The Only One

by Magan Vernon

  She blinked as I opened the front door for her. “After you, m’lady.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I am.” I smiled, but I could feel the sweat gathering under my armpits. God, this had to work. This had to be right.

  She gasped as soon as we stepped through the doors. It was exactly like I wanted it. The lights were dimmed and a slow song was playing. There wasn’t anyone in sight and the only hint that anyone was around was the shadow of someone from the DJ booth who also shone the lights down on the ice.

  “What is this?” she whispered.

  I took her hand and pulled her forward until we were at the rink. She stopped once we were at the ice. “I’m not wearing any skates,” she said, looking down at her heels.

  I bent down and then swooped her tiny body into my arms, walking her across the ice.

  She squealed, “John! What are you doing?”

  This wasn’t the way I planned it, but no turning back now. I sat her down on one of the ledges and then reached into my pocket, pulling out the velvet black box. Monica had gone with me to pick out the perfect ring. It was a princess cut diamond with tiny teal gemstones lining each side of it. The color for the cervical cancer ribbon. I couldn’t have been happier when I got down on one knee and opened the box. Her eyes lit up when she saw the ring sparkling up at her.

  “Melanie Wilder. I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you, Hermione costume and all. We’ve been through Hell and back and I would do it all over again. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so please tell me that you’ll marry me.”

  I watched as the tears filled her eyes. The put together girl hated to cry in public and seeing her come undone was always the best sight. She immediately jumped off of the ledge and into my waiting arms. “Yes! Yes John! Yes I will!”

  I slipped the ring on her finger, watching it glow against the lights of the skating rink. She kissed me over and over and I held onto her like if I let go she would leave. “You’re the only one for me, Melanie. I belong with you.”

  She wiped the happy tears from her eyes and looked at me, a big grin on her face. “And I belong with you.”

  We stayed there for what seemed like forever, just holding each other. I knew that I would never let her go as long as I lived. She was the only one I wanted to be with and now I would never have to be without her.

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  About The Author

  Magan Vernon is a Young Adult and New Adult writer who lives with her family in the insurance capital of the world. When not writing she spends her time fighting over fake boyfriends via social media.

  You can find her online at http://www.maganvernon.com

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  Acknowledgements

  First off, I have to thank YOU. Yes. You. The reader who picked up this book and gave me a chance…even though I kind of think you just picked it up for the hot cover.

  All the amazing bloggers who have done so much for me and my career. I love that you love my characters and find my awkwardness charming.

  My publicists, Jessica and Kelly, I love that you’re able to up with my weirdness and still promote me.

  Regina Wamba, for my amazeballs cover. You still have the market cornered on these panty dropping covers.

  My critique partners and Betas: Kelly Viel, Kate Ashton, Ava with Book Nerds Anonymous, Leigh T. Moore, Christina Lee (My Flover), Chelsea Cameron (Twitter Wife), Karen Hooper (KPoop) and Brenda Rothert.

  Special shout out (again) to Brenda Rothert for copyediting this mother and having long text conversations with me that were borderline inappropriate.

  The Indelibles, thank you for dealing with my constant whining.

  Donna Dull, Kristina Circelli, and Jennifer Synder thanks for reading my smexy times and not judging me for them.

  Dawn Pendleton, for our word sprints that I so desperately needed to get this story done.

  Amanda Clark, for discussing male parts with me. We may be inappropriate, but I don’t care. I love it.

  Tasha Tomlinson, thanks for putting up with me asking you random questions and being one of the first real readers of this book.

  Jeremy Glenn, Nathan Weller, and cousin Vinny Happach for dealing with me constantly asking “IS THIS SOMETHING A COLLEGE BOY WOULD SAY?”

  Scott, Yeah you were my college boyfriend and we’ve both gone our separate ways, but thank you for not running for the hills when I got the dreaded “call.” Thank you for letting me cry in your tiny room at the Teke house and thank you for caring. I’ll never forget that as long as I live.

  Katie, we found a friendship in a hopeless place. Being sick sucks, but I’m glad that we found each other.

  My girls, Claire and Olivia. I write strong heroines for you. I write about these situations that happen to a lot of people and no one writes about for you. I want you to have women to look up to and stories to read that aren’t just a textbook.

  Tim, my heart, my soul, my everything. Thank you for encouraging me to follow my dreams. I love you more than words can say.

  EXCERPT FROM A PERFECT MESS

  BOOK #1

  A PERFECT SECRET SERIES

  BY ZOE DAWSON

  Aubree

  “This solution is incorrect, Miss Walker.”

  I looked down at the formula and went back over it carefully. “No, sir. I believe that this is the correct answer. I’m sure I got it right.”

  “No. It’s wrong.”

  “Could you tell me why?”

  “Because a mongoose doesn’t mate with a chicken.”

  “What? I’m sorry. I don’t understand what that has to do with math.”

  “Exactly. Perhaps you haven’t been working hard enough. Maybe you got too many A’s and not enough F’s. Everyone in this class knows that a mongoose doesn’t mate with a chicken.”

  I looked around at the class. All the desks were occupied with…chickens. They all looked at me with beady red eyes and sharp yellow beaks, laughing their fool chicken heads off.

  Oh god, I was being mocked by a roomful of chickens who knew how to do math better than I did. “But they’re all chickens. Of course, they would know the answer.”

  “That’s right, and you’re not a chicken.”

  “But I could be a chicken. I could study more, work harder.”

  “I’m afraid not. Do you know what happens to you in this class if you get the problem wrong? If you don’t measure up?”

  “No, sir.”

  “It’s the stewpot. We don’t tolerate stupid chickens in here.”

  “But…but I’m not a chicken.”

  “No? Then you’re just plain stupid.”

  “No!” I cried. “I’ll try harder. I’ll be as good as I can.”

  “I’ll be the perfect chicken,” I murmured, tossing and turning, kicking at the bed sheets. A pillow sailed across the room and struck me right in the head, drawing me out of that fitful dream.

  “Aubree. You’re having the chicken dream again. If you don’t shut up, I’m going to yank out all your feathers,” Ashley grumbled. My roommate Ashley Cook and I were opposites. I was an uptight stats major and she was an artsy landscape architecture major. She was wild. I was sedate. But somehow we clicked.

  Before I could respond to her half-serious threat, my cell phone chimed. I sat up in bed, now fully awake, my heart pounding. A call at this time of night was never good…wait…two a.m….it was technically morning. I fumbled around for the light and stumbled out of bed.

  “Aubree. What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” I said rummaging through my Einstein tote in frustration.

  “Oh, just turn it upside down.” Ashley huffed. Her golden blonde hair fell forward in a loose braid as she got out of bed, grabbed it out of my hands, and upended my ne
atly packed bag onto my bed. She snatched my cell from the jumble and handed it to me. “I swear, Aubree, you’d spend all night huntin’for it.”

  “I knew exactly where it was, miz pushy. You didn’t have to make a mess out of my bag. Albert hates that.”

  An indignant sniff was her reply. “Albert can kiss my ass along with your chicken professor. Besides, you love putting all your humpty-dumpty stuff back together again. Admit it.” She yawned and settled herself on the edge of the bed once again, legs crossed, her expression wry.

  “Hello.” My voice was scratchy from sleep.

  “Aubree Walker?” The man’s voice was deep, brushed with a soft Southern drawl.

  “Yes,”

  “This is Sheriff Mike Dalton.”

  I frowned. I knew that name. “From Suttontowne?”

  His voice was brusque, but there was regret threaded through it. “Yes. I’m calling to inform you that your aunt has been injured. She’s in the hospital.”

  My hand flew to my mouth, my heart jumping into my throat. “Oh, god. What happened?” My Aunt Lottie was my only living relative. The past and the present merged and I was back against the wall, waiting for my mother to wake up from an eternal nap. If it hadn’t been for my Aunt Lottie, who had welcomed me into her home and her life with open arms, I would have been alone.

  “The best that we can tell, she fell down the stairs.”

  I bit my lip until I tasted blood, fighting furiously to hold back the tears that gathered in my eyes and constricted into a solid lump in my throat. “How bad is she?”

  “She’s been unconscious since I found her when I was doing my rounds. But the good news is there are no broken bones.”

  “That’s a relief. I can be there in two hours. Do you know when visiting hours are?”

  “Just a moment.”

  I heard muffled voices and then he came back on the line. “Eight a.m.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “You’re welcome, Miz Walker. Call me when you get to town and we’ll talk.”

  “Okay, goodbye.”

  “What happened, Aubree?” Ashley rose and put her arm around me.

  I looked over at her. “My aunt’s in the hospital. She fell and is still unconscious. I’ve got to go back to Suttontowne.”

  “Now, tonight? Can’t you wait until the morning?”

  I shook my head. My mother had died when I was at school. I couldn’t take the chance that the same thing would happen to Aunt Lottie. I owed her so much.

  I went to the closet and grabbed my suitcases and threw them on the bed. I was relieved that exams were over and all I had to worry about was my research assistantship.

  “What about your RA with Dr. Wells?”

  “I should be able to do the bulk of the work on my computer while I’m in Suttontowne. I’ll email him before I leave.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  It took me no more than thirty minutes to pack and dash off an email to Dr. Wells. Ashley helped cart some of my luggage down to the car. Before I slid into the driver’s seat, she hugged me.

  “Make sure to keep me posted on how she’s doing. And be a good chicken while you’re gone.”

  “Cluck, cluck.” I managed with a weak smile. “I’ll call you. Thanks, Ash.”

  As I drove towards Suttontowne in Hope Parish, where I had lived with my aunt for seven years, I struggled to manage my increasing anxiety. I couldn’t lose my aunt. She was the only family I had left, and losing her would leave me totally alone. Even more alone than I had been for the first twelve years of my life.

  It had scared me something terrible when my mother went into one of her blue spells—crying all the time, hardly ever getting out of her nightclothes, shutting herself away. I’ve always thought that the last spell she had did her in. She’d been too blue to get out and see a doctor, and she’d died of pneumonia. Two days later my Aunt Lottie found me still pressed against the wall too terrified to move. Too terrified about what would happen when they found out my mother was gone and I had nobody.

  I shook the anxious thoughts out of my head and turned on the radio to a lively Cajun station, hoping the cheerful Zydeco music would keep my fears at bay.

  Avoiding the rear view mirror, where I couldn’t help seeing the old ghosts that haunted the depths of my green eyes, I let the music take me home.

  Someplace I didn’t want to be.

  Ever again.

  But I couldn’t turn my back on my aunt. You already have, that strident little voice inside me said.

  My aunt was in a coma. In the hospital. That only added to the mountain of guilt I carried around like a backpack filled with bricks. And it’s always easy for me to add another brick.

  I should at least have gathered up the courage to visit. But I wasn’t there. Just like I hadn’t been there for fall break, or Thanksgiving, or Christmas. New Year’s Eve? Nope. Rang in the New Year in the lab so I wouldn’t have to think about it. Spring break? Yup, you got it. I was working. Easter came and went while I did my statistics thing. I hadn’t planned to be there for summer vacation, either. Work, right. A great RA with a fabulous professor analyzing clinical trials.

  What Thomas Wolfe said, that you can never go home again, was so close to the truth it was scary. But I hadn’t had any way to truly understand what it meant back when I was sitting in high school English. With maturity comes wisdom? Maybe not in my case.

  As I headed towards South Louisiana and the swamp, a storm gathered on the horizon and lightning flashed. That storm also made me think of the boy I had left behind in the worst possible way, under the worst possible circumstances.

  I was heading back to the place where Booker Outlaw and I had collided on one of the worst nights of my life. I trembled just thinking about him and what he’d done for me.

  Now—as I returned to Hope Parish, to Suttontowne, Louisiana for the first time since I left for Tulane—I began to understand the message of Wolfe’s quote

  My experiences changed me. I’d never be the same girl I was before the secrets and the lies. Before the night Damien Langston changed my life forever.

  By the time I pulled into my aunt’s driveway, the rain was coming down so hard I couldn’t see anything but silver sheets streaming down my windshield. May in Louisiana was like monsoon season. The downpour trapped me inside my car and left me feeling isolated and cocooned at the same time. And I don’t do well when I’m alone with my thoughts. When there’s no problem to solve or work to accomplish.

  My aunt’s white plantation house, generations old, had aged gracefully into a soft patina of yellow. It almost broke my heart to see it again, to think that my aunt might die before I could tell her I was sorry for my neglect…to realize that although I hadn’t planned to come home again, ever, I had missed this house—and even more, my beloved aunt—with a deep, enduring ache.

  But abandoning this town had been a necessity that burned inside me like old Mr. Lacroix’s cheap moonshine.

  My vision blurred, my nose runny and probably red from the tears that had started when I was about an hour outside Lafayette. I sat trapped by the rain. My stomach had already been in such knots that I hadn’t eaten anything since leaving Tulane.

  No, I couldn’t come home again, but I could and would be there for my aunt. It tore me up to think of her falling down that wide, grand staircase, lying there alone for who-knows-how-long in that big, empty house.

  I went cold at the thought. Really cold. And scared. It was too early to visit her at the hospital and, even though I wanted to see her desperately, I would never break the hospital rules. They were there for a reason. Sick people needed their rest to get better. And I wanted my aunt back.

  Grief clutched at me. My throat went tight with pain. Memories of life with my wonderful aunt flooded me, only adding to my tears. Those memories opened up deep emotions that rocked me. I was a terrible niece. I hadn’t bothered to come home for the holidays, instead making the excuse that I had to work. The
guilt made the knot in my throat even more painful.

  All because I was a coward.

  I was trying to mop up a fresh flood tears when something furtive darted past the back window. It appeared abruptly in my peripheral vision, its figure distorted by rain, mists on the window, and still more tears. I gasped and grabbed the steering wheel in panic, while the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I stared in the rear view mirror, raising a hand to quickly wipe my eyes clear, searching for the apparition, but just as abruptly, it was gone.

  Were my eyes deceiving me? I peered into the rain-soaked darkness, but the silver sheets obscured my view.

  The pelting cascade of water struck the roof in a staccato rhythm which had, only moments ago, been soothing. But now I realized the downpour muted any outside sounds that might have given me a clue about what had flitted past the car. The storm had rendered me deaf and blind, and my skin crawled. Was someone out there? I looked around, my senses on full alert, but could see nothing.

  Suddenly my back window exploded in a cascade of finely-beaded glass. Something heavy hit the back seat. I screamed as glass fragments and blowing rain struck the back of my head and neck with moisture and stinging pain.

  For a moment I was stunned. My car keys slipped from my slack grasp and fell into shadows, landing somewhere on the floorboards. Someone had thrown something through my window. The oddness of the eerie, sneaky figure added to my confusion.

  My hand went to the back of my neck and came away red with blood. I twisted around left and right to see if whoever had broken my window was still out there, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. When I reached down to try to find my car keys, my skin crawled with the feeling I was being watched.