by Cora Carmack
She reached up and curved a hand around the back of my neck. I took that as permission enough and pressed her into the mirror.
Her nails bit into my neck, and I groaned.
“Shh! You’re going to get us into trouble.”
“The best kind of trouble.”
I marked a path from her mouth, across her jaw, and down her neck. Her head tilted back against the mirror, and she whimpered. The sound shot straight through me, and I strangled a groan in response.
“Somehow, I don’t think this is what the owner had in mind when she offered to stay open a little longer for us.”
I found a spot at the base of her neck just above her collarbone that made her say, “Oh God.” I concentrated my efforts there, and she wrapped both hands around my neck like she was going to fall. Her breath came in heavy pants, and mine wasn’t much better. I’d not meant for it to go this far, but touching her had a way of derailing my best intentions. I started to kiss lower, but the high neckline of her dress limited my travels.
I groaned, “This dress is definitely not the one.”
She gave a shaky breath, and pushed me away.
After that, I wasn’t allowed in her dressing room. She didn’t even let me see the final dress. She made me return to the car because she wanted it to be a surprise, and because she felt guilty about taking too long.
When I finally saw her in the dress the next day, a black velvet bodice hugged her chest and gave way to a full white skirt that started beneath her breasts and trailed all the way to the floor. The white material was sheer and so layered that it reminded me of a cloud. There were dozens of smaller straps that went over her shoulders and tied in the back. The branches of her tattoo blended in with those and looked like an extension of the bodice. It was the kind of dress I could see her getting married in.
She stood at my door, smiling in a way that was demure and unfamiliar and set my heart racing. I’d experienced a plethora of emotions in my life. I’d made it my career to explore and portray those emotions onstage. When I looked at her, the feeling in my chest eclipsed them all, and I knew that I loved her.
Epilogue
Max
THREE MONTHS LATER
I hadn’t told him that I loved him yet, even though he said it to me a few weeks ago. We’d just passed the mark of my longest relationship, and even though I wouldn’t admit it to him, I was still afraid that I was going to screw this up somehow. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’d almost told him a dozen times, but those three words are the kind of thing you can’t take back. Once they’re out there in the universe, everything changes.
So, I was waiting for the right moment to make that change. Cade called them “beats,” an acting term he’d taught me when we’d been working on some of my music together.
I brushed more blush across my cheeks and smoothed on my signature red lipstick. Cade knocked on the bathroom door and said, “You ready, babe? We’re up next.”
Cade and I were singing at an opening mic tonight . . . together.
There was a song, the first song I ever wrote actually, that I was finally ready to sing, but I didn’t think I could do it without him. He hadn’t been comfortable singing at one of the band’s gigs, and I wasn’t sure this was a song I wanted associated with the band. This song wasn’t about getting a break or making money.
This song was just for me.
He asked, “Are you nervous?”
I smiled and said, “Only enough to throw up.”
He laughed and said, “You’ll be fine then.”
The bar was about half full as we took the stage. It was a big enough crowd that I didn’t feel like our singing was pointless, but not so big that I was overwhelmed. Cade pressed a kiss to my hand, and then took up the bass guitar. In true Golden Boy fashion, he’d learned to play in about a month so that he could play with me while I was writing. I took my guitar up, too, and adjusted the microphone.
The lights were just bright enough to cast the bar in darkness. I leaned into the mic and said, “My name is Max, and this is Cade. Tonight we’re singing an original song that I wrote a long time ago. I’ve never played it in public, and I finally decided it was time.” I took a deep breath. “It’s called ‘Ten Years.’ ”
I started with the familiar opening cords, and immediately all the old emotions rushed up under my skin. I took a deep breath, and thought about why I was doing this. The song had haunted me since I wrote it, and it was time to move past it.
I took a deep breath and started to sing. Cade sang with me, low and solid. His voice was an anchor to the song and an anchor to me.
“In one second, I see ten years
I picture a future of all my fears
One blink, and I think
Losing you is like losing me.”
I met Cade’s eyes and thought that in a few ways this song spoke to our situation as well. It had been three months, and we’d insinuated ourselves into each other’s lives so completely. Even associating him with a song about loss made me have to blink back tears. I was in danger of saying all the cheesy things about better halves and soul mates that I’d always laughed at in movies.
“Lights flash, the car spins
Every time I close my eyes I see
Broken skin, my life stretched thin
Every time I close my eyes I see
Broken skin and broken kin
The end of you feels like the end of me.
“There’s a scream in my soul
’Cause I’ll never feel whole
I’m stuck in the moment. My mind’s on repeat
Trapped in an instant I can’t delete
“Time unravels, my life unspools
The future has made us all into fools
You’re lying there, and I’m stuck in my chair
All I’m allowed to do is stare.”
I got so choked up on the verse that my voice broke, and I had to take a break and repeat some of the guitar part before I was able to come in for the next verse. Cade was so in tune and perceptive that he followed me easily.
“We’re all slaves to the grave
Helpless to save
So we close our eyes to shut it out
Instead it becomes what we’re all about.”
I closed my eyes, and I did see it all as I sang. I remembered the images that had flashed through my mind of a life without Alex. I’d thought of all the moments in my life that she would miss, and how nothing would ever be the same without her. I was at nine years now, and though nothing was the same without her, life also wasn’t as bad as I had pictured it would be.
I glanced at Cade. Life wasn’t bad at all.
“In one second, I see ten years
Can’t hold it back any more than the tears
I see black dresses, life’s stresses
Imagine the grief, loss of belief
My life unfolds as yours is untold
“Every time I close my eyes.”
Cade repeated the last line alone, and when I heard his low and steady voice, I finally felt like my ghosts had been put to rest.
People started clapping, and I looked at him over the microphone and mouthed, “I love you.”
I blinked, and just like that I saw ten more years unfold.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to William Morrow and Amanda Bergeron for believing in my writing, and working so incredibly hard to get it out into the world so quickly. And Amanda, thank you for helping make Cade as awesome as he is. Thank you to Jessie Edwards for being made of awesome and believing in sunken ships with me. Thanks also to Molly Birckhead, Pam Jaffee, and all the rest of the HarperCollins team for doing such a fabulous job.
Thank you to the epic and amazing Suzie Townsend. I am eternally grateful to have a literary gladiator like you on my side. Thanks also to Kathleen, Pouya, Joanna, Danielle, and the rest of the New Leaf Team. You guys keep my world spinning.
Thanks to Kathleen Smith for the information. Thank
you to Jennifer, Colleen, Wendy, Sophie, Kathleen, and Molly for reading this book in advance and loving it. I was kind of petrified, and you guys gave me so much confidence. Thank you to Ana for all the things you do and all the things you are, and for making me feel like I’m more awesome than I am. Thanks to Lindsay for being the person with whom I can share absolutely anything, and for always sharing back. Thank you also to Joey, Patrick, Bethany, Shelly, Zach, Kristin, Sam, Marylee, Kendall, Swinter, Louise, Tyler, Brittany, Michelle, Heather, Amber, DeAndre, Matt, Mark, Mere, Michael, Leesa, and so many other friends. I’m so thankful to have you all in my life. Thank you to my former students (even though you aren’t old enough to read this; close this book right now). Thank you to Marisa, Stacey, Sarah, Michelle, Jamie, El, Molly, Aimee, Kim, Kathryn, Nichole, Julie, and Marice. I love you guys.
I wish I could list each and every blogger, Twitter follower, Facebook friend, and reader who has supported me and my writing. But there are so many of you (for which I’m extremely grateful) that it could fill a whole other book. Just know that I appreciate and love you all so much. All of this is for you!
Thank you to my family. I have the best family in the world, and not just because we rock freckles better than anyone else. This all still feels like a dream. And well, it is a dream . . . one I couldn’t have achieved without your love and support.
And to that guy I threw an Easter egg at in Queens at two in the morning because I thought you were someone else . . . I’m sorry for being the most awkward person to ever walk on two legs.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgments
Dedication
To Kristin, my eerily perceptive travel buddy.
Remember that time we were stuck in a train station overnight?
And taking a cab from Germany to the Netherlands?
And that microwave I ruined in Spain before I almost died?
Thanks for being there for all of that and more.
1
Everyone deserves one grand adventure, that one time in life that we always get to point back to and say, “Then . . . then I was really living.”
Adventures don’t happen when you’re worried about the future or tied down by the past. They only exist in the now. And they always, always come at the most unexpected time, in the least likely of packages. An adventure is an open window; and an adventurer is the person willing to crawl out on the ledge and leap.
I told my parents I was going to Europe to see the world and grow as a person (not that Dad listened beyond the second or third word, which is when I slipped in that I was also going to spend his money and piss him off as much as possible. He didn’t notice). I told my professors that I was going to collect experiences to make me a better actor. I told my friends I was going to party.
In reality, it was a little of all of those things. Or maybe none of them.
Sometimes, I just got that strange niggling sensation at the back of my mind, like the insistent buzz of a mosquito, that I was missing something.
I wanted to experience something extraordinary, something more. I refused to believe that my best years were all behind me now that I’d graduated from college. And if adventures only existed in the now, that was the only place I wanted to exist, too.
After nearly two weeks of backpacking around Eastern Europe, I was becoming an expert at just that.
I trekked down the dark city street, my stiletto heels sticking in between the cobblestones. I kept a tight hold on the two Hungarian men that I’d met earlier in the evening, and we followed the other two in our group. I guess, technically, I had met them last night, since we were now into the early hours of morning.
For the life of me, I couldn’t keep their names straight. And I wasn’t even drunk yet.
Okay . . . so maybe I was a little drunk.
I kept calling Tamás, István. Or was that András? Oh well. They were all hot with dark hair and eyes, and they knew four words in English as far as I could tell.
American. Beautiful. Drink. Dance.
As far as I was concerned, those were the only words they needed to know. At least I remembered Katalin’s name. I’d met her a few days ago, and we’d hung out almost every night since. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She showed me around Budapest, and I charged most of our fun on Daddy’s credit card. Not like he would notice or care. And if he did, he’d always said that if money didn’t buy happiness, then people were spending it wrong.
Thanks for the life lessons, Daddy.
“Kelsey,” Katalin said, her accent thick and exotic. Damn, why couldn’t I have one of those? I’d had a slight Texas twang when I was younger, but my years in theatre had all but beat that out of me. She said, “Welcome to the ruin bars.”
Ruin bars.
I paused in ruffling István’s hair (or the one I called István anyway) to take in where we were. We stood on an empty street filled with dilapidated buildings. I knew the whole don’t-judge-a-book-by-its-cover thing; but in the dark, this place was straight out of a zombie apocalypse. I wondered how to say brains in Hungarian.
The old Jewish quarter. That’s where Katalin said we were going.
Oy vey.
It sure as hell didn’t look to me like there were any bars around here. I took in the sketchy neighborhood, and thought at least I’d gotten laid last night. If I was going to get chopped into tiny pieces, at least I’d go out with a bang. Literally.
I laughed and almost recounted my thoughts to my companions, but I was pretty sure it would get lost in translation. Especially because I was starting to question even Katalin’s grip on the English language, if this was what “bar” meant to her.
I pointed to a grungy building devoid of any signs or address and said, “Drink?” Then mimed the action just to be safe.
One of the guys said, “Igen. Drink.” The word sounded like ee-gan, and I’d picked up just enough to know it meant yes.
Whoo-hoo. I was practically fluent already.
I followed Katalin and András (I was seventy-five percent sure that her guy was András). They stepped into the darkened doorway of one derelict building that gave me the heebiest of jeebies. The taller of my Hungarian hotties slipped an arm around my shoulders. I took a guess and said, “Tamás?” His teeth were pearly white when he smiled. I would take that as a yes. Tamás equaled tall. And drop-dead sexy. Noted.
One of his hands came up and brushed back the blond hair from my face. I tilted my head back to look at him, and excitement sparked in my belly. What did language matter when dark eyes locked on mine, strong hands pressed into my skin, and heat filled the space between us?
Not a whole hell of a lot.
Tonight was going to be a good night. I could feel it.
We followed the rest of the group into the building, and I felt the low thrum of techno music vibrating the floor beneath my feet.
Interesting.
We traveled deeper into the building and came out into a large room. Walls had been knocked down, and no one had bothered to move the pieces of concrete. Christmas lights and lanterns lit the space. Mismatched furniture was scattered around the bar. There was even an old car that
had been repurposed into a dining booth. It was easily the weirdest, most confusing place I’d ever been in.
“You like?” Katalin asked.
I pressed myself closer to Tamás and said, “I love.”
He led me to the bar where drinks were dirt cheap. I pulled out a two thousand forint note. For less than the equivalent of ten U.S. dollars, I bought all five of us shots.
Amazing. Maybe I should stay in Eastern Europe forever.
And I would totally consider it . . . except there was one downside to Europe. For some reason that made no sense to me, they gave lemon slices with tequila instead of lime. The bartenders always looked at me like I’d just ordered elephant sweat in a glass. They just didn’t understand the magical properties of my favorite drink. If my accent didn’t give me away as a tourist, my drink of choice always did.
Lime or not, tequila is my bestie, so I took it eagerly.
Next, Tamás bought me a gin bitter lemon, a drink I’d been introduced to a few weeks ago. It almost made the absence of margaritas in this part of the world bearable. I downed it like it was lemonade on a blistering Texas day. His eyes went wide, and I licked my lips. István bought me another, and the acidity and sweetness rolled across my tongue.
Tamás gestured for me to down it again. It wasn’t really that kind of drink, but who was I to deny him? I threw it back to a round of applause.
God, I love when people love me.
I took hold of Tamás’s and István’s arms and pulled them away from the bar. There was a room that had one wall knocked out in lieu of a door, and it overflowed with dancing bodies.
That was where I wanted to be.
I tugged my boys in that direction, and Katalin and András followed close behind. We had to step over a small pile of concrete rubble if we wanted to get into the room. I took one look at my turquoise heels, and knew there was no way in hell I was managing that with my sex appeal intact. I turned to István and Tamás—sizing them up. István was the beefier of the two, so I put an arm around his neck. We didn’t need to speak the same language for him to understand what I wanted. He swept an arm underneath my legs and pulled me up to his chest. It was a good thing I wore skinny jeans instead of a skirt.