There you are, Debra Hart. I smiled.
A memory flashed in my head. Me and Addison and Lily and Sara. We were at Addison’s house and someone had turned the old song “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” on. Addison sang at the top of her lungs. Sara and Lily and I had danced together in the kitchen. I remembered feeling so completely happy in that moment that I wanted to freeze time.
I inhaled deep through my nose and closed my eyes.
Those moments were some of the best of my life.
There was silence for a second and then, softly, the lyrics “Tale as old as time” drifted from the TV sound system over my living room, and I breathed again. Because whose heart doesn’t lift at those words? And I knew life goes on.
I would always miss those girls. But in some ways, I would always have them.
Now Ben Price loved me the way girls dream of being loved. And I needed him like an artist needs paint. Like a musician needs harmony. Like a writer needs words. Like people need God.
I was jumping up and down and screaming with thousands of people.
I’d flown to Dallas for the last show on Chasing Summer’s tour. They’d tacked on a big musical festival at the end and I couldn’t wait to hear the band. Ben had told me to hang out backstage, but I wanted to be with the crowd, cheering on Twenty-Four Tears. Up on stage, in front of a packed stadium, Ben held that microphone, stomping his foot in time, singing to admiring fans, including me. Post-show, I joined the others in the VIP room, drinking champagne, dizzy over the fact that Twenty-Four Tears had just been signed to Just-the-Beats Records. They’d go into the studio in Los Angeles to work on a new album, then headline their own tour—smaller venues at first, across the Midwest.
As I moved around the room, hugging Karis, talking to the guys in the band, and meeting everybody from Chasing Summer, it occurred to me that I felt like myself again, enjoying the excitement, thriving with the loud hum of the crowded room, chatting with everybody. When we weren’t together, even from across the room, Ben and I kept sneaking glances at each other. Every time he winked in my direction, flutters rushed through me. As much as I was enjoying the excitement and the crowd and the noise, I couldn’t wait to get that guy alone. Once the party finally died down and the room cleared out, Ben and I sat alone on a sofa. He closed his eyes in utter exhaustion.
“So tonight was Karis’s last night. She’s headed back to Denver.” He rubbed his temples.
“And you’re headed to L.A.,” I said, unable to keep the sadness out of my voice. He opened his eyes.
“Miss me?”
“You know I do.”
He reached a tan arm out and pulled me close to him. After the show, he’d pulled back his sweaty hair and tied it back. A homegrown Coloradan, Ben was no match for the Dallas heat and humidity. The guy was wiped. “I need you, Debra.”
“I’m here,” I assured him, thankful he’d exchanged his sweat-soaked shirt for a clean one. I ran my finger down the side of his face, feeling the scruffiness of his beard. I planted a kiss on his cheek. “All those girls out there—they can cry an ocean of tears. You’re my rock star.”
Ben smiled. With his arm around my shoulders, his fingers began touching the ends of my hair. “And you’re mine.” Then Ben sat up, pulling his arm out from around me and facing me. His gaze met mine, searching again. “Don’t you get it? I want kids with curly hair like yours. I want to sleep with you and wake up with you. I want to chase dreams with you and make a home with you.”
Home.
It wasn’t the heat of Texas. Or the mountains in Colorado. Or the lakes of Minnesota.
It wasn’t a brand-new house with fresh paint and a welcome mat.
It wasn’t Luke.
It was Ben. And my own heart.
“I’m already home. I’m with you,” I said the words, knowing they were true. Knowing we were us.
He reached for my arm, his fingers lightly walking their way down to my wrist, distracting me. Playing me as though I were strings on a guitar. “If you really feel that way, Deb, I want you to come to L.A. I want you to come on tour with us. I want you to sing with me. I want you to marry me.”
“What?” I shifted on the couch, putting some distance between us.
“That’s what I want,” he said, patting his chest. “I’ve thought about it and prayed about it. What do you want, Deb?” he asked, studying my response. “This tour has been incredible and fun and opened up so much for Twenty-Four Tears. But I don’t want to do it again without you.”
What did I want? My dream job? I’d already experienced that twice. Singing with Ben would be a whole new adventure. Maybe we’d write songs together. I could see hotel rooms and cities and going to sleep next to him every night in my future. Tour buses and plane rides. Babies and trips home to see family. Music.
A life beyond anything I’d imagined.
Ben took my hand in his. “At Christmas, you told me I’m your river in the desert.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. With my free hand, I touched the verse on his arm. I thought of my nana’s words to me: You’ll lose yourself in passion and find yourself in love. I wanted both with Ben Price.
“When I say I need you, Deb, I mean it.” Ben took a shaky breath and tightened his grip on my hand. “Will you marry me? Can we do all this together?” For a moment, Ben, with his tan skin, light eyes, and dark hair, looked as nervous as I’d ever seen him. I smiled at that.
God, I love him so much.
What I felt for him was wild and deep and unpredictable. I wanted to dive in, like I had that day in the freezing water of the river. “I want you. And yes, we can do this. We can do whatever we want. You and me and marriage and music.”
I kissed him once, then twice. Then paused but he pulled me right back for more. And it was fire and snow and rain and faith and love. Real and lasting.
He settled back next to me, our fingers laced together. Our wrists touching. Two words pressed against each other. His tattoo and my new one.
Healed and Free.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
It broke my heart to break Deb’s in The Last Summer. But that was Sara’s story and the way of it had been settled back when the story first came to me. During the final proofing of The Last Summer, one of my editor friends read the novel and sent me an email that said, “Poor Debra!” I told her, “Deb’s story is coming!” I’d thought of Debra’s story way back during the writing of The Last Summer. I had glimpses of scenes. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever write the full novel. As the time grew closer for The Last Summer to release, I just kept thinking, I’ve got to write it. I’ve got to give Deb a chance too.
So I did.
During naptimes, and after bedtime, and on Saturday mornings and any time I could find, I typed out Debra’s story.
Part of the heartbreak of The Last Summer, for me, was the splintered effect in those special friendships. From the time we’re very young, friends are so important. And haven’t we all lost a friend or gone through a breakup, and felt our heart shatter? Those are deep wounds, and I wanted to dive into what Debra was feeling and show how time—as it so often does—keeps moving on. Eventually we move with it.
It’s been my privilege to explore the friendships between Debra and Sara and Addison and Lily and Jason and Sam and Luke. These seven people have been in my head for twenty years and they’re special to me. I was so thrilled when Ben showed up—I knew he’d be Deb’s best friend and so much more.
My first thought was to dedicate this novel to those friendships in my life that have meant so much, but I soon found that there wasn’t room! I think that at every season of life, friendships make all the difference. They have for me. When it comes to my friends—from when I was just a girl in Texas to my college years in Texas and Virginia to life as a young married in Colorado, working on my career and just beginning to grow our family—to now . . . you all know who you are and I’m so grateful for your friendship.
And thank you with all my heart to my si
sters, Sara and Laura. Because sisters are gifts you get to keep forever. And you can call them crying at any moment and they’ll drop everything. And you can giggle with them over a million inside jokes. And the love never stops.
Thanks to my dad for that first writer’s conference you sent me to in Conroe, Texas. You believed in me from the beginning. Your support means everything, and I love you and Mom so much.
Thank you to Marianne for all your invaluable feedback. And to Jessica Nelson with LPC for your insight and help in shaping and polishing this story.
I want to offer a special thank you to Kollette Decker with Renegade Road for ALL the music advice. Seriously, where would I be? Check out their music at www.facebook.com/coloradocountry1.
As always, thanks to Jeff. I couldn’t do any of it without you.
And finally, all my gratitude to the One who creates a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.
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