by Erin Noelle
“Maybe fifteen minutes or so. Not long after you called us in,” she answers. “She must’ve been trying to answer you when you were talking to her, but couldn’t figure out how to use her voice.”
Unable to resist the urge to touch her, I reach out and stroke my thumb across her cheek. “Can she talk now?”
“I can, but my throat feels like I gargled with shards of broken glass,” Lyra croaks as her eyes—puffy and bloodshot but more beautiful than ever—flutter open and lock directly on me. The new numbers—031476—shine bold and bright.
“Welcome back, buttercup,” I breathe, choking on the swell of emotion bubbling up inside me and threatening to overflow. “Fuck, I missed you, baby. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
She peers up at me and blinks hard once, twice, and by the third time, I realize something’s not right. Her mouth keeps opening like she’s going to say something else, but no words are coming out.
“What is it, Lyra? What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” I question, ready to fix any and everything in her life that I can.
“The numbers,” she hisses, pointing at my eyes with a look in her own that I can’t quite interpret. “I can see them again. On everyone.”
My Adam’s apple bobs in my throat as I nod sharply. I really wasn’t planning on having this conversation first thing, but I should’ve realized she would notice the numbers were back immediately.
“Yeah, I started seeing them again Thursday night,” I admit reluctantly.
“Can you see mine? Are they the same as before?”
I clench my jaw and nod again, refusing to lie to her. “I can see everyone’s, but I really think we should talk about this later, once we’re home and alone. You just woke up from a coma. The last thing you need is to stress about the numbers. Why don’t you get some rest while I talk to the doctor? Plus, Ma’s gonna be anxious to see you too.”
“Tavian West from Philadelphia,” Lyra warns as she grabs my arm with her uninjured hand and yanks me down toward her, “it doesn’t matter if my numbers in my eyes are today’s date, next April 23rd, or a hundred years from now. The numbers that matter most are tattooed on our fingers for the rest of eternity. And when I die, I’ll go knowing you love me to Jupiter and back, just like I love you, and that gives me more width and depth than anyone can measure.”
Fuck, how does she do that? How can she make me feel like the king of the world with one little thing she says? Make me want to give her whatever she wants?
Before I answer her question and let her know she’s got another six decades to add to that width and depth, I need her to answer mine first. I have to know how many more days I get to be the luckiest guy in the world.
“What numbers do you see in my eyes, Lyra?”
Releasing her grasp on my arm, she presses her palm to my cheek and answers without hesitation. “April 23rd...”
Time stops and I reach for her, steeling myself, desperate for the peace only she can bring as I learn my number didn’t change along with hers.
“2076.”
LYRA
10.18.16
There’s something downright magical about the fair on a warm, muggy summer night, when the sun disappears behind the giant Ferris wheel and the blinking lights grow brighter and more mesmerizing against the inky night sky. The heavenly aromatic combination of funnel cakes, sausage on a stick, and fried Twinkies hangs like a canopy over the grounds, making your mouth water and your stomach growl. A soundtrack of balloons popping, bells ringing, and screams of joy from young and old alike plays on a constant loop in the background. A complete sensory overload that pulls you in, drowns you in happiness, and swallows you whole from the second you arrive until the moment you leave.
When my parents died the weekend before my eleventh birthday—the day we were supposed to leave for our annual trip to the Texas State Fair—I repressed every memory I had about this place, burying it in the dark recesses of my mind. The pain was too much for me at that age, especially coupled with the sudden realization of the significance of the six-digit numbers I see in people’s eyes, and consequently, I forgot about some of the absolute best days of my life.
But now, days before my twenty-fifth birthday and on the fourteenth anniversary of my parents’ accident, I stand here outside the entrance with my husband and stare up at the iconic enormous inflatable cowboy that looms high above the entire grounds, without an ounce of grief or sorrow inside me. My focus is on the future and the memories I’ve yet to make with my own family. The ones that start now.
I glance down at the tiny eleven-week-old sleeping human strapped to my chest, and the already huge smile on my face somehow stretches even wider. “Chloe looks pretty pumped about her first fair, doesn’t she?” I joke, lightly squeezing Tavian’s fingers linked with mine. “With our luck, she’ll probably sleep through the entire thing and wake up as soon as we get back to the hotel.”
“I’d say the odds of that happening are pretty high, but I’m no mathematician.” He grins and gives me that damn chin-dimple that makes my knees go weak, while softly stroking the top of our daughter’s bald head with his thumb. “At least not anymore. I’m a man of words now. A wordsmith, if you will.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, though I really shouldn’t. I’ve read To Jupiter and Back, the book he’s written and waiting to publish, and all love-bias aside, it’s absolutely phenomenal. So good, in fact, when he queried agents to shop it for him earlier this year, every person he contacted was interested in representing him, and he had his choice of who he wanted to work with. Since then, he’s signed a three-book deal with a publishing giant and is currently in talks with screenwriters about adapting the first novel into a film. Like I’ve always said—he’s an overachiever.
“You’ll always be a math nerd, babe,” I tease as I lean over and peck his scruffy cheek. “But if you want to smith some words right now, I suggest they be along the lines of ‘let’s go have fun!’ or I may explode with anticipation.”
He catches me by the waist and pulls me close, careful not to squish or disrupt the baby’s nap in the process—a maneuver he has perfected over the last couple of months—and then crashes his lips down on mine in a hard, possessive kiss. “The only exploding you’ll be doing, buttercup,” he growls low in my ear, sending a sensual shiver snaking up my spine, “will be when you’re riding my cock later tonight and letting me play with those beautiful tits.”
“Tavian.” My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, even though no one is close enough to have heard him, and my nipples grow tight under my bra. After getting over the shock of finding out I was pregnant at my six-week post-op appointment—my IUD was unknowingly jarred loose during the Annie incident—I was worried that Tavian wouldn’t find me attractive once I started gaining weight and my body shape began to change. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
He can’t keep his hands off me now, especially my boobs, which I must admit have profited the most from the weight gain. I did try to nurse Chloe at the beginning, but she struggled to latch on properly, and after spending night after night in tears, frustrated and feeling like a failure, I switched her to formula at the three-week mark, for her health and my sanity. It wasn’t an easy decision, but I’ve since made my peace with it, and that peace comes in the form of Tavian being able to participate in night feedings and my fuller, more sensitive rack being available for him to play with whenever he wants. Which is all the damn time.
It wouldn’t surprise me if I end up pregnant again before the end of the year.
Releasing my hip from his grasp, he relaces our fingers together and winks mischievously. “C’mon, my gorgeous girls. Let’s go have fun! Show me everything you remember and lead me to whatever smells so damn good.”
We take off onto the grounds and I spend the next four hours sharing with Tavian and Chloe—who does sleep through most of it, though it’s not like she knows what’s going on anyway—everything my parents and I used to do when we came. Though I c
an’t ride anything other than the carousel with her wrapped to my chest, I still show him all my old favorites and we talk about which ones we want to ride when we come back next year and every year after that.
It might seem silly to some people, traveling all the way from our home in Philadelphia to Dallas, to attend a fair we can’t actively enjoy, but not to us. Not even for a second. The events over the last year-and-a-half have reiterated the importance of making the most of the time we’re given, and we don’t waste a single day.
Now, that’s not to say we don’t have many days where we lounge around the apartment in our pajamas and do nothing but watch bad TV and eat junk food, but we appreciate those quiet, lazy moments as much as we do the loud, crazy ones. Tavian and I constantly work together to find the perfect balance for our little family, and despite the chaos that often surrounds us, we’ve proven to be a kick-ass team.
From my extensive recovery and rehab, to the all-encompassing life changes that come with having a baby, to the stress of dealing with the legal case against Annie—which is still ongoing—our first year of marriage has been about as far from smooth and uneventful as it gets. Yet, through it all, Tavian and I only grow closer and stronger, even when he annoys the crap out of me to the point I want to hide in the aisles of Target and eat ice cream I haven’t paid for straight from the carton.
Okay, I’ve only done that once. And in my defense, I was seven months pregnant and had just found my first stretch mark.
“You look exhausted, buttercup, and baby girl is passed out again. How about we call it a night and head back to the hotel?” Tavian asks, his voice pulling me from my deep inner thoughts. “We can come back in the morning and try some of this deep-fried bacon you keep raving about. I’ll have to decide if it goes on the official record or not.”
Grinning, I cuddle me and Chloe up to his strong chest and gaze into his electric blue eyes as his numbers—042376—shine brightly back at me. We still don’t know why we can see the numbers, or why they disappeared for those few months last year, or if our daughter—whose numbers are 053091—will be able to see them too. But we can’t control any of that, just like we can’t control when our time is up.
So we focus on our depth and width, and we continue to add and scratch things off our bucket list. And when our time here on earth finally does expire, we have no doubt our love will last for an eternity.
The journey writing this book was very similar to when I wrote my very first published work, Metamorphosis—no expectations, no timelines, no obligations. Each time I sat down at my laptop, it was just me and the characters, and I allowed them to guide me where they wanted their story to go. The ride Lyra and Tavian have taken me on has been exhilarating to say the least, and the best part is it’s not over yet! But like each and every one of my books, there is a clan of people on this trek with me, all playing different roles along the way to help and support throughout the ride. There is no way I can possibly express the amount of gratitude I have for them through mere words, but I’ll do my best.
To my husband, for continuously encouraging and believing in me. Thank you for everything you do; the list is infinite.
To my girls, who won’t be allowed to read this book for many years. Thank you for being so understanding when you get the same dinner three nights in a row and have to throw all your clothes in the dryer to get the wrinkles out because they’ve been wadded up in a basket for over a week.
To my parents, for always pushing me to be my very best. Thank you for loving me unconditionally and always being there for me.
To Jill Sava, for being the sanity behind the operation. Thank you for listening to me and being my voice of reason. You will always be my Bright Side.
To Stacy Kestwick, for being an awesome bestie. Thank you for always having my back and motivating me. We’ve totally got this. This story is what it is because of you.
To my JJL—Meghan, Mo, and Aly, for being the best tribe a girl could ask for. Thank you for not letting me quit when I wanted to, for your inspiration, and for the gazillion times you make me smile every day.
To my MastaBetas, for being the funniest group of women I know. Thank you for being just as crazy as I am, for never judging me, and for not knowing what TMI means.
To Kayla Robichaux, for being the best Twinnie and editor. Thank you for making my stories the best they can be and being an incredible friend.
To Julie Deaton and Jenn Van Wyk, my proofreaders. Thank you for polishing this baby up and making her nice and shiny.
To Amy Queau, my kick-ass cover designer. I mean… look at them. They’re just frickin’ awesomeness. Thank you!!
To Chelle Northcutt and Andee Michelle, my betas, and better yet, my friends. Thank you for the valuable feedback and continued support.
To Tracy Banach, for sharing with me your personal experiences to better help me understand what flying is really like! Thank you for sharing your story.
To my Ever Afters, for being the most amazing reader group ever. Thank you for your continued support
To the Bloggers, for being the hardest working people in the business that get little credit and no pay. I greatly appreciate the time you spend reading, reviewing, and/or promoting the books we authors pour our heart and soul into. We couldn’t do it without you.
Lastly, but definitely not least, to you the reader, for making this dream of mine come true. Thank you for reading (and hopefully enjoying!) my stories. You’re the main reason I continue doing this! Love you all!
Erin Noelle is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and three fur babies. When she’s not reading or writing romance novels, she enjoys winning at cards and board games, awkward people-watching in public places, and doing cartwheels at the most random times. She’s usually barefoot, is never without a song in her head, and currently holds the title of World’s Best Procrastinator.
Her titles published include the Book Boyfriend Series, Dusk ‘Til Dawn Series, Luminous Duet, Fire on the Mountain series, and numerous standalone books that range from New Adult to Contemporary romance. Her books have been a part of the USA Today Bestselling list as well as the Amazon and Barnes & Noble overall Top 100. You can follow her on Facebook @ www.facebook.com/erin.noelle.98, her blog @ www.erinnoellebooks.com, on Twitter @authorenoelle, and on Instagram @erinnoelleauthor.
BOOK BOYFRIEND SERIES:
METAMORPHOSIS
Scarlett MacGregor has lived a very sheltered life; relying on her books, music, and her best friend Evie for fun. During their first semester away at college, Scarlett and Evie concoct a contest to find their real-life book boyfriends. Scarlett quickly meets Ashton, Dylan, and later, Mason, and must figure out which one she wants before she ends up without any of them.
Metamorphosis is the story of Scarlett's transformation from a young, naive girl to a strong, mature young woman and her search for self-discovery and true love.
Recommended for readers 17+ due to sexual content and harsh language.
AMBROSIA
After coming to terms with the tragedy that rocked her world, Scarlett MacGregor has returned to try to pick up the pieces of the broken relationships that she left behind.
Ash and Mason were left devastated and heartbroken following Scarlett’s sudden, unannounced departure. They are both ready and willing to forgive her and welcome her back into their lives with open arms. However, a lot can happen in 8 months…
Scarlett must learn to overcome the obstacles thrown in her path to prevent the past from repeating itself. Can she learn to fly with her own wings and discover the secret to eternal love?
Recommended for readers 17+ due to sexual content and harsh language.
EUPHORIA
After a series of catastrophic misunderstandings and impulsively poor decision-making, Scarlett MacGregor finds herself once again torn between two loves, different as they may be. Lacking proper closure with their relationship, and accompanied by the overwhelming guilt for her role in his d
evastating downfall, Scarlett resolves to help Mason recover and reclaim his life as a budding rock star. However, now that he has finally claimed her as his, Ash Walker is bound and determined to keep her by his side, and he will go to any lengths necessary to do just that.
Mason Templeton has hit rock bottom. He’s in love with a girl whose heart and soul belong to another and he’s partied his way off of an international music tour that was supposed to be his big break. Returning home for rehab, sounds like the worst possible way to start a new year, but when an unexpected friendship emerges, he begins to realize that maybe everything does happen for a reason.
Euphoria is the third and final installment of Scarlett, Ash, and Mason’s self-discovering journeys to understanding the meaning of true love ~ the kind that begs for complete surrender.
Recommended for readers 17+ due to sexual content and harsh language.
TIMELESS
Six years.
Two people.
One love.
After the long awaited wedding of her dreams, Scarlett - along with her rockstar husband and their five year old twins - are finally putting down roots and settling into their first suburban home.
While unpacking, they stumble across a box filled with photos spanning the previous six years, and they're catapulted down the proverbial Memory Lane.
Join the couple on their reminiscent journey as they learn a picture is truly worth a thousand words, and the emotions they elicit are timeless.
Recommended for readers 17+ due to sexual content and harsh language.
Purchase The BOOK BOYFRIND SERIES Books Here
EVERYTHING: A SINGED WINGS NOVEL