“You’re not a failure.” He sits down beside me. Then hesitantly, he reaches out and cups my face between his hands. “You succeed at so many things. You’re the best archer. The best potions maker. You’re one of the best hand-to-hand combat fighters.”
“And I’m the bestest friend,” I joke.
But he doesn’t even so much as crack a smile. “You’re definitely that too.”
“Not lately,” I say. “Lately, I’ve been mean to you.”
“You haven’t been mean. You’ve just been stressed out.”
“And taking it out on you. And I’m sorry for that.”
Now he cracks a smile. “Hey, I’m the one that came here to apologize. Way to steal my thunder, little angel.”
Instead of reaming into him for that nickname, I give him a pass. “Sorry.”
He smiles amusedly. “You’re letting me off the hook for that? You must really feel bad.”
“I do,” I say. “I should trust you when you say everything will be okay. You’ve saved me from dying before, so I should know you’ll do it again. I’m just... I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” he asks. “Death?”
I start to nod but realize I’ll be lying.
I’m not afraid of death.
I’m afraid of failing.
Of not being able to finally leave my past behind.
I’m afraid of being left behind.
Of him leaving me.
Of him going off to college and me losing my best friend.
I realize all of this now.
Or maybe I’ve known for a while and have been too afraid to say it aloud.
I shake my head. “No, I’m afraid that I’ll try, and I’ll fail. That I’ll never be able to get past that stupid day when those angels threw me over the cliff.” I suck in a shaky breath. “And I’m afraid that you’ll go off to school and we’ll drift apart... I’m afraid that I’ll lose you.”
He searches my eyes while skimming the pad of his thumb along my cheekbone. “You’ll never lose me. Even if you didn’t go to college with me, you’d always be my...” He trails off, hesitancy written all over his face.
My head angles to the side. “What’s the matter?”
“I... It’s just that...” He struggles for words, which is super weird for him.
I mean, I once saw him give like a ten-minute speech about the pros and cons of asparagus. Not because he has some weird fetish with asparagus. It was for a speech class.
We had a really weird teacher.
When he continues to hesitate, I add, “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can handle it. I swear.” Although, if he says something like he doesn’t want me to go to school with him, I might break apart on the inside. But that’s something I keep to myself. “I’m your best friend, so just tell me.”
He swallows audibly. “That’s just it. I... I don’t think I want you to be my best friend anymore.”
Okay, so I know I said I’d break apart internally, but it’s a lot more complicated to do when I actually have to do it.
He must see the crumbling on my face because he hurries and adds, “I worded that wrong. Shit, I’m messing this up.” He scoots closer to me until our knees touch. “What I meant to say is that I don’t want you to be just my best friend anymore.”
At the risk of looking like a complete dumbass, I ask, “I don’t... What do you want to be then?”
His lips part then shut. Then, muttering something under his breath, he starts to lean in.
At first, I'm confused.
But then it clicks.
He’s going to kiss me.
Wait... What?
I lean back. “What’re you doing?” I sputter, my heart racing inside my chest.
Not out of fear, though. No, my heart is pulsating out of excitement, which is kind of scary.
He pauses, and I expect him to crack a joke like typical Trystan would. But not a single drop of humor is in his eyes.
"I... I want to kiss you," he says softly with a huge lack of confidence.
Honestly, this side of him is so foreign to me that I almost question if he's been body-snatched or something. But our world is protected from those.
He swallows audibly again. “Haven, can you please say something? I’m... getting really nervous.”
He’s right. I do need to say something.
“Why?” I sputter.
His brows knit. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to kiss me?” And why do I have to sound so spazzy?
“I...” Puzzled amusement creases his features. “You’re asking me why I want to kiss you?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Honestly, I don’t expect him to answer my silly question, so I’m a little surprised when he does.
“Because you’re smart, beautiful, talented, and the bravest angel I know,” he says, nervousness creeping into his tone. “And because I love you.”
He's said those words to me before, but it was more in an I-love-my-best-friend sort of way. Right now, though, I think he means it in a very different way.
Silence stretches between us as my mind races with thoughts. I see all the moments we’ve spent together, starting with the day he saved me. As I reflect on every part of our history together, I realize that I do love him. That I have for a while but have been afraid to admit it.
Always afraid.
I could tell him that I love him, but as my mouth opens, all I say is, “You can kiss me.”
Not quite an I-love-you, but it's as close as I can get at the moment.
I expect him to hesitate, but he doesn’t. He leans in, moving slow, I think so I won’t panic. But my heart is panicking, a fluttering mess inside my chest. When our lips connect, though, all that panic dissipates. And for the first time in a long time, I feel it.
A calmness.
Like this is how things were supposed to be.
How could I not see it? Him—this—us, when it was right in front of me.
Because I was too afraid to see it. And if I don’t let go of that fear, I’m going to lose him.
I jerk back.
His eyelids flutter open, and panic flashes across his face. "What's wrong? Was it... Did you not like it?"
I promptly shake my head. "No, I did." I kiss him again, so he knows I mean it, then I spring to my feet. "There's just something I need to do right now."
I slip on a pair of shoes, then grab his hand, and rush out of the house, holding onto the confidence stirring inside me the best I can.
He doesn’t ask where we’re going, but I’m sure he knows. he holds onto my hand the entire way.
By the time we reach the cliff that stretches above the city, I’m breathless and amped-up with energy.
Of course, when I reach the ledge some of my confidence fizzles.
I latch onto his hand, mentally telling myself that I can do this.
“It’s so dark,” I murmur as I peer down at the sleeping city, unsure if it’s worse to try this at night or better because I can’t see how far the fall is.
“If you want, we can wait until sunrise,” he tells me, giving my hand a squeeze.
I nervously shake my head. “No, I can do this.”
I can...
I think...
Sucking in a huge breath, I turn and let my wings snap out.
“You can do this. I know you can. You’re the strongest angel I know.” With his free hand, he reaches up and strokes my feathers, an intimate touch and something he’s never done before
His words and touch are the boosts of motivation I need. I inhale deeply and inch toward the cliffside.
This is it. I can live in fear forever. Or let go.
Let go of the past.
Before I jump, I spin around and kiss him one last time. “I love you,” I whisper then add, “And if I mess up, please don’t let me splatter against the ground.”
“Never,” he promises.
I hold onto that promise and inch up toward the ledge. Then shu
tting my eyes, I leap forward.
And for a blinding second, I start to fall.
Great, so much for not dying.
But then I feel it. This power.
My wings are flapping.
I’m flying.
“Holy crap,” I breathe out as I take in the night-kissed city below me. “I’m flying.”
I hear wings flapping as Trystan flies over to me. “I knew you could do it.”
He’s right. He always believed in me.
Smiling, I say, “Let’s fly.”
He grins and we take off, flying toward the future and letting go of the past.
ABOUT THE JESSICA SORENSEN
Jessica Sorensen is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in the snowy mountains of Wyoming. When she’s not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.
For information: jessicasorensen.com
SOMETHING WONDERFUL
* * *
LK FARLOW
ONE
Thea
ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death. Not literally, of course. No, the only thing at risk of peril happens to be my pride. But Mama always said if you don’t ask, you won’t know and ever since I saw Dane Foster running across the quad last Tuesday, I’ve been itching to ask him a thing or two.
Like why he cut me out of his life with a dull spoon and why he’s here, at Palm Bluff University of all places, especially since I’m ninety-nine percent positive he’s not even a student here. Last I heard, he was out in Cali, living the dream, preparing to compete in the Rip Curl Pro in Portugal—which is less than two months away. He should be amping up his training, not back in Florida, less than ten feet away from me with a beer clutched in his hand while half-dressed beach bunnies compete for his attention.
Dane and I grew up next door to each other, and even though he went to the fancy-ass private school while I went to public, we were damn near inseparable, spending every afternoon, weekend, and summer together. Even when his school friends came around, Dane included me and threatened to beat up anyone who dared pick on me. Hell, we even exchanged vows in my backyard in second grade. So, yeah, when he quit talking to me out of nowhere the summer before high school, it broke something in my young, naïve heart.
Now that he’s back, I want answers—I need them.
The years have been kind to him. Dane’s once boyish and lanky physique is now built with sleek, compact muscles; all man. His skin is bronzed as if he’s perpetually in the sun and his hair is a golden halo of curls highlighting his chiseled angular face. But the best part about Dane is his eyes. Deep cerulean framed with lashes that any woman would kill for. Even from my hidey-hole in the corner of the kitchen, I can see his piercing eyes, they’re as fathomless as the waves he surfs and I could easily drown in their depths.
My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my denim cut-off’s. I slide it out, already knowing it’s going to be a text from my best friend, Blue—and yes, that’s her real name.
Blue: Have you talked to him yet or are you hiding like a sissy?
Me: I’m not hiding. I’m doing recon.
Blue: Lies! Ten bucks says you’re in some dark corner or pressed against a wall doing your best to blend in. You probably haven’t had a drink. Hell, you probably haven’t even talked to anyone.
Me: Wrong again. I spoke to the guy manning the door.
Blue: Thea, Thea, Thea. What am I going to do with you?
Me: Uh…
Blue: Rhetorical question. Listen closely. You’re going to leave your corner, chug some liquid courage, march up to your Golden God, and confront him. And then, you’re going to find a hot, willing co-ed and dance until your feet hurt.
Me: No to the dancing. Yes to the rest.
Blue: 2 out of 3…I’ll take it. I wish I was there!
Me: Yeah, yeah. Says the girl out on a date with her dream guy. Speaking of, WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME?
Blue: Stop procrastinating.
Clearly, parties aren’t my thing—along with crowds, and you know, just people in general—and Blue knows that. Gah! Sometimes I hate how well she knows me. But that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends with someone for six years; they know your quirks and fears, your dreams and desires. Unfortunately for me, mine are all tied up in one boy—well, man now.
I’m not sure why I thought confronting him at a party was a good idea, but it’s too late to turn back now, because here I am. Blue is totally right, I’m procrastinating. The question is…why? What’s the worst that could happen? You know, other than Dane, a God in his own right, not having a clue of who I am and laughing me straight out of this damn frat house.
Divine status or not, we have history. Admittedly it didn’t end well, but surely, it’s enough to grant me an audience with him.
So why are you making such a big deal out of talking to him? I ask myself. Maybe because he left you in his wake and never once looked back, my inner-asshole replies, trying to sabotage my budding confidence.
“Nope. Not today, asshole,” I mutter to myself, steeling my resolve. “I’ve got this. I am a strong, independent woman. I fear no man. The only thing holding me back is… me.”
I step out of the shadows, my eyes locked on my target, as I swipe a solo cup from the island and fill it with beer. I bring it to my lips and chug the lukewarm liquid. After tossing the cup, I wipe the foam from my lips with the back of my hand and set off toward my former best friend and lifelong crush, ready to demand answers.
TWO
Dane
“PLACE IS PACKED,” I mumble, sinking back into the ugly-ass chartreuse-colored couch, my legs spread wide and my beer clasped loosely in my hands.
“Hell yeah,” my right-hand man—literally and figuratively—Anton replies. “There’s not a better place to be tonight than the Zeta house.”
He’s wrong though. I’d rather be back in San Clemente, because if I was, it’d mean everything was fine, that my dad was healthy and not laid up in an ICU hospital room. I keep telling myself things could be worse, that he could have died. But he made it, and I’m here to help in any way I can. The drink in my hand, my friends by my side, the ocean at my back and a veritable buffet of hot, willing, and eager co-eds to choose from are just cherries on top. So, yeah, while I’m twenty-five-hundred miles away from where I want to be, I know I’m exactly where I need to be.
“Dawn patrol before class?” my friend Brooks asks from his spot next to me on the couch. The three of us are posted up on this oversized monstrosity in the middle of the room, observing the mayhem while sipping ice-cold beers stocked specially for us—because fuck drinking that warm keg swill.
All around us, bikini top and short-shorts clad women dance seductively, vying for our attention. I’m about to answer him when the sight of a blonde and a redhead locking lips while grinding on one another steals my attention away.
Brooks reaches out and smacks the backside of my head. “The fuck?”
“Bros before hoes,” he says, smirking.
“Yeah,” Anton echoes. “Boards before bitches.” My two friends lean forward and bump their fists together.
I roll my eyes but answer him all the same. “Never miss a day. I’m like the fucking postal service—I always deliver; rain or shine, I’m down.”
“Good. ‘Cause it’s gonna pour.”
“Torrential,” Anton adds.
The song pumping through the speakers changes to an old Danger Mouse song. I drain my beer and drop my head to the back of the couch, letting both the music and the alcohol flow through me.
“Refills?” Brooks says, collecting our empties. I nod, letting my eyes slip shut for a moment as Jack White sings about mirrors, triggers, and guns.
Quick as fuck Brooks is back, drinks in hand—a major perk of being surf royalty in a beach town. “Dude,” he says, out of breath.
When neither Anton or I answer him, he digs his elbow into my shoulder. “Dude. Some chick was staring you down from th
e kitch. She’s headed this way and looks like she’s ready to tear you a new one.”
I pop my head up and take my cup from him, placing it on the couch between my knees.
Anton howls. “Don’t tell me you already banged and bailed? Dude, you’ve been home for like a week.”
Running my hands through my mop of curls, I grin. “Nah. You know I’ve been with my family.” I turn to Brooks. “She hot?”
“Only if you’re into petite, dark-haired bombshells.”
I rub my hands together. “I prefer ‘em blonde, but...” I trail off wagging my brows suggestively.
Not even two minutes later a knock-out with killer curves is walking my way. I start from the bottom, lazily working my way up her delectable body. She’s a short little thing with wide hips, a nipped-in waste, and tits I’d love to get intimately acquainted with. She’s easily hotter than every girl here and as she draws nearer, I become even more intrigued.
“Damn, she’s fine.” I run my tongue over my lower lip, admiring the way her dark hair is tied up into a knot on the top of her head. Thick bangs frame her face, giving way to a pair of Aviator-style glasses. She has a button nose and lush, full lips. Girl’s got the whole sexy-nerd thing on lock in a pair of daisy-duke overalls over a sports bra with a pair of shell-toe Adidas on her feet.
Finally, after what feels like the longest build up ever, my fun-sized goddess is before me. “Dane? Dane Foster?” she asks, her voice nothing more than a soft rasp. I grin and give the guys a nod, signaling for them to scram.
“I see my reputation proceeds me.” I pat my boardshort covered thigh. “Why don’t you have a seat and—”
“You’re joking,” she says. “Please, God, tell me you’re joking.”
“About a pretty little thing like you climbing onto my lap? Yeah, no. Definitely not joking.”
“Wow.” She huffs out a breath. “Just…wow.”
“Cat’s got your tongue?” I ask, amping up the charm with my best bikini-bottom-dropping smile.
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