? No! I’ve already waited a week!”
“Don’t bother arguing, Emma,” Harper calls back. “He’s got the whole thing planned.”
“What thing?” I ask, staring over at him in surprise.
“You’ll see,” he says, still super mischievous-like.
Ugh. I cross my arms and thump back to my seat.
When you only bring three suitcases of belongings, it doesn’t take long to move into a new residence. One of my favorite vistas on the planet is the view from my queen-sized bed watching Christian organize his clothing in our drawers. I think he might be annoyed I keep following him around the apartment as he puts his stuff away, but I still can’t believe this is happening.
Because a lot of his credits didn’t transfer, he will have to complete another two years at Deepsilver to get his bachelor’s degree. I’m fine with that since I’ll be enrolled for the same length of time working on my masters in social work. Harper… well, she’s switched majors so many times, I’m not positive she’ll ever graduate. A dilemma for another time.
“Okay, I think that’s all,” Christian says, glancing around our room. Our room!
“You sure? There are some things you needed to buy when you arrived. Do you want to go to the store now?”
He leans toward the window and peeks out. “It’s getting dark.”
“And that means we can’t go to the store?”
He straightens, and there it is again. That mischievousness from the car ride earlier. “No, but we have plans.”
“Oh yeah?”
He nods and pulls a pair of swim trunks from the dresser. “Yes. Put your bikini on.”
“Wait, what? You want to go swimming? Now?”
“What do you say always? Um… duh?”
I smack his arm, and he laughs. “I just mean… wow, in all our time here last summer, I don’t think we ever swam in the ocean together,” I muse out loud.
His head shakes, eyes glistening. “Right. We didn’t. Not once. Get dressed.”
Harper and Jakub opt for a beach walk under the stars instead of a risky night time swim. Christian’s smugness over the whole plan makes me pretty sure they weren’t invited anyway. We stand alone in the surf now, hand-in-hand, staring out over the reflective ripples. It’s a clear night, the moon bright and high in the sky. Despite the strong breeze, I’m not cold. In fact, my body heat has been steadily rising since watching him change into that suit. Have I mentioned how gorgeous he is?
He starts into the water, pulling me behind him, and okay, maybe it’s a little chilly. My limbs quickly adjust, however, and by the time we get past the breakers, I’m comfortable floating in the gentle waves. He comes up behind me, hauling me against him. I sink into his chest, loving the feel of his strong arms as they guide us up and over each soft roll of water. The light reflects the surface in a vast display of natural tealights to illuminate our private little universe. It’s perfection, and this might just be the most peaceful, happiest moment of my life.
The ocean I love.
The man I love.
What could better than being wrapped up and submerged in both?
“This is dangerous, you know. We shouldn’t be swimming at night,” I whisper.
I feel him chuckle. “Good thing your boyfriend is a lifeguard.”
“Good thing.”
I twist around to face him, locking my arms around his neck. When I look into his face, my breath catches at the effect of the moon on his eyes. Thankfully, he’s the one who speaks next.
“That letter,” he says softly. “Here is what I wanted to tell you. Right here. Just like this.”
My heart hammers in my chest. Can he feel it? Is my pounding blood the reason for these waves?
“Look up at the sky.”
I follow his instructions and melt at the feel of his lips on my neck. He stops kissing me and stares up into the endless heavens as well.
“’Emma, I used to run to escape. Now I just want to run to you. I am not good with words, but the day I met you was the day my stars came to earth.’”
Who can tell the difference between ocean water and tears? Not me. Not him when I bury my face in his chest and hold on with everything I am.
“You are my stars too,” I whisper. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Emma. Ľúbim ťa.”
“Tian, hey! You awake?”
I groan and swat Kozy out of my face. “What?”
“Oh good, you’re up.”
I curse at him and rub the sleep from my eyes. When they adjust to the dark, all I see is my roommate staring at his phone. He flips the screen to me, I guess to show me some strange-looking website?
“Okay?” I say, pushing up from the bed. I swing my legs over the edge and settle for a better look at the phone he shoves into my hand.
“Read it!”
“It’s in English.”
“Yeah? And you speak English.”
“Kind of.”
“Okay, well you better start practicing because we’re doing this.”
“Doing what?”
I squint at the screen again. Wait, lifeguard?
“Lifeguard?” I repeat out loud. “You’re joking. Why the hell would we want to be lifeguards?”
“Not just that. Look where!”
I scroll down the ad and almost drop the phone. “Deepsilver? In the United States?”
He grins like a kid with a brand new puppy. “You’ve always dreamed of going to America. This is how we do it. An entire summer, and we get paid! It explains everything right there. The visas and the housing and…”
He says a lot more but my brain only heard one thing. America. Land of the free and fifty fucking stars. For someone who’s spent their life running toward freedom and fresh starts this has to be the ultimate escape. He’s right. I’ve been dreaming about going to the United States for as long as I can remember. It just never seemed possible. Kids like me didn’t dare to hope for opportunities like this, but here it is. Glowing on a small screen in my hand.
There’s just one problem.
“Oh and think about the girls. All those beautiful American girls? Maybe one of them will even catch your eye! Can you picture it, Tian? The two of us on a beach in America?”
I can. God, I want that so much. Again, just one problem.
“So you’re in, right? I hope so because I’ve already asked for applications for both of us.”
“It sounds incredible but—”
“Great! So basically we finish this semester, and then we leave at the end of May for the entire summer. Almost three and a half months on the beach… IN AMERICA!”
“Okay, but Kozy—”
“We’ll need some money, of course, but I bet if we talk to my parents, they’ll help. And then yo
u have your job and I can get one too. We won’t need too much because we’ll get paid while we’re there but—”
“Jakub!”
“What?” He glares over at me, clearly annoyed that I’m interrupting his fantasy.
“We’d be going over as lifeguards.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, so? There’s some test we have to take here in about six months, and then training and another test over there and—”
“So, I can’t swim.”
I see the moment his world collapses around him. I get it, because I feel it too. So close. So fucking close! I stare at the phone in his hand, nearly shaking with desire. I’ve fought battle after battle, war after war. Sacrificing mind, body, and soul to survive. When do I get to fight for something I want instead?
“Wow. Well shit.”
“Yeah.”
After a long pause I motion for the phone and he hands it back to me. I take it with trembling fingers and read through the advertisement again.
America.
Opportunity.
Freedom.
Too bad it’s impossible. Ridiculous, impractical, and completely hopeless—just like every other obstacle I’ve overcome to get here.
“You said we have six months until the first test, right?”
He nods, raising a curious brow at me.
“Alright.” I pull in a deep breath and turn my gaze to the small window.
I can’t see more than the faint glow of the moon from my vantage point, but even flush with the glass you can’t see past the neighboring academic building. I’ve always hated obstructed views. The claustrophobic squeeze of an incomplete picture that can never reach its potential. It’s the view I’ve been seeing since I was seven years old. But oceans…
What do stars look like stretched out over an endless ocean?
I straighten in my seat and hand the phone back to Jakub. “Then I guess I better learn to swim.”
The End.
More from Alyson
Alyson Santos is a writer, musician, and cat lover. You will find evidence of her obsession with music in most of her books, many of which are now available in audio and/or Kindle Unlimited. Have you faced the music in these emotional and powerful stories about finding the light in the darkness? Explore love in a new way by checking out these other titles by Alyson. Happy reading!
THE NSB ROCKER SERIES
NIGHT SHIFTS BLACK (NSB #1)
TRACING HOLLAND (NSB #2)
VIPER (NSB #3)
LIMELIGHT (NSB #4)
AN NSB WEDDING (NSB #5)
STANDALONES
HAUNTED MELODY
YOUNG LOVE
TRAITOR (TWISTED FATE #1)
More about Deepsilver
I’d like to extend a special thank you to bestselling author Sunniva Dee for loaning me her university beach town of Deepsilver.
For more on Sunniva Dee and her Deepsilver world
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Acknowledgements
From the start of my journey, I’ve been blown away by the amount of support from new friends, readers, bloggers, and fellow authors. I can’t possibly see this as my accomplishment, but as an incredible blessing thanks, in large part, to all of you. There are so many people in my heart, and I wish I could list every one of you, even though I know it’s impossible. Please know that I treasure you all and take nothing for granted.
To my amazing husband who is always there to support me. Without you I would not be writing these words.
To Christian Angyal: I literally couldn’t have written this book without you. I wish you all the best as you pursue you dreams and reach for the stars. I know you will get there one day!
To Hazel James, Lindsey DeCastro, and Jayne Frost: Thank you for always believing in my words even when I don’t. You give me the courage to keep going when I need it most.
To Sunniva Dee: Thank you for your encouragement and patience. Love you, AB.
To Nicola Tremere, Darlene Avery, Kali McQuillen, and Brenda Travers: Your friendship and feedback mean so much to me.
To Ania Bellon: Thank you for your friendship and taking the time to read my manuscript for an Eastern European perspective!
To Ryan and Alli Anderson: So honored to call you friends and grateful you’ll always be “only a phone call away.” Thank you for sharing your medical knowledge and patience for my many questions!
To Det. Chad Bruckner: Thank you for all that you do and your willingness to share your knowledge. Happy to call you a friend!
To Monika MacFarlane (Ampersand Book Covers): Thank you for designing the perfect cover for Emma and Christian’s story.
To the “epic” members of ABC (Aly’s Breakfast Club): I can never thank you enough for your encouragement and support. You always bring a smile to my face and remind me why I do this. I love you hard!
To all my readers, I wish I could thank every one of you. Thank you for taking this journey with me and I would love to hear from you!
Excerpt from YOUNG LOVE
Prologue 0 - 0 = 0
I’ve always loved numbers.
It’s safer living in a world of blacks and whites, and numbers told the stories I could accept.
Eight: The number of friends I could make with the chocolates in my hand.
Four: The number of pounds that made Mom smile at my weight-loss weigh-ins.
Seventeen: The number I chose to become a woman by giving my virginity to Joe Morris.
If anything, numbers became more important the older I got, even transforming into a career. First, I handled small numbers. Six-hundred-thirty-three to pay the packaging vendor. Two-thousand-ninety-seven to deposit from the day’s receipts. From there, the numbers grew bigger and flaunted labels like Net Profit, Gross Revenue, Assets, and Liabilities. Important people relied on me to interpret such numbers in critical situations. They trusted me, respected me for my obsessive love. Numbers gave me purpose and value. Numbers never failed.
It didn’t take long for numbers to tell new kinds of stories. Business owners pay dearly for Potential Numbers called Projections, Budgets, and foundations for Strategic Planning. Numbers began to fill my bank account, stacking up security in a black and white world where they ruled my life.
Numbers were essential.
Critical.
Universal.
A useful map to navigate every stage of the day.
One: The minimum number of hours on the elliptical.
Twelve: The number of minutes required to prepare a simple meal for one.
Six: The number that triggers an alarm each morning, even on Sundays.
Numbers, the very foundation of my existence and the most important thing in my life.
Until one.
Thirty-eight.
The first number I hated.
The number that taught me it was all a lie.
Chapter 0 - 1 = -1
“Sienna!”
“In here.” I flex another pose for the full-length mirror. No change. I still look like a woman who shouldn’t be going to a club like Rosefire.
“Oh.” Karen stops short. Guess she agrees. “You don’t have anything less… you?”
“Hilarious. I barely know this guy.”
“So you dress like a funeral director for people you don’t know?”
I suppose she’s
earned that opinion. Then again, if not for her I’d be having another peaceful evening on the elliptical, binge-watching crime dramas and racking up collars from my armchair detective’s desk. It’s fun breaking down the scriptwriters’ formula before the TV cops do. Let’s hope real detectives are better at their jobs.
She sighs and tugs at the sleeve of my pant suit. It’s a favorite of mine for client meetings and...
Oh.
“You can’t wear this to a club, Sienna. Hell, you shouldn’t wear it anywhere. Hang on.”
She assaults the racks in my closet for some miracle she won’t find.
Forty-two: the number of tops hanging in color-coded sections.
Seven: the number of dresses.
Zero: the amount of club-worthy ensembles in my collection.
Anyway, after the hell of this week, she’s lucky I’m not in yoga pants.
“Do you own anything that doesn’t belong in a courtroom?” she mumbles.
“There’s that dress I wore to my cousin’s wedding last year.”
“This?” She pulls out the offending fabric with a grimace.
“You said I looked nice.”
“Yeah? We’re not going for nice, hon. You like this guy, right? He’s cute?”
“Cute?” Can forty-three-year-old accountants be cute?
“Hot. Whatever.”
“I said he was attractive.”
“Okay, fine. Attractive. And he invited you to his party.”
“I told you, I barely know him.”
“Exactly! Which means he’s interested.”
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