“I don’t care if you take the kitchen sink. Just get your butt in gear and let’s head out. I’ll drive.”
Yeah, ‘cause that had worked out so well for them in the past. Jocelyn’s fingers burned as much as her cheeks. She shouldn’t have thought that. It’s not like he was the one who caused the wreck. Maybe if she went, she’d get him off her back for a while.
* * *
Jocelyn shifted in the passenger seat. She clenched the guitar, holding it close as her eyes scanned the snow covered road. Ironic how much it reminded her of the night they’d left for the concert in Chicago. The night that changed her life forever.
“The roads are getting really nasty, Brighton. Maybe we should turn around and go home.”
Brighton gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “I know this reminds you of that night, but it wasn’t the weather that caused the accident, Sis.”
She plucked at the strings the way her brother plucked her nerves. “Well, we both know that snow doesn’t keep the drunks from traveling. Who’s to say the person driving the car in front of us isn’t plastered?”
Releasing a sigh, she pressed her cheek against her shoulder, glancing out the backseat window. A smile crept on her lips when she saw the broad shouldered figure sitting behind her brother. Blue eyes had appeared, again.
“Is the offer to play me a song still good?” he grinned.
Her eyes darted to Brighton, making sure he hadn’t heard his voice. Thankfully, her brother was focusing on the road. She nodded her head, sitting up in the seat. Her apparition leaned closer, a tender request tickling her ear.
Though she didn’t know how she knew the chords to play, she placed her fingers on the strings. She noticed Brighton gaze over at her.
“You’re going to play that right now?”
She nodded, strumming downward. The notes filled the car, each chord coming to her like she had the sheet music implanted into her mind. Her fingers moved up and down the fretboard, pressing different strings to form chords.
When she turned to look at the image sitting in the back seat, she noticed the wide-eyed stare Brighton gave her.
“What the heck, Jocelyn,” Brighton grumbled. “How do you know that song? I never taught it to you.”
She shrugged, playing each chord a little faster than the one before. “I’m a trained musician. It’s not hard to find the right keys, well, chords in this case.”
“But you don’t even like REM. Why would you play Losing My Religion?
Because her handsome apparition requested it? Not that she could tell him that. But in all honesty, if it was her mind’s way of dealing with the stress, she’s the one who had chosen the song. And thinking back to the lyrics, it really did fit her situation.
* * *
Sucking in a deep breath, Jocelyn stepped off the elevator behind Brighton. The twenty-minute drive through town remained a blur. She didn’t know how she knew the entire REM song, but she’d played every chord. She gripped the strap around her neck, holding the guitar close.
Gazing around the corridors, a flood of memories came rushing back. The stench of burnt rubber. The sound of brake pads squealing. The thick, black air bag smoke taking her breath. The rusty taste of blood from her smashed lips. Even the searing pain through her fingers.
They passed a nurse in the corridor, pulling an IV stand. Brighton greeted her with recognition as she did the same. And she wasn’t the only one he called by name. The woman pushing the housekeeping cart exchanged cordial sentiments with him. A patient, standing in his doorway with his wife and kids spoke to Brighton. The man’s little girl came running up to hug him, thanking him for giving her candy the other day.
So many people knew him. But how? Since the accident, he’d been fussing over her from the moment they placed her in the ambulance. When did he have time to develop this whole other life?
It was like that the rest of the way down the hall. Brighton stopping by different rooms, peeking in to say a quick hello or how are you, explaining to her who each person was and what injuries they had suffered from the accident.
As they came to the last door at the end of the hallway, her chest tightened. He didn’t have to tell her whose room they were about to enter. Tracing the guitar’s rosewood form, she wondered what kind of shape Adam would be in? She’d never seen anyone in a coma.
Her stomach flipped as Brighton pushed on the door handle. Adam’s room smelled of rubbing alcohol and bleach. Typical hospital aroma. Many flower arrangements with get-well-soon balloons floating above them sat on the window ledge.
Jocelyn stood by the door. When her brother stopped at the foot of the bed, his eyes darted over to her.
“Come on,” he said, waving her forward.
Jocelyn joined him, then she stepped around him until her eyes landed on Adam. It wasn’t the man in the bed, the fact that he was in a coma, or even the smell of his room that made every hair on the back of her neck stand up. It was the fact that Adam and the man she’d played to in the car, in the bedroom, even in the music store, were one and the same.
Adam lay motionless in the bed. Tubes ran in and out of his body connecting to several monitors above his head. Scratches covered his cheekbones. A longer one invaded his hairline meeting fringed bangs lighter than a glass of champagne.
Jocelyn’s knees started to shake. She leaned against her brother, hoping he’d catch her if she passed out.
He turned to look down at her. “You okay, Joc—” Warm fingers curled around her arm. “Stay with me. Breath, Jocelyn. Take a deep breath.” She couldn’t form any words to answer him. The muscles in her legs wanted to give.
But then she was moving. Brighton was talking in a soft voice, the same voice he used when he took care of her. She felt firm coolness greet her bottom as her brother helped her onto a chair. He knelt before her, pushing the guitar out of his way.
“God, Jocelyn. I’m sorry. I didn’t know coming here would affect you like this.” She nodded her head, fighting against the nausea. “You could probably use some water. Let me get you a drink. Be right back.”
* * *
Adam looked dead. If it wasn’t for the slow rise of his chest, Jocelyn would swear he’d already passed. Hard to believe that the apparition who’d made her laugh, who made her feel whole again wasn’t her imagination. He was real.
And he might not survive much longer.
She snorted away the irony of his song choice. Losing My Religion didn’t just fit her situation. It was Adam’s song as well.
Pushing the guitar in place, she pressed her fingers to the strings. Her eyes landed on his face as she strummed the guitar, playing his song request once again. If she didn’t feel so shaky, she would add vocals, but any attempt to sing at this point would only have her voice cracking.
“And I thought I looked bad before the accident.”
Jocelyn’s eyes darted to the foot of the bed where Adam’s ethereal image appeared. A smile spread across his lips, countering the pain in his eyes. She hesitated on a chord, her head pounding from the influx of memories from that dreaded day.
How the car in front of hers rolled on its side. How the car behind her clipped the tail of her car, spinning it out of control. The green of the trees blended with the gray of the road. The sound of metal guard rail crunching when her car bounced off it. The grinding of two vehicles trading paint.
But one image stole her breath. The brief instant she made eye contact with a stranger in another car as they collided into each other. How his blue eyes wavered to hers, then to the hand she pressed against the window. The same one that broke through the glass when another car struck them from the side.
Her eyes met back with Adam’s. No wonder his eyes pierced her heart each time he looked at her. They were the eyes she gazed into as she feared her own death. The same eyes that in a brief instance, told her that everything would be okay.
The guitar slipped from her hands. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “
It all makes sense now.”
He walked over to her, reaching his hand forward to cup her face. “What makes sense?”
What would have been the warmth of his flesh felt like a cool wisp of air. But having him this close, regardless of whether or not she could feel him, meant more than anything.
“I understand what you mean. About being with me since the moment we met. I thought you meant from the first time I saw you in the store room.” She fought against the tears welling in her eyes. “But you meant from the very first moment we met. Right before our cars collided.”
Once again, a warm smile spread over his lips. He leaned his head forward. If he’d been in his physical form, they’d be touching foreheads. The stray curls around her face blew as he released a sigh.
“I’m glad I got to meet you, Jocelyn.”
“You say that like it’s the last time,” she whispered.
“It’s not fair to keep my family and friends in limbo. You heard what Brighton said at the store. I’m getting worse. I’m not going to make it.”
“Don’t say that!” Her fingers froze on the strings as his eyes locked with hers. She reached for his hand, wincing when hers passed through his. “This isn’t fair. We…we just met.”
The last chord she’d strummed began to fade, as did his image.
And then it hit her.
Each time Adam had shown up was when she’d played his guitar. If she stopped playing, he’d go away. Maybe for good this time.
She repositioned her fingers on the strings, strumming the chords to a different song. “You have to fight this, Adam,” she begged him.
His image flickered. For a moment, it grew stronger. Strong enough for her to see the passion in his eyes. “That’s a beautiful song.”
Nodding her head, she fought the pain in her fingers to keep playing Chicago’s You’re the Inspiration. “Stay with me, Adam.”
Her finger pulsed so strongly, her joints started to freeze. She bit back the pain when she noticed his image fading, again. “Stay,” she pleaded, forcing her fingers to keep going, to go even faster than the normal tempo of the song.
Only a trace of Adam’s image remained. Tears welled in her eyes from the scorching pain. She refused to let her damaged hand stand in the way of losing him. “Hold on, Adam. Please, just fight. Fight for your life. Fight for us.”
Jumping to her feet she walked closer to Adam’s body. Her fingers moved so fast against the strings, she could feel blisters forming. Jolts of pain shot from her stitches all the way to her elbow. Using part of her splint like a pick, she played even faster.
Her eyes trailed over his body, memorizing every inch of him. His perfect face. His broad shoulders. Arms she wanted wrapped around her. Hands that could cup her face. Fingers that could caress her skin.
Fingers….Adam’s fingers moved.
The last note froze in the air as Jocelyn leaned over him. “Adam. Can you hear me?” She waited to see if his fingers moved, again. But after staring at him for what seemed like forever, nothing happened.
She continued on with the song, but her eyes never moved from his hand. And again, Adam’s fingers moved.
Releasing the guitar, she cupped his face. Adam’s eyes fluttered opened. They were like looking into the sky on a cloudless day.
Jocelyn pressed her lips to Adam’s. No other sound than her racing heart penetrated her ears. Warm lips parted from hers, brushed against them, then pressed back. His hand found the back of her neck, pulling her further into their kiss. She didn’t resist. Gave into the passion as her chest pressed against his.
When their lips finally parted, she gazed down into his yes. The smile on his lips stole her breath.
“That was amazing,” he said, practically breathless himself. “Do I know you?
Jocelyn pressed her lips tight to hide her smile. But in the end, she let it sweep over her face. “Not exactly,” she answered, noting the twinkle in his eyes. “But we have a lifetime to change that.”
~~
AFTERWORD
Much like any endeavor worth undertaking, sharing the journey makes it all the more special, challenging and fulfilling. The authors wish to thank those who have shared this journey and the many more that will come.
~~
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
CAROLYN MCCRAY
Carolyn McCray is a social media and sales consultant to indie authors and publishing houses alike. Her own controversial thriller, 30 Pieces of Silver, hit the #1 spot on the Amazon “Men’s Adventure” list, (beating out the likes of Clive Cussler), and all six of her indie-published books are Kindle Bestsellers. Her latest nonfiction endeavor, Dollars & Sense: The Definitive Guide to Self-publishing Success (coauthored with Amber Scott and Rachel Thompson) debuted at #1 on Amazon’s “Authorship” bestselling list.
Carolyn is also the founder of the Indie Book Collective, an organization with over 6,000 members which is dedicated to helping authors utilize social media to the fullest to sell their books. The Collective offers free workshops, a live advice radio show, innovative programs such as Blog Tour de Force & Bestseller for a Day, and so much more to its members.
To sample or purchase Carolyn’s marquee title, 30 Pieces of Silver, simply click here.
* * *
AMBER SCOTT
In between naptimes and dishes, Amber Scott escapes into her characters’ addictive lives. She helps captain the 1stTurningPoint.com ship, cofounded the Indie Book Collective, and actively teaches authors about muses and motivation. She often burns dinner, is hooked on chocolate, and still believes in happily ever after. You can find her online spoiling the HOT Club, her reader group, or tweeting and blogging about her fictional worlds and real life. She makes her home in Arizona with her two cuddly kids, hip husband, and someday, many, many cats.
* * *
ANN CHARLES
Ann lives in the lush Pacific Northwest with her clever husband, charming kids, and an incredibly sassy cat. She has a Bachelor’s Degree in English with an emphasis on creative writing from the University of Washington.
She has written several contemporary, award-winning novels and is currently toiling away on her next. While her reading preferences range from adventure to horror to mystery, ever since she tried on her first training bra, she has loved a good mix of romance, too.
The first time I came to Deadwood, I got shot in the ass.--Violet Parker
Little girls are vanishing from Deadwood, South Dakota, and Violet Parker's daughter could be next. She's desperate to find the monster behind the abductions. But if she's not careful, Violet just might end up as one of Deadwood's dearly departed.
"… an intriguing mystery laced with a wicked sense of humor. Watch out Stephanie Plum, because Violet Parker is coming your way." ~Deborah Schneider, RWA Librarian of the Year 2009
WINNER of the 2010 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense!
WINNER of the 2011 Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements!
* * *
ELENA GRAY
Amidst piles of laundry, you will find me tapping away at my laptop, escaping into my own paranormal world. My friends are shapeshifters, vampires, and witches. I never know what new adventure they will take me on. Demanding and opinionated, they keep me up at all hours of the night.
Did I mention the stalkers? They follow me everywhere I go ... lurking in corners and hiding in the shadows. They’ve even been known to pop up in my shower. Yes, they are the pesky characters that do not give me a moment’s peace. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When I’m not corralling my two rambunctious boys, you'll find me chatting with readers online or with the Indie Book Collective acting as Blog Tour de Troops Coordinator—paying it forward to the men and women who safeguard our freedom.
Terror in the Trees, the latest über-low budget slasher flick, is slaying people ... literally. But is it all hype, or is there an evil force behind the supposed deaths?
Special Agent Boulder had best find out before the president attends the Hollywood premiere ...
Grab your copy here...
* * *
BEN HOPKIN
Ben Hopkin is a transplanted Texan. After Being indoctrinated in the Lone Star State he was ripped from his ancestral home and whisked away to Los Angeles, where he was forced to appreciate fish tacos and sushi. While there, he worked as a professional actor, director, and producer, as well as teacher, which he loves most. He has now settled in Provo, Utah, with his wife and three children. Just in case there was any question, Provo is NOT a happy medium between Ft. Worth and LA, although his kids have made the transition from body boards to snowboards seamlessly.
Wyatt just wanted to skate by on life, but once his uncle falls ill and Wyatt has to take over the pet psychic business, the animals turn his world upside down!
Praise for Pet Whisperer...er...rrrr
"A hoot. That's what I call this book. Laugh out loud, snort kind of book. All that fun and then McCray and Hopkin bring it home with a really touching ending. Can't wait for more from Wyatt and his "pack."
8 Hearts Beat As One: A Romance Anthology Page 13