by Dela
“That may be true. But growing up is a good thing, Zara.”
The guilt came as I felt his envy of my ability to age. “I know, you’re right. It’s just hard saying good-bye to people.”
“Good-bye to people, or good-bye to Jett?” Lucas wondered.
My mind weighed heavier, imagining all the people Lucas had said good-bye to, and now I could be one of them. I’d cause him more pain. This was a sick game we played, but I couldn’t not play; I loved him too much. I paused to clear the thought, eventually letting the truth settle in, and then answered hesitantly, “The former.”
Lucas didn’t answer. We both stood still, watching silently as Jett wrapped up on stage. When a new performer took over, Lucas moved.
“Want to go outside?” he asked. I nodded quietly.
He helped me to the balcony where Jett and I had talked earlier. Lucas handed me his jacket because I’d forgotten mine in the car.
“Thanks,” I said, sliding into the lined jacket, which smelled like warm, fresh coconut.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Anything.”
I was wary about what he would say, and I watched him carefully as I felt my nose changing colors. It hurt to breathe in the sharp pinch of coldness. His nose, of course, stayed the same color. He stepped closer nervously, his shirt brushing against my dress and the bandages beneath it.
“I need to ask you this,” he said, his chin almost touching my forehead as he looked down.
“What?” I asked, suddenly weakened by his proximity.
His eyes didn’t waver from mine. “Do you love Jett?”
“Why . . .” I shook my head, feeling almost upset. “Why would you ask that?”
“You’re incredible.” Lucas smiled, though it was crooked.
“Why?”
“Because you are more powerful than you know,” he said, his face unchanging now.
I looked back blankly.
“You have both Jett and I locked inside a cage. Each of us wanting your love, right?”
“Well, you have it,” I assured him.
“That may be, but what about Jett? Someone locked in a cage will do only one thing: try to get out.”
I wasn’t following, so I just looked at Lucas.
His feet shuffled through the grainy snow, but then his calmness evaporated and he burst out, “You can’t keep Jett locked up if you are planning to be with me, or anyone else for that matter. It isn’t fair. If you care for him, you will let him go. Let him move on and be happy.”
His bluntness stunned me at first, and then its unvarnished principle stung my core. It was the truth. I couldn’t hold on to Jett and move on with Lucas. It was like trying to live in summer and winter at the same time. It was impossible. One had to go.
“I know!” I lowered my head and fussed with the buttons of his shirt, the feeling of losing Jett still settling into my heart. “You’re right,” I whispered. “I let him go. I told him so earlier.”
“I’m not trying to be right. I just want you to know how I feel.” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed gently. “It’s unfortunate that you were Jett’s worst mistake, because you were by far my best mistake.”
I squeezed back and breathed in his tropical scent. “And I want you to know how I feel. I want you . . . I just hope we know what we’re doing.”
There was a clear expression of fear on his face before he pressed his forehead to mine. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not,” I said.
“No, I mean, I don’t want to lose you.”
The reality of our conversation went from sad to horrifying as he finally realized the time bomb that was our relationship. I shivered, picturing myself seventy years from now. I couldn’t think of that now. He cinched my young self tightly, until I could feel his belt buckle pressed against my belly.
The music inside suddenly blared, shaking the double-paned windows. But it didn’t break his fond stare as I grazed my fingertips along his cheek and then upward across his forehead, searching for anything like me—a wrinkle, a mole, a crease. But his face was perfectly polished, except for the short hairs shadowing his chin. My eyes fluttered as I tried to regain the breath he’d unintentionally stolen. He will always be this beautiful.
“I am not going to lose you,” he said.
I twisted my fingers into his. “In time you may, but as long as I live, you will always have my heart.”
Lucas joined our lips, a graze barely there before he straightened up. He led me inside to join the others as the last few minutes of the year drifted by in laughter, singing, and dancing, not caring how silly we looked in fancy clothes and cheap New Year’s hats.
Then, as the clock counted down, we chanted as a group, “Ten, nine, eight . . .”
Lucas drew me into his arms and stilled, keeping me tucked into him as he smiled. “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year,” I responded.
And then I leaned in to kiss my prince.
Acknowledgments
In honor of finishing my first novel, I am putting on my headphones and pushing play on my playlist, Zama, one last time. After all, that’s what THE 52ND was called for three years before deciding on the title. Zama—once the name of Tulum, meaning “City of Dawn” because it faced the sunrise—always had a place in my heart from the moment it was created. To this day, I occasionally use the name.
I want to publicly thank my wonderful husband, Rodney, who through the end has been here at my side—sending emails, making phone calls, and going on late night food runs—and thanks to my small nuggets; Luke, Mia, and Chloe. The sacrifices that my family made in order for me to complete this journey were incredible. It wasn’t easy, and most times it felt like we were slugging through the trenches of mac ‘n’ cheese, cereal, frozen burritos, and Eggo Waffles.
Thank you to my Pubslush supporters who surprised me with their high donations: Alberto De La Paz (my funny, Latino dad), Daryl Carlson, Jamie Feller, Audrey Miller, and Ryanne Nigro. I still can’t seem to comprehend the generosity, love, and interest that each of you have shown over the course of publishing.
Thank you my beloved beta readers. Without your opinions—and fearlessness to tell me those opinions—THE 52ND wouldn’t be the same. Zara might have still been in high school, Lucas would have repeated the same shiz over and over, and their relationship would have been dull: Ashley Davidson; Kaymee Cottrell; Lindsey Bailey; Amber Stewart; Morgan Baldwin; Charlie Melvin; Erin Burton; Katie Gregory; Ashley Gaskell; and mi abuela, Bertha Szilady, aka “Grandma Titi” Titina.
Okay okay, Charlie deserves a little more. She helped me with my very first draft. That alone merits her a special spot in here, not to mention the hours she took reviewing and pointing out my mistakes. Love you, prima. Let’s go to Cancun now . . . on me.
And my fabulous team: Kellie Hultgren, my power editor who gives harsh truths in the gentlest way possible . . . she says it how it is. Kellie had me working so hard my brain still hurts. Thanks to Jay Monroe for the design. Where did you come from, Jay?! The first draft he showed me was magic, no changes needed—it blew my mind. Amy Quale, my Wise Ink manager. Let’s go to conception; thank you for being at the Writer’s Digest Conference in LA. I know you traveled far to be there, but phew, THE 52ND and you were a pair meant to be.
And lastly, thank you, my readers. This story was never supposed to be for me. It was always meant for you.
About the Author
Dela is the debut author of THE 52ND saga. Before tracing the minds of Aztec gods with her writing, Dela worked as a paralegal and could be found snowboarding at Brianhead, Utah. She currently lives in Las Vegas with her husband, three kids, and two exceptionally fat Chihuahuas. Her website is www.delaauthor.com.
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