He runs a hand over the needles, and the scent of pine fills the air. “Do you know it's almost Christmas?”
“I just realized it when I went grocery shopping. The music on the radio and the decorations at the store clued me in.” I set down the bags and touch the tree. The needles are soft.
“What have you been doing?” Nick reaches out, his hand resting against my upper arm. His eyes are soft when he looks at me. The warmth on his face reminds me of his tender, kind treatment of a fragmented girl.
“I've been writing.” I unlock the door and push it open. Nick picks up my groceries and nods me in. I go in first and lead him to the kitchen.
“You've been redecorating, too.” He looks out past the half-wall to the rest of the apartment. “I love the painting. It’s…vital.”
“Alive.” I say the word I think of when I look at it.
He looks at me, eyes penetrating. “Exactly.”
The intensity of his gaze makes my stomach feel funny. I start unloading groceries.
“I'll be back in a minute.” Nick walks out.
When the door opens again, the Christmas tree enters first. Nick has one arm wrapped around the center of the tree. He holds a tree stand in his other hand.
He stops and looks at me. His eyes dance, excited. “Where do you want me to put this?”
“Um.” I hurry ahead of him to the living room and look around. I pull my new table aside and point. “There.”
We work together, me holding the stand and Nick lowering it in, tightening, adjusting, until it sits centered in the stand.
We step back to look at our work.
“It's perfect.” I'm grinning. My apartment smells like Christmas. “You’re like a real live St. Nick.”
Nick throws his head back and laughs. I like watching his obvious happiness.
I get the two boxes of lights and ornaments from the bottom of my linen closet, and we decorate. He laughs at the photo ornament of me and my brother when we were six and eight.
The box on the ground is empty, its contents hung on the newest addition to my home. “That's it. We're done.”
“Not yet.” Nick strides to the kitchen and comes back with a bag, handing it to me.
I pull a box from the bag. Inside the box, nestled in tissue paper, is a porcelain bird. I take the ornament from the box, and it dangles in the air between us.
“A Phoenix,” I say, amazed, watching the colorful rendition of the bird sway.
Nick touches a wing with a fingertip. “Do you know about the legend?”
I pull up my sleeve and offer my left wrist. “This is one of the things I've been doing.”
He grabs my hand and studies the tattoo. “Rising from the ashes.” His eyes lift to find mine. “That's what you've been doing.”
I blush. That part of me hasn't changed. I find a good spot, front and center, for my new ornament and secure it to a branch. I step back to admire the tree. The lights twinkle and bounce off the Phoenix.
“Thank you, Nick. For…everything.” I grab his hand and squeeze.
He walks backward to the couch, pulling me with him. We sit down, facing each other. I lean an elbow against the back of the couch. My head rests on a curled fist.
“Can you tell me more about what you've been doing since I last talked to you eighteen days ago?” Nick gives me a challenging look. “Yes, I was counting. No, I'm not embarrassed.”
I laugh.
Nick grins. “Start talking, Masters.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “This is going to sound insane, but it all starts with Trent. In a crazy, dumb way, I almost want to thank him. He unknowingly delivered me a proverbial kick in the ass. If I didn’t see his texts to Harper, I wouldn’t have been so mad. And if I wasn’t so mad I might not have punched him. And then you wouldn’t have carried me out and gone on a walk with me and told me about Emelie.”
Nick's face falls. “I feel awful about that. I shouldn’t have assumed you knew about her.”
“I’m happy you told me. Really. Because it made me pause long enough to think about Ethan in a different way. It made me realize that he wasn’t the perfect person I made him out to be. And that’s not a bad thing.”
“And Trent gets the credit for all this?”
I shake my head quickly. “Just for being the catalyst.”
Nick nods. “What else?”
“The Monday morning following the party I was fired from Simone and—”
“Wait, what?” His eyes widen.
“I was fired.” I say, my voice calm. I’ve come to terms with it, and now I’m even grateful for it.
“On what grounds?” His eyebrows draw together, indignant arches on his forehead. My defender.
“I was late or called in sick more times than my boss ever should've allowed. The incident at the party got the attention of new higher ups from the merger. They did some digging, found Lynn’s documentation of my tardiness over the six-month time period, and drew a conclusion.”
His eyebrows return to their normal place. “Why don’t you sound upset about it?”
“I was at first. But after I told my mom, she helped me see this as an opportunity.”
“To do what?”
“I used to write stories. A lot of them. And I stopped when I got older because there were other things to do.” Other things to master. “My mom suggested I write a book about me and Ethan. So I started.”
Nick grins. “That's awesome. When can I read it?”
“Not for a long time. It's a very rough outline right now. Hardly even that. It's more of a collection of memories.”
“Did it hurt? When you recalled everything?”
“Yes. But it was also invigorating. I was in control of the story. And the outcome. For six months I've been out of control. Things were happening to me instead of me making things happen. At least that's how it felt.”
“I'm proud of you.” His face is earnest. He winds the fingers on his right hand through the ones on my left. So warm.
“I'm proud of me too.”
I look down to our intertwined fingers. Whether I knew it or not, this hand was holding mine as I crawled, stumbled, and walked through the most painful experience in my life.
Nick.
I look up to his eyes. Such softness there, when they crinkle like they are right now. Eyes that have seen me at my worst and cried with me. Shared grief is half the sorrow.
My throat feels dry. I gulp.
His fingers untangle from mine. Then he trails a soft, lingering touch across the top of my hand. He flips my hand over, and I watch as his fingers brush across the Phoenix on my wrist and across my palm, down to my fingertips.
Electricity zings across my skin. My heart beats faster. His fingers make the same route a second time. A third time.
The rules. I can’t break them all.
My head flinches back and I find myself looking into concerned eyes. I want to let this happen, Nick. I do. But… Ethan.
My hand starts to recoil, but Nick grabs it, holding it in his strong grasp.
“You're feeling what I'm feeling. Yes or no?” His intense gaze locks me in place.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You're terrified, yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“You think this is wrong, yes or no?”
“Ethan,” I croak.
Nick keeps his grip on my hand and motions between us with his free one. “This isn’t wrong.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Ethan was my best friend too. If he couldn’t be with you, then he would want to help you find someone to be with. I felt terrible when I realized I was attracted to you. I thought I was a horrible friend. I told him I would take care of you, so I tried to put my feelings aside. But it didn’t work. Every time I got a reluctant smile from you, no matter how small, it felt like a personal victory. I wanted to help you fight, and I needed your help too, even though I didn’t realize it. You needing me gave me a p
lace to put my grief.
I watched you grow stronger, and each time felt like a celebration in my chest. When I realized it was my heart, I knew I had to get myself figured out. So I went to Ethan’s headstone. I sat beside his name and talked to the wind. And then I remembered a conversation we had. It seemed so inconsequential at the time. He said, If I die, I want Kate to be with someone just like me. Because I’m right for her, and that means whoever he is will be almost as right for her as I am. Then he patted my back and said, ‘Me and you, we're a lot alike.’ That day at his headstone I finally understood why he said that to me. He was giving us his blessing ahead of time. Just in case.”
I hear Nick’s words, but I almost can’t believe them.
Me.
And.
You.
I gasp.
“Kate, Ethan may have asked me to look after you, but the rest of it is me.” He lifts my hand and lays it against his chest. “My feelings for you are my own. No one put them there besides you and those eyes that sparkle when you’re being silly. I like when your temper flares, because I understand what that’s like. I like watching you close your eyes and make motions in the air with your fingers when you're trying to recall a recipe. And when you kicked Trent’s ass while you were wearing that purple dress, well… It was hot.”
I can’t help that I’m staring, trying to absorb what he’s saying.
“You hate me now and want to kick me out, yes or no?” He flinches away from me, like he's readying himself for a painful answer.
Do I? Do I want to refuse my feelings? For ten years I denied my feelings for Ethan. That was a mistake.
Sarah's words come back to me. Life, fate, the universe, they all broke the rules on you. When you do move on, the man will have to be beyond special.
I look at Nick’s face, waiting patiently for my answer. I have so much more to learn about him, but I know for certain I don’t want to be without him.
“I don’t want to kick you out.” I smile shyly.
Without a doubt, I know Nick is the man who is beyond special. The one and only person who won't feel threatened by my tears when I cry them for another man. He won't fear that I have loved another so deeply, because he loved that person too.
Nick Hunter. Of course.
He leans in, forehead and nose pressed to mine. His gulp is audible. The tip of his nose slides off mine, caresses my cheek as it moves across and comes to a stop at my temple. I hear his nervous breath. His head moves back and forth, his lips grazing the far side of my cheek.
His hand rests at the base of my throat, runs lightly along the length of delicate skin until he’s cradling the back of my neck. His lips drag back across my cheek to the corner of my mouth and he stays there, drawing it out.
Finally his lips meet mine, and oh my God. This is our real first kiss.
The seconds tick by as we sit, unmoving, our lips and our hearts in disbelief. This is really happening.
I move first. I press into him, pushing his lips with my own. And he responds.
It’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s everything it should be.
He pulls back and stares at me. My breath comes in quiet pants.
“You were kissing me just now, yes or no?” he asks playfully.
I blush anyway. “Yes, Nick. I was kissing you.”
One of his fingers runs along my cheekbone. “I like when you blush.”
“Good. I do it a lot.”
He smiles, then leans forward and kisses me again.
My heart feels full and light as I settle into his arms. There is no pain in this space. Only contentment. And it’s made sweeter because I know what it feels like to suffer.
On the day Ethan went away, the lights went out on my world. In the dark I stumbled, fell, and struggled to get back up. Scraped and bruised, heart in pieces, I slowly climbed to my feet. One by one, the lights came back on, their luminescence changed. Now I stand in the soft glow of these new lights, the scars on my soul illuminated. I see the beauty in the injured flesh, because I know what it means.
I made it through the darkness.
38
Six months later
KATE
I'm lost in my own closet, staring unseeingly at my clothes.
One year.
It’s been 365 days since my life stopped and fate forced me to my knees, put me through the greatest trial of my life, and made me stronger.
And here I am.
Six months past the moment I learned to let Ethan go. I know it's acceptable to be sad, it's okay to cry whenever I want and for however long I want. I have someone who welcomes my tears and sometimes let's his own tears pool with mine.
I’m standing in my closet, crying, and not for the first time today. And it won’t be the last.
A little peek of red catches my eye, the fabric barely visible from its hiding spot behind my only heavy coat. The soft fabric glides from the plastic hanger. I hold the dress to my face, the memory of wearing it pressing into me. Once again, the red dress catches my tears.
That day, just one short year ago, was the worst of my existence. How can so much heartbreak fit into such a short period of time? How have I gone 365 days without talking to my best friend, my Ethan? In what cruel twist of fate could it be that right now, I’m getting ready to go to the one-year memorial of the day he was killed?
Evie called last night, reminding me of the time for today’s gathering, as though I could ever forget. Today is a big day, not just because of the date. James is thirty days sober, a feat that will be challenged by a visit to Ethan’s grave. He’ll need all of us today. His wife, my mom, me, Nick and Zane. We’ll all need each other.
Two strong arms encircle me from behind. I lean back into Nick, grateful to unload a little of my weight. A tear that doesn't belong to me hits my bare shoulder and slides down my arm.
“Do you remember this?” The dress dangles in my outstretched arm.
Nick moves one arm from its grasp around me, reaching out to take the dress. He holds it out in front of us, quietly studying it.
“Should I?” He sounds guilty.
“It’s what I wore to Ethan’s funeral.”
“Ahhh.” I feel his head nod. “I remember now.”
I step out of his embrace and hang the dress back up where I found it.
A different sundress goes over my head, and I step into my shoes.
I turn to Nick, placing my hand in the open hand he's holding out for me.
“Ready or not…” A sad smile pulls up one side of his mouth.
There are times when I swear I can sense Ethan, smell the sweet scent of his skin, feel the silkiness of his hair. A tall man with black hair is Ethan, just for a split second. My rational, practical brain knows all this is impossible, but my heart is always the first responder.
The pain in my heart has decreased, but I know it will never go away completely. And I don't mind that. It is an exquisite reminder that I have loved beyond measure.
And I will again.
I'm not holding back with Nick. Time is infinitely precious. I won't waste it by being afraid. Ethan fought so I can be free. Free to love and free from fear. I won't forget that.
***
NICK
Today is not a pleasant day, but it’s a day that won’t disappear just because we don’t want it to exist.
Kate woke up crying. Maybe she was dreaming about Ethan. Maybe she was dreaming about his death. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
But I was there for her. My arms were open and ready. She rolled into me, and we stayed under the covers until we absolutely had to get up.
As much as Kate needs me, I need her in equal measure. If I didn’t have her, I wouldn’t have allowed my grief to surface. It would have stayed buried, churning down below, and who knows what it would have turned me into. Kate’s sadness and grief allowed my own a chance to temper and cool.
We’ve been together six months. At first it was hard. The new-relationship passion, excitem
ent, and jitters led to inevitable feelings of guilt.
We talked about it all, even when it was uncomfortable or embarrassing. That’s the thing about meeting at a low point in life. Pretenses are gone, and the truth is easier to speak.
Once we admitted the guilt we felt, we were able to move past it. Neither of us wanted to miss out on the new-relationship excitement.
And we didn’t. And we’re still not missing out on anything.
I love Kate with a passion that consumes my heart, my mind, my whole body. She’s my first thought every morning and my last thought at night.
And, because we moved in together two weeks ago, I can reach over and pull her close whenever I want to. Which is always.
We’re going to Connecticut in a few days. Kate will meet my mom. And I’m going to ask for my grandmother’s wedding ring.
I don’t know when I’ll ask Kate to marry me. It might be a big, elaborate plan. It might be when we’re sitting on the couch. It could be next week or next month.
All I know is that the woman I love and want to spend the rest of my life with is in love with me too.
Our path to each other wasn’t pretty, but it’s ours and we’ll make the most of it.
The End
Other Works by this Author
Beyond The Pale
Good On Paper
Our Finest Hour (The Time Series Book One)
Magic Minutes (The Time Series Book Two)
The Lifetime of A Second (The Time Series Book Three)
Full of Fire
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, my husband. This story is as much a part of you as it is me. Thank you for giving me the freedom to mold our story until it fit the characters I created. You are my love. Nothing will ever come close to the bond we share.
Jonnie Prewitt. Your support of this novel means everything to me. Your grace and peace astounds me.
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