by Cindy Miles
His laugh was soft. Soothing. And very, very sexy. “I can see that.”
“Where’s my dad?” I asked.
“He just ran downstairs for some coffee,” he answered, and leaned forward. With his forefinger, he traced my lips, the bridge of my nose. “You did good, Ms. Thibodeaux,” he said. “The surgeon was able to remove most of the mass,” he told me. “He feels chemo will do the rest.” He brushed a kiss across my mouth, then pulled back and looked at me; wonder and admiration glared in his eyes. “You’re one bad ass chick, Memory Thibodeaux.” He winked. “Crack shootin’, Danny.”
I smiled. “Crack shootin, Raif.”
“There’s my girl,” my dad said as he walked into the room. He handed Jace a foam cup of coffee, set his down, and grasped my other hand. Max’s big blue eyes were wet as he searched my face. “How you feelin’?”
“Mais, pretty damn good, I’d have to say, yeah,” I answered. “Mama was there with me,” I smiled, and Dad’s eyes softened. “She told me I had to make a profound mark on the world.”
Tears glazed Max Thibodeaux’s eyes, and he cleared his throat. “I think you already have, darlin’.” Emotion made his voice crack.
I held my dad’s eyes for a moment. “How long before I can get out of here, Daddy?”
His brows furrowed, but he tapped my nose with his forefinger and shook his head. “When the doctor says so, that’s when.”
Jace just looked at me and grinned.
And held my hand, even when I fell asleep on him.
He left my side only to attend classes; he’d used a few sick days at the garage so he didn’t have to pull long shifts. And when I was released from the hospital, Jace was there with my dad, and they’d both carried me home.
I’d never felt so grateful, so full of love, in all my twenty-two years. It’s all I’d wanted—to survive surgery. To not be a burden.
The rest was up to me.
Yeah, Death. Up yours, you asshat.
I had this.
“M-Cat, are you ready yet?”
I stared into the full-length mirror in my bedroom and inspected my appearance. Blue gown. A blue cap that I wore over my Aerosmith bandana. Silver tassle. Silver sash. The Winston University colors.
I’d made it to Graduation Day.
The road had indeed been bumpy; I’d had my first round of chemo less than two weeks before, and it left me pretty weak. But I’d made it.
This far, anyway.
Dr. Cates had told us that my survival rate was still iffy. That I may make it through chemo and radiation and the tumor might come back. Or my immune system would take a dump. Or I’d get pneumonia. Blah, blah blah.
I’d done everything asked of me. I’d made the decision to have surgery, and I’d come through it. I’d made it through Round One of the Shittiest Miracle Medicine Known To Mankind. And I was getting my goddamned diploma.
Yeah, I was damn proud of myself.
“Yes, Father,” I called out. I smoothed my gown once more, slid my feet into the low-heeled black pumps, and headed for the door.
When I walked out, Jace and Max both stood and stared. A hurricane couldn’t have wiped the smile off my dad’s face, and right then and there I knew every fight I’d had, every night of nausea, every headache, every worry, was worth the proud smile on Max Thibodeaux’s face. Yeah, it’d been worth it, all right.
Jace Beaumont, on the other hand, had a smile, too, and it was full of love, and I still couldn’t believe Fate had pushed us together. I guess she’d known all along what she was doing. Damn me for ever questioning her.
Two proud men—one my father, one my true love.
Who could be so lucky? So blessed?
We rode together to the college, where commencement ceremonies would take place on the football field. It was mid-May, warm, and the sun felt good on my skin. My body was weakened, but it didn’t stop me from enjoying every single second of this day. A day I’d worked my ass off to accomplish.
One I couldn’t have ever accomplished without the help of, oh, say a couple dozen people. And my mom. I knew she’d been with me all along. She was with me now. And forever.
Two of those special people rode in the truck with me.
“I need to see your grad cap, Memory,” Jace said, and I gave it to him and he busied himself with it in the backseat of my dad’s pickup as we parked.
“Don’t look,” Jace insisted when I turned around.
My dad laughed.
I pouted.
When Jace climbed out to help me, he perched my grad cap on top of my head, and I snugged it down over my Aerosmith bandana.
He held a proffered arm. “Let’s go.”
My dad met me on my other side, and I held his arm, too.
We’d had practice for two days earlier that week, and we arrived a little early. By the time the commencement music began, the stadium was packed. My cheering squad consisted of people I’d come to know and love through Jace—including his mom, brothers, Olivia and Brax, Kane and Harper. Quickly, my eyes sought through them until I found Jasper, and our eyes clashed, and he smiled a wide, cheesy smile, and tipped his hat. I blew him a kiss. God, I loved that old guy.
In the crowd of graduates, Claire, Crisco and the others all found me and we hugged briefly, and then they found their place in line.
Because I was so weak, Jace would help me to my chair once the others had walked in. He did, brushed a soft kiss over my lips, and grinned.
His eyes danced as he sought mine. “I’m damn proud of you, Memory,” he said softly. Then he moved off to the side with my dad.
Jace winked.
And it was then that I noticed the guy’s cap in the row ahead of me. I glanced around, found Crisco. Bentley. Conner. Peeshwank. Sugar, and Brie. Saw their caps, too, and my heart melted.
I knew the school had found out about my cancer. Hell, I was the infamous Winston Daredevil. Any news about me would spread like wildfire.
But I had no idea it’d make such an impact. On not just my best of friends, but on everyone.
My gaze moved over the crowd, and my heart seized when I noticed that on the top of every single graduation cap, the students had taped the letters MC in gray and gold—the awareness colors for childhood cancer and brain cancer.
My eyes shot to Jace and my dad, who stood just at the end of the row. I lifted my cap off of my head and saw the letters Jace had taped on there while in the truck.
He looked at me then, and I met his gaze, and that crooked, easy smile lifted his mouth up, and I swear to All That’s Holy, my heart nearly burst. With pride. With love. With such severe emotion, it’s hard to explain, really.
It didn’t stop there.
Each name was called, and hey—this is Texas, baby—there were cowbells. Airhorns. Proud mamas and papas and grandmas and grandpas and siblings cheered for their loved ones as they crossed the stage. But when my name was called?
God Almighty. No words for it.
Speechless again.
“Memory Catherine Thibodeaux,” the dean called.
The band suddenly sidestepped their traditional Graduation Waltz and Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” began, and I burst into laughter and tears started down my cheeks as my father and Jace led me up the walkway, the applause thunderous, and somewhere somebody let loose dozens of blue and gold balloons that drifted in a cloud above me, and I glanced at first my dad, then Jace, and I couldn’t help but stop at the podium and give a little booty shake after accepting my diploma. I couldn’t drop it to the floor like I would’ve liked, but it was still good.
The crowd burst into screams and applause.
It was almost the very best day of my life.
Almost.
August
“I have never seen you more beautiful.” Jace whispered against my mouth. “You can just about talk me into doing anything.” He kissed me. “But you’re not taking the wheel, Memory.”
“Mais, when are you going to teach me?” I whined.
>
Jace grinned. “Just get in the plane. We’re losing daylight. Wait, first,” he said, and pulled me close, lowered his head and his mouth found mine, and he fit his lips perfectly to my lips, and the kiss deepened, and my heart quickened. When his head lifted, that half-cocked smile was there.
“I’m so in crazy love with you, Memory Thibodeaux,” he said softly.
I smiled up at him, my heart bursting. “And I’m so utterly and chaotically in love with you, Jace Beaumont.”
He winked. “Let’s go.”
I’d finished chemo. Had gone through four treatments of radiation. So far, so good, as far as the mass was concerned. According to my last MRI, it had indeed shrunk. For now, it was good enough for me. No guarantees, the doctors had said. But in life, were there really any?
The setting sun fell across the late August sky, and lavender and salmon and drifts of white streaked overhead, and Jace gently snugged my helmet on—my hair had barely started growing back so I had on my favorite Aerosmith head-wrap—tightened the chin-strap, adjusted my goggles. He did the same, then helped me into my seat. He climbed in behind me, and we began to taxi across Jasper’s hay field runway, and the vintage Bi-plane climbed high, higher, above the trees and over the Calico River, and the warm wind pushed at my face and adrenaline raced through my body as we soared, and I knew then my life was complete. I’d hit everything on my Bucket List. Anything else was gravy.
And I couldn’t wait to see what other surprises Fate might hand me.
Dear Diary,
So, here we are once again. You know now that there was a man named Jace Beaumont, and that he saved me—oh, wait. That’s totally stealing Old Rose Dewitt Bukater’s line from Titanic. Scratch that, if you please.
Ultimately, I’ve accomplished the impossible. Twice, I’ve kicked Death’s ass. And I’ve met the love of my life. Who could ask for more?
Cool thing is, I’ve noticed my dad giving Jace’s mom the Sexy Eye. Yes, you heard me. My Father, Maximillian Thibodeaux. And Sadie? Yeah, she’s all about some Max, let me tell ya. I’ve seen it. The shy looks. The soft brush of a hand against an arm. The long gazes. The smiles that reach their eyes. It’s kind of fun, but totally weird to watch them flirt, while pretending they’re not flirting. Do us young people act so dorky?
Anyway, Diary. That’s it for now. I’m here, and it’s day-by-day for a while, but with Jace Beaumont? I can’t get enough of him. And I’ll take whatever I can get. Yeah, he’s just that great. He’s my sweet emotion. He makes me whole. And he’s what I’ve been missing in my life all along.
Until next time, Diary.
Memory Catherine Thibodeaux
Acknowledgments
To my phenomenal agent, Deidre Knight, my spectacular editor at TKAD, Jamie Schlansky, and Uber Marketing Minx, Jia Gayles—and all involved at TKAD—THANK YOU. You’re way more than what your titles entail. On top of making my publishing dreams come true, and helping me make the very best story possible, you all feel like a big, juicy family to me. The Stupid in Love series exists because of all of you.
To Allison Bunton, from whom Memory Thibodeaux gained all of her slick bootie-moves, THANK YOU for reading my books first and giving me confidence that I’d written a good story.
To my sisters and brothers and son and daughters and monkeys and parents and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends who have always cheered me on, since the Very Beginning, THANK YOU.
To my writing sisters, Lily Dalton and Leah Marie Brown, who are always there with advice and ideas and laughs and snorts. (Thanks, Lily, for crashing curtains and panties stuck in the jeans.)
For a special friend, Jan Williams Watkins, and her son, Joe, who inspire me not only with my work, but in everyday life.
And always, always, to my mom, Dale Nease, my Biggest Fan of All.
Love you, guys.
Mean it.
Just In Case You Missed It!
STUPID GIRL (BOOK ONE)
Only fools fall in love...
After her senior year of high school leaves behind nothing but heartache, Olivia Beaumont is sure of this: She's no stupid girl. She sets out for Winston University, promising herself that she will remain focused on her first and only love - astronomy. But all it takes is cocky sophomore Brax Jenkins and an accidental collision with a football, to throw her entire year off course.
A quick-tempered Southie who escaped the inner city streets of Boston to pitch for Winston, Brax is known to play way more fields than just the baseball diamond. So, when his name is drawn to take part in his fraternity's hazing dare, Brax eagerly accepts the mission to take Olivia's virginity. But he doesn't plan on falling hard for the sweet and sassy Texas girl who sees right through his bad-boy persona.
As Olivia and Brax battle their feelings for each other, echoes of the past year begin to surface. A boy who once turned Olivia's whole world upside down reappears, and "harmless" pranks wreak havoc. Pretty soon the aspiring astronomer is on the verge of revealing her most difficult, heartbreaking secret. All the while, Brax must wrestle with the irrevocable dare, and Olivia struggles against all logic as she does the one thing only a stupid girl would do: fall in love.
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* * *
STUPID BOY (BOOK TWO)
Brax Jenkins and Olivia Beaumont are the most envied couple at Winston University—but the so-called “virginity dare,” orchestrated by Brax’s old fraternity, almost tore them apart. Now, a new dare is taking shape, and it’s sure to set emotions ablaze—more than ever before.
Winston’s “It Girl” Harper Belle isn’t just president of the Deltas—she’s also a master at keeping her ugly past a secret. So, when the Kappas’ dare hits closer to home for her more than anyone realizes, she devises a competition of her own as payback. Three sorority sisters will seek out a notorious womanizer on campus and—unbeknownst their “mark”—secretly train him to be the perfect boyfriend. Always up for a challenge, Harper targets the biggest player she can find: Brax’s wickedly handsome foster brother Kane McCarthy.
But, Harper discovers there’s much more to Kane than girls, games, and partying. His easy smile belies the quiet, old soul reflected in his deep brown eyes. All it takes is one night, one secret laid bare, and one kiss from Kane to shift Harper’s world on its axis. Suddenly, the girl who’s always walked a straight and narrow path can’t think of anything else except losing control.
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Rock Addiction by Nalini Singh
New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh stuns with a sizzling contemporary romance…
A bad boy wrapped in a sexy, muscled, grown-up package might be worth a little risk…
Molly Webster has always followed the rules. After an ugly scandal tore apart her childhood and made her the focus of the media’s harsh spotlight, she vowed to live an ordinary life. No fame. No impropriety. No pain. Then she meets Zachary Fox, a tattooed bad boy rocker with a voice like whiskey and sin, and a touch that could become an addiction.
A one-night stand with the hottest rock star on the planet, that’s all it was meant to be…
Fox promises scorching heat and dangerous pleasure, coaxing Molly to extend their one-night stand into a one-month fling. After that, he’ll be gone forever, his life never again intersecting with her own. Sex and sin and sensual indulgence, all with an expiration date. No ties, no regrets. Too late, Molly realizes it isn’t only her body that’s become addicted to Fox, but her heart…
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That Thing You Do by Maria Geraci
Allie Grant doesn’t believe in second chances. She does, however, believe in the power of a permanent paycheck. So when a tipster reports that the soon-to-be demolished senior center in her hometown is haunted, Allie hightails it to Whispering Bay to get the scoop that could secure her dream job at Florida! magazine. What she finds, though, is far scarier than any ghost. Cue her ex-boyfriend, sexy construction foreman Tom Donalan.
When To
m catches Allie poking around his construction site, he quickly realizes his former high school flame is just as feisty as ever. And, heaven help him, her irresistible, mile-high legs still take his breath away. But Tom isn’t about to delay the building’s demolition because of a silly ghost story.
With neither of the stubborn exes backing down from their opposing positions, sparks fly. And, underneath the surface, the fire of their old attraction burns as hot as ever. When strange things start happening with increasing frequency around town, even a tough skeptic like Tom is tested. The question is, can Allie and Tom stop fighting long enough to get to the bottom of Whispering Bay’s ghost problem—and the more important matter of mending their broken hearts?
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About the Author
Cindy Miles grew up on the Vernon River in coastal Georgia. A best-selling author and a full-time writer, she lives and continues to be inspired by the Gothic Revival and Georgian architecture, the moss-draped squares, ancient cobbles and surrounding coastal marshes of Savannah.
Visit her online at www.cindy-miles.com, on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.
Copyright Information
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.