"That, I do," Cole says, offering me a wink.
Aidan addresses me again. "What do you think? It's pretty sick, right?"
I blink at his words, thinking for a second he's referring to Cole's soul. Then realize what he's trying to say.
"Yes, it's…amazing," I say. "You all did a great job. Really, this is incredible."
A smile breaks out on Aidan's face. He and the other kids start telling me about which parts of the mural they worked on and how much time it took. Before long, they start describing other murals around the Bronx.
"There's more of them?" I ask, my eyes widening as I look over to Cole.
He's watching me closely, relishing my reaction.
"We've been doing this for a while. There are three murals, total," he says, but at Aidan's frown of disagreement, adds, "Of you, anyway."
"Can I…see the others?"
"Of course." Cole sets a hand on my back and nods over to the cab, still idling at the curb. "Our chariot awaits."
We say goodbye to the kids, who seem in no hurry to leave the parking lot and return to their lives. Instead, they continue to hang out even as Cole and I ride off in the cab again. I'm quiet, staring out of the window until the mural's obscured by the surrounding buildings.
"What's on your mind, beautiful?" Cole asks, his voice low.
I bite my lip. As we rode over here this afternoon, I realized what today is. I've been so caught up in Cole I nearly forgot. Now I'm battling shame along with the other emotions making my chest hurt. I don't want to tell him why today is an emotional day for me. Admitting it might taint the romantic gesture he seems to have planned.
Today is the anniversary of my mother's death.
When I stood in front of the mural, all I could think of is how much my mother would've loved seeing it. If anyone should be on a mural, it should be her. She had a presence that was larger than life and loved nothing more than to manifest it in bold colors that drew attention. Her hair, her clothes, her energy. Everything about my mother shone as bright as a beacon. She wanted to see me shine, but I struggled to allow myself to. It was only after she passed that I realized I didn't have the luxury not to shine. It was only then, when I gave myself permission—to draw attention, to be the point of focus—that I finally found the success I'd always dreamed of. In a world that teaches women they have to be beautiful, but not know it, and smart, but never show it, I had to believe in who I wanted to be then I had to become it.
But my mother never got to witness any of it.
Cole watches me patiently as I stare down at my hands. He's waiting for my answer.
"I guess I'm just…trying to take it all in. Trying to wrap my head around the meaning."
"You could always ask the artist," he offers.
I nod, but swallow instead of asking, afraid my emotions will unravel if I do.
He holds my hand again and goes quiet. The mood grows somber, and I peer up at him, wondering if he knows what today is. I don't ask, and he doesn't mention it. Instead, he takes me to two other murals in two other neighborhoods. The art transcends their locations, giving the impression a person could escape, if only they stared for long enough. The murals are all about transformation, resilience and empowerment. And they all feature a small young woman, who treks on, regardless of what lay before her.
My heart aches with love and pain, and the idea Cole thinks so much of me.
I stand in front of the third mural, staring at the beautiful colors and the fierce expression of the woman, who looks as though she will fight her way through the bricks to come right at me.
And just when I'm sure I can't handle a drop of anything more, Cole takes me to one last mural.
We reach the intersection of East 162nd Street and Jerome Avenue, just across from Yankee Stadium. There, nestled at the foot of apartment buildings and facing busy traffic, stands a small, dingy strip of abandoned storefronts with their metal gates pulled down over their doors.
The sounds of the city fall away as though time itself came to a stop.
The image painted across the storefronts isn't of me.
It isn't about me, or even for me, but looking up at it makes me go weak at the knees.
It's of a woman with wise hazel eyes and black hair teased high. Her beauty is breathtaking, but it's her aura, which expands in waves of color all around, that gives her an otherworldly appearance. She holds out a single Tarot card, which is as large as a window.
On the card, at the center of an oval twisted from decorative vines, is the image of a young, naked child riding a horse and carrying an orange banner across a field of flowers. A figure of the sun shines down on him and the castle visible just beyond.
It's the sun card.
It's the symbol of optimism and fulfillment, of the dawn following the darkest of nights.
Staring up at the woman again, the full meaning of the mural hits me and tears well up in my eyes.
"Mama," I whisper, raking in a breath that can't get past my throat.
Cole wraps an arm around me, sensing my knees threatening to give out. Pedestrians stroll past undeterred as we stand in the middle of the sidewalk for several long minutes. Cole holds me while I wipe away at my cheeks, the pain in my chest slowly loosening to an acute sense of gratitude. All I can do is shake my head, unable to find the words.
"You did this?" I ask.
Of course he did, who else would've made my mother's image come to life like this?
"I let her down," he says. "I let you down. And I'm sorry I wasn't there, I was in no condition to come back when I heard about your mom. And to this day, I still hate that I wasn't there for you."
I sniff back a fresh wave of emotions, barely trusting myself to speak.
Cole stares up at the mural of my mother alongside me. We go still, as though the city isn't pulsing around us, busy as ever. Loud and erratic, oblivious to us and our moment. A strange lightness comes over me, until I forget the sadness and find the growing sensation of peace. Of everything settling into its place.
"My mom hated you."
As soon as I say it, I clasp a hand over my mouth and snort, embarrassed.
"No, she really did," he agrees.
I touch his chest and stare up at him.
"She would've loved this, though. Really, Cole. She would've loved this so much. Thank you."
His expression grows serious as he shifts to stand straight in front of me. My heart rate picks up, even before I know why.
"Being with you, Mila, it changed my life. It was the first time I realized I could be more than what I'd been led to think all my life. It's why I started working with kids. I realized so many of them don't have someone who believes they could be better. And it's also why you're in the murals. You were my catalyst. Losing you was pain like I'd never known. I was reborn in that pain, forced to become the man I needed to be just to find these words..."
I'm overwhelmed and not ready for what I think he's about to do when he reaches into his pockets. I start shaking my head, eyes wide.
"Don't worry," he says, holding up a thin, rose-gold band that catches the sunlight. "This isn't an engagement ring. It's a promise. A promise to you. A promise to your mother," he nods over to the mural, "to be a better man, the man you deserve. To be as vulnerable as I need to be to fight my demons. I promise to make up for every single day I was gone. And one day, the scars will fade and there will only be trust left. One day, our slates will finally be clean. And on that day, I will make you my wife."
My hands shake but I smile through tears as he slips the ring on my finger. When he leans in to kiss me, I can taste my own tears. And it's crazy, so crazy how much my heart expands in my chest.
"I love you," I say against his lips.
He pulls back, as if to see the aftermath of the words in my expression. The way he looks at me sends a surge of life and hope through my entire being.
"I was hoping you still did..."
He brings my hand up to his lips and kisse
s the ring. I hold his gaze for several seconds before lowering my sights to the thin and fragile looking band. It's so simple and unassuming, you'd never guess it holds a promise of the future we're hovering on the edge of, the edge of us.
Wait…there's more!
UP AHEAD:
Get answers! Early reader Q&A
A free preview of Enamor, a friends to lovers romance—just in case The Edge of Us left you in the mood for one.
Early Reader Q&A
What was the inspiration for The Edge of Us? –Courtney Houston
The idea for The Edge of Us first came to me when discovered a poem by R.M Drake over two years ago, right around the time I was working on my second romance novel, Entice. I felt the familiar spark of a plot bunny and jotted down notes for the story. The idea went on to stay buried in a folder on my computer until I came across it again earlier this year. Once again, I felt that spark. This time, though, the idea wouldn't stay buried. Mila, Cole, and Andrew began to tease away at my brain until I gave in and wrote their story.
I really did LOVE Andrew. Tell me, will we get to learn more about him? –Ginelle Blanch
Yes! I love Andrew so much and want to see him get his happily ever after. His story needs more time to simmer in my head, though. I just don't have all the pieces yet, and I need to make sure it's the epic romance he deserves.
I did like how Mila explained how she doesn't see Drew as Amber sees him. In one's eyes he's the villain while in the other's eyes he's a hero. I found it both beautiful and disturbing because even though Mila knows what happened in her eyes he's good. Also knowing they both were hurt by their [exes] I'm just surprised Mila didn't show any anger towards Andrew for what he did to [Amber]. –Annette Laird
That's a great observation. Mila does know what Andrew did to Amber, but I think when you witness someone's remorse as a friend, you are much more forgiving than when you were the person wronged. Andrew did do something awful, and that's a big part of why his story isn't ready to be written. I just don't know if he could have a second chance romance of if his relationship with Amber is dead forever.
We never know what became of Tobias and Grant. Do we get more of them later? –Annette Laird
Yes. There are a lot of nuggets in this book about Grant and Tobias that served to set up a future book about the Kreislers. I have a story for Grant that's been simmering in my head for a while. And let me tell you, I'm so looking forward to bringing that cocky bastard to his knees.
How were you able to dig into the mind of an addict? Personal experience/familial or just went with where the character took you? –Becky Rendon
I've never struggled with addiction myself, but I certainly know of people who have. I think we all know someone currently struggling with addiction—whether we realize it or not. Addiction is an insidious thing, and comes in many forms. Also, I have a Psychology degree, which definitely influenced my understanding of Cole. I've studied the nature of addiction along with many other taboo subjects and I'm deeply interested in exploring all facets of human nature through my writing. It's one of the reasons I love romance. I can't think of anything more vulnerable than falling in love, and only when we are completely open can we exorcise our demons.
Being that Cole overcame his own addictions, why did Camille never open up to him about hers? –Candice Marie
Camille never acknowledged she had a problem. Not to herself, or anyone else. She was always a high functioning addict, as Cole described it. Sometimes, those are the people in greatest peril because they can fall into the deep end of the pool before anyone ever realizes they are in trouble. A lot of early readers took Camille's death hard. Her death was not meant to serve as a shock factor to the reader, but rather a catalyst for the three main characters—who were all impacted by her death in different ways. For Andrew and Cole, it helped them put their feud aside. For Cole, it helped him exorcize the final fear that had been lingering in his head. And for Mila, it gave her the courage to step up and face an ugly truth.
Cole's parents.....do they feel any guilt about Camille's death? Do they just think it was a drug problem she had that led to her dying. Are there any feelings of guilt, like how they treated her possibly is why she took drugs in the first place? –Annette Laird
Oh, the Van Burens…That family is as messed up as they come. Without going into a long rant about those two, Elizabeth (the mother) uses avoidance as a defense mechanism, and so she feels blindsided by her daughter's death. David (the father) is a bit more nuanced in his exemption from guilt, he is a narcissist through and through.
During Mila's walk through of the exhibit, I felt a bit like I was drowning...which I'm quite sure was the intent. While writing it, did you feel the same? Did you have to take a moment to just breathe? –Ginelle Blanch
I did feel that way while writing. My intent was to make the reader feel what Cole felt the whole time he was away from Mila, even if they didn't understand that was what they were reading. It was one of those scenes I pictured like a movie in my head and one of the scenes that I looked forward to writing the most.
That sex scene between Mila and Cole in the last room at the art exhibit, the one underneath the hanging pieces of paper. Where did you get the inspiration from? That is probably one of the most unforgettable scenes I've read in a long time. –Anna Green
The detail of the papers falling on top of them was one of those unexpected things that happen during writing. I didn't know it was going to go that way until it did. But once the pages started to fall on top of them, I started to envision them as falling snow. The inspiration really goes back to Mila and Cole's first kiss, which was under falling snow on New Years Eve. And that kiss was inspired by one of my favorite fictional kisses I've ever seen, which was in an episode of the TV show Jane The Virgin. It's hard to explain if you're not familiar with the show, but the backstory behind the kiss left my stomach with the craziest butterflies. I never forgot it.
Mila was a great character. She seemed so vibrant yet, very very vulnerable. I'm wondering...is there much of yourself in her? I think authors write a bit of themselves into all their characters...maybe? What of her is you? –Ginelle Blanch
I love that you recognize Mila's vulnerability, as that's a huge part of her strength. If you read my other books, you'll find the heroines tend to be headstrong. I pull inspiration from all of the incredible women in my life, their strengths as well as their weaknesses. As a Hispanic woman, I've been raised in a culture where women are encouraged to be outspoken and passionate about their opinions. In that sense, I do think there's a lot of me in Mila's resolve and the way she's not afraid to tackle problems head on. Passive aggressiveness is just not in my nature.
While writing this book, was it always Cole who Mila was going to end up with when it was all said and done? Did you ever feel maybe Andrew was a better choice for a Mila? –Annette Laird
Andrew is the easy choice. He has nothing to atone for as far as Mila is concerned. It would certainly be easier for her to move on with him instead of revisiting the pain of her relationship with Cole. But while a clean slate is tempting, I think it's obvious from the first scene we meet Andrew that his slate is anything but clean. If Mila and Andrew would've chosen to pursue a relationship, they would've had to face the reality that their hearts were never fully in. They both had wounds they would never help each other heal, simply because they were too comfortable with each other to ever face ugly truths. Just because two people *could* be together, doesn't mean they *should*. And now I will duck out as the #teamAndrew people throw tomatoes at my head. ;)
Now, a sneak peek of…
Enamor
Synopsis:
A hundred miles from my problems, I've found a new one just down the hall.
My gorgeous and conceited new roommate is exactly the type of guy who ruined my life.
Hating him should be easy.
Except it's not.
We fight and tease, playing a game we can't win.
; And when all pretenses fall away, he shows me a side to him I can't ignore.
He's guarded for a reason and he's never let anyone in...until now.
With this reckless game we play, there's one truth we can't escape: we're treading the edge of an attraction so intense it might as well be a grenade.
Julia
I take in the details of my surroundings in silence as Giles sets up the pool table. The only sounds in the room are the distant noises of the pool party happening above us. There are some people inside the house as well, their footsteps sounding from down the hall. Somewhere nearby a door closes, but the one to this room remains open.
I walk over to the rack of cue sticks and grab one, testing it out in my hand. It's been a while since I've played pool. After grabbing a second stick, I turn to hand it to Giles and the sight of him sitting on the edge of the pool table, watching me, catches me off guard.
He's still shirtless, wearing a pair of red swim trunks that fit him too well. I'm used to seeing him this way. He's always shirtless around the house. I've pretty much memorized every inch of his upper body. It's hard not to, when he's all compact and lean muscles under smooth skin.
I know he can't see himself. I know he didn't plan for the room's lighting to hit him in just the right way, casting shadows in the hollows of his shoulders, biceps, and abs, accentuating his build. He's set in a spotlight of sorts, which allows glints of the copper tones in his hair to make his green eyes glow as if they're lit from within.
Damn it.
I stare for too long, but he pretends not to notice and reaches for the second cue stick in my hand.
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