by C. B. Stagg
I rolled my eyes, but the second the papers were signed—making Vaughn not only my friend, but officially my sister-in-law and aunt to my children—I grabbed my husband, cradling his face between my hands.
“You’re my wish maker,” I said, kissing his lips.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that, from the day I met you, you’ve been making all my wishes come true. It makes me think of that essay I wrote in high school.”
“I remember it well. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
“Yep.” I started to smile but froze in place instead. “That’s how it used to go, but I’m rewriting it. Now it’s, If wishes were minivans, pregnant women who just felt their water break could ride straight to the hospital. It doesn’t have the same ring to it, but you get the point, right?”
Jase stared at me wide-eyed, slowly nodding as a grin spread across his freckled face. “Now that’s a wish I am more than happy to make happen.”
Epilogue
Becky
“ALL RIGHT, LITTLE MAN, it looks like we’ll have to divide and conquer if we’re going to make this work. Uncle Casey is coaching Julian’s team on Navy 1 at 9:00. Whiskey’s team also plays at 9:00, but on Navy 2, so I sure hope your Daddy set our chairs up between the two fields.”
Cash was soundly sleeping strapped to my chest, oblivious to my ramblings. But it always helped my new mommy brain to recite the plan out loud, so I patted his sleeping bottom, and we walked from the parking lot to the soccer fields, looking for the familiar faces of my family.
“Then, at 10:30, Daddy coaches Ruby Grace’s team on Marine Corps 1, and Aunt Vaughn coaches Taj’s team on Coast Guard 1. Luckily, they’re also right by each other, so we can probably con Uncle Casey into moving our chairs for us.” I kissed my son’s sweet-smelling head. “Now, what I need from you is to be a good little boy and keep sleeping, even if momma becomes a crazy person and has to yell at some refs. Got it?” His little baby sigh told me we were on the same page.
“Momma! Did you remember my—” Whiskey stopped at the sight of her sleeping baby brother. “Oh, sorry,” she whispered. “Did you bring my water jug?”
I shook my head. “Dad has it with him. I knew I would run out of hands.” She smiled, kissed her brother on his sweet little fuzzy head, and ran off to join her team.
“Whiskey, where’s your sister?” I hollered after her and then realized my mistake when Cash started to stir. “Shhhhh.” I patted him again, and he relaxed.
“Last I saw, she was helping Uncle Casey’s team warm-up. I gotta go. I’m in goal first. If you see Dad, will you tell him to bring me my water?” And she was off, leaving tracks across the damp field as she headed toward her team.
I found Vaughn amongst our setup, sitting in her usual chair, staring into the treeline. Following her eyes, I saw a family of deer cautiously poking their heads out before moving further into the park to forage for food. One look at me, though, and she was all hands.
“Give me that baby boy.”
I unclicked, unbuckled, and unstrapped until Cash sprang free, startling for a second before Vaughn cocooned him in her arms.
“You’re so precious, my little Cashion George. It’s hard to believe you’ll be a tyrant like your cousins one day, peeing all over the walls and seat in the bathroom when you’re not peeing in the yard for all of creation to see.”
That made me laugh, but she rolled her eyes, alerting me that there was nothing humorous about her musing.
Every part of my being was dragging, so I flopped down in my chair, exhausted from another night of my son using my breast as a pacifier for half the night. “So, did you get the big, mysterious family meeting text?” I nodded. “Do you know what it’s about?” I shook my head because I had absolutely no clue, only that next weekend, immediately following soccer games, we were all to drive down and meet at the Clark’s house for dinner. “Does Jase know?”
“If he does, he isn’t talking, but I think it has something to do with Christian. Have you noticed how he’s kind of fallen off the face of the earth lately?”
“Yeah, I just figured he was busy with work, but now that you mention it… ”
The ref’s whistle signaled the start of the game, and we both settled in to watch. I faced Whiskey’s co-ed team and had a perfect view of my girl defending her goal while Vaughn angled herself to watch Casey and Julian. Ruby Grace and Taj had taken advantage of an empty field behind us to practice dribbling and shooting.
“My first game to ever coach on this field was just a year ago, and it was all because of you. Does it even seem possible that so little time has gone by?”
Shaking my head, I watched Vaughn bounce my baby boy on her lap. I looked into the blue eyes of my little redheaded son, an exact carbon copy of his father, but salty when he needed to be, just like his momma and his sister, and sighed.
“I guess it just proves wishes do come true.”
Want to find out what happens next with Becky & Jase? Vaughn & Casey?
Please continue reading for an excerpt from
“Five Minutes to Midnight”
A Fairy Tale Life book 3
AVAILABLE NOW on
AMAZON
Acknowledgements
To my writing/ publishing team:
Jennifer Roberts-Hall, the value of your guiding hand was immeasurable. I am such a better writer because of you. Christina Scambray, it’s hard to come into a series to fix mistakes you aren’t responsible for, but you get the gold medal for your tenacity and drive. Kassi Snider, your cover art propels me forward when I feel like I’m sinking. I’m constantly amazed at how you can take my book and give it a ‘face.’
To my beta readers:
Kim P., Kim E., Beth, Kristin, Kelli, and Susan — Honest ain’t always easy. I have no idea what’s going through your head when you’re having to plow through a messy and sometimes incomplete manuscript on the fly, but what I do know is that my books have vastly improved with your critique and criticism. Since most of you are repeaters, we need a beta reader squad name, don’t you think?
Elizabeth Engelhardt, you have dropped everything for me on more than one occasion to make sure Jase and Becky lived the story they were supposed to. I’ll never be able to properly thank you for loving my characters almost as much as I do!
To my family:
Andrew, Ryan, Grace, and Lucas, thanks for your remarkable independence. You cook, you clean, you do laundry, one of you passed their driving test… and because of that, I can write. And I should also mention, you encourage me to pursue my dreams, in your own special ways.
ME: “Am I crazy?”
ANDREW: “Yeah, Mom, you are a little crazy, but the good kind of crazy, like, ‘I think I’ll write a book.’ Lots of people think that, but it takes your kind of crazy to actually do it and be good at it.”
And lastly, to my Chief Advisor:
“Write what you know.” When my husband bought me a book years ago, titled How to Write a Book, the first piece of advice was to write what you know, so naturally, I chose romance. Stacey Stagg, I know love because of you:
“You don’t look for perfection in the one you love. You look at their jagged edges to see if they mirror yours so that, together, the two broken souls become one mighty force that can take on the world. Together. That’s you and me.”
About the Author
Charly Stagg is wife to one lucky guy, mother to four incredible kids, and author of The Fairy Tale Life series. Her first novel, An Ordinary Fairy Tale, debuted in 2016. A graduate of Texas A&M University, Charly holds a degree in Elementary Education and has taught first, second, and third grades for more than ten years. She is a lover of reading, soccer, camping, Aggie football, The Beegees, and all things creative. Her writing process includes typing in bed, while snuggling with her doggies and watching cheesy movies on Hallmark Channel, along with an endless supply of Sonic drinks and Candy Cane Hershey Kisses o
n hand. Charly and her husband live in College Station, Texas with their four children: Andrew, Ryan, Grace, and Lucas, and two dogs, Daisy and Pepper.
Five Minutes to Midnight
(A Fairy Tale Life book 3)
AVAILABLE NOW
Christian
October 2011
A SLIVER OF LIGHT from the setting sun blazed through the window—slicing through the whitewashed cross painted on a dusty piece of salvaged wood, like a flaming sword. The cross hung alone in my dingy new office; a dismal, cavernous place in desperate need of sprucing up. With its yellowed tile floors and institutional, white painted brick walls, it had more of a prison vibe than that of a church. I bet if I screamed, it would echo.
I opened my mouth to try, but stopped… knowing any attempt would surely give my secretary a terrible first impression of her church’s new associate pastor. In fact, it may very well give Miss Betty a heart attack. The woman seemed nice enough, but her age-spotted hands and glorious crown of blue-tinted hair revealed more about her advancing years than she would probably like. When she mentioned being a former teacher, my immediate visual was of a one-room schoolhouse on a prairie somewhere—cart, horse, the whole shebang.
With a discerning eye, I took in my surroundings, trying to gauge what it would take to make the space less sterile. I quickly fired off a text to my mom with pictures of my dungeonesque office, begging for a woman’s touch. I was assured that, with proper measurements, she could have the space nice and cozy within a week using unneeded items from around our house. That would thrill my father.
I dug around inside the 1970’s walnut desk, not yet stocked with office supplies. I only came up with a short, dull pencil, which was probably originally intended to fit in those little holes in the backs of the pews for filling out prayer requests and visitor registrations. Pulling out the folded piece of yellow paper I’d carried with me for almost six years, I opened it to reread the goals I’d set for myself; something I’d done more times in my life than I could count. I could easily recite it in my sleep, remembering the exact words that made up the list—completely unlike the night of my birthday, where I remembered absolutely nothing.
“Owwww. No, no, no… ”
I tried covering my head with a pillow, but even that did little to dull the storm gathering strength behind my eyes. “Oh my God. Turning twenty-one shouldn’t hurt this bad.”
My mouth had morphed into a desert, and a jackhammer pounded its continuous rhythm, splitting my skull in two. I tried to squeeze my temples between my hands, like a vise, but it didn’t alleviate whatever civil war had erupted between my ears.
“What the hell did I drink?”
“Alcohol, apparently.” My brother’s reply was delivered at least ten decibels louder than my addled mind could handle. “You drank the alcohol. All the alcohol. In the entire bar. They had to close early because you drank them dry.”
I wanted to object, but speaking took energy I didn’t have. And shaking my head? Absolutely out of the question. Chancing to open one eye, I glared at him. Casey only had about thirteen months on me, but from the outside looking in—seeing him handle the responsibilities of life with ease—the gap appeared much wider.
“What the hell are you doing here, anyway? I don’t remember you being there.” I needed to pee. I needed to puke. I needed for the room to stop spinning so I could take care of the other two things on my immediate to-do list.
“I wasn’t there. You didn’t invite me,
remember?”
“No.”
“Do you happen to remember bringing a chick home?”
I didn’t remember much about my twenty-first birthday celebration. “Chick?”
“Yeah, a chick. The one who called me in the middle of the night. Thanks for that, by the way. She said she found my number in your phone. You brought her home, though I’m not sure how. She wanted to leave, but said she was scared you’d die. To be fair, she said she tried to get you to go to the hospital, but you told her to call me instead. Again, thanks. Kris is not pleased.”
I didn’t like Kris anyway, so the fact that Casey’s uppity fiancée found the situation inconvenient didn’t phase me in the least. “Yeah, I remember a girl. I remember amazing legs. I remember her lips. Man, I can still smell her.”
I leaned in and sniffed the pillow beside me. Yep, a blend of lavender and coconut filled my nose. I could remember how good it felt touching her, kissing her, being in her arms. That, I could remember with absolute clarity. Her face, not so much.
“Well, apparently you brought someone here, of all places. Now, let’s get you fixed up with a little hair of the dog. See if that’ll jog your memory. Then, you’ve got some cleaning to do because you puked all over the sink and shower in the bathroom, and hell if I’m gonna come over in the middle of the night to babysit your ass, then turn around and clean up after you.”
“So, back to the chick. You never saw her?”
I started piecing together what little I did remember from the previous night. Short, brown hair, tiny little hummingbird frame, effervescent smile that set fire to my…
“Nope, never saw her, but she sounded h-h-h-h-h-hot. And pretty sober too. No sign of her when I arrived, though, other than your phone being in the living room open to my contact information instead of on the charger. Maybe she turned into a pumpkin.”
I stood to attempt the ten-foot journey to the bathroom, which may as well have been ten miles at my rate. “Maybe she’s my Cinderell-AH! Damn!” I jerked my foot up and hopped on the other one, all the way back to the edge of the bed.
“I’m not sure I’ve heard that fairy tale.” He laughed.
“No, you ass.” I pulled my foot into my lap. “I stepped on something. There’s a nail or some crap sticking out of my foot. Come and help me. Jesus Christ this hurts!” I focused on the dust-covered ceiling fan, losing myself in the rhythmic squeak while Casey inspected my foot. I could not handle the sight of blood. The thought of it made my already queasy stomach flop around like a fish on the shore.
“Ha-ha, interesting choice of words, bro. Be ready on the count of three. One. Two—”
“Ahhh. Damn it, Casey, you said three!” I kicked at him, then grabbed a pair of soccer shorts from the floor to stanch the blood.
“Check this out.” He held up the offending item for my inspection. Two nails wired together in the middle with copper.
“Is that a cross?”
“Yes, it’s a cross, moron. I’m surprised it didn’t spontaneously combust during your night of sin and debauchery with your hot Cinderella.” He inspected it further. “Where do you think it came from?”
Shaking my head, I took it from his hand. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never seen it before in my life. And did you notice that there’s blood at the end of each nail? That’s a little creepy.”
”Yeah, it’s your blood, doofus. Both ends were stuck in your foot.” I checked, and sure enough, two punctures marked my instep, the most tender part of my foot. The wounds were still bleeding, so I applied more pressure with the shorts.
“Maybe it’s a sign you need to remove your head from your ass and get serious about your life.”
I didn’t have it in me to hear another lecture about my misguided ways. “What’s gotten into you? You’re way too smart to be drinking yourself within an ounce of alcohol poisoning.” He sighed and sat beside me to inspect my wounds. “Seriously, man, you need to get it together. You drink too much and don’t study near enough. I mean, do you ever even go to class?”
That was none of his damn business. He wasn’t the one paying my tuition.
“And what’s with all the girls? Did Mom not hug you enough as a kid? You don’t have to sleep with every girl who bats her eyelashes at you, you know. A simple smile will sometimes do the trick.”
“I’m not that bad. And I go to class. Sometimes.” But my definition of ‘sometimes’ was once a week, if that. I was barely hanging on to an agriculture degree I had
no idea what I’d even do with once I graduated. I’d been spinning my wheels for what felt like forever. And he was right. I brought home anything with a pulse, but I never let it get too far. After his girlfriend’s pregnancy drama in high school, there was no way I was putting myself through that.
“And in all honesty, Casey, I don’t sleep with them. I’ve never actually slept—”
He cut off my heartfelt confession. “Look, maybe you need to view this cross as a sign. A talisman or something. You’re twenty-one years old, man. You’re, what… a year away from graduating? And then what? You gonna go be a farmer? And that’s if you pull out the grades to graduate at all. What happened to you, bro? It’s like you peaked at fifteen and it all went downhill from there.”
Shrugging, I could hardly disagree. I’d always felt restless and unsettled—like what I needed to be complete laid somewhere beyond my grasp. All through high school I’d jumped around from group to group, party to party, drink to drug, always searching.
My crap grades in high school earned me a two-year stint at a junior college, where my parents assumed I would get my act together. Now, I found myself barely hanging on at Texas A&M, with academic probation looming. I was still uncomfortable in my own skin and no closer to figuring out who I was or what I wanted to be than before. I felt as if I was flying along with the rotation of the sun—chasing dawn, but never quite able to wrap my fingers around it.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” I looked up to say more, but I was alone.
Maybe Casey had a point. Maybe divine intervention was at work. Maybe, after six years of putting socializing, popularity, and substance abuse before educational and personal growth, I needed to admit that something about my life wasn’t working. I needed to reevaluate. Remembering the way I felt last night in the arms of my mystery woman—my Cinderella—I had renewed purpose. I wanted to feel that way again. And more importantly, I wanted to be the kind of man worthy of a woman who could make me feel like that.