Better

by Carey Heywood

  One day, after he slipped into a gift shop, he handed me a bag. I emptied the contents into my palm, expecting to see another charm for my bracelet. An engagement ring tumbled out instead.

  We’re planning a destination wedding.

  The End

  Better was inspired by my own story.

  You wouldn’t think cancer would be the first thing someone thinks about when thinking of Harry Potter, but for me, it always will be.

  I had not read the book when the first movie came out. It was just before Christmas 2001. At the time, I lived in Phoenix, but I was back home in Alexandria for a visit.

  My father was ill, having had a stroke earlier that year. Being home was hard, and seeing him like that was surreal. I had an escape though—my friend, Cameron. Cameron was one of those guys that it took me too long to figure out just how wonderful he was.

  We met in seventh grade French class. My mother met his mother the night before, and she made a point of telling me that Cameron and I should be friends.

  When I saw him, I disagreed. While he was always handsome, he had a quirky fashion sense that I did not get. It was middle school, and I was trying so hard to fit in. He didn’t seem to mind standing out though, and he was always wearing this ridiculous trench coat. We became friends.

  To this day, I’m not certain that I have ever known someone as truly sweet and generous as Cameron was. I say was because Cameron died. That’s where the cancer comes in. I’ll get back to that.

  At the end of and after high school, I was in an extremely toxic and abusive relationship. During one of our breakups, I went out on a couple of dates with Cameron. Looking back, I wish I had been ready for him, but I wasn’t. My head was not in the right place to deal with accepting my attraction to the guy with the mohawk when I was still all messed-up over a guy who was nothing but a thug. Cameron was too different.

  I moved away, and when I came back for a visit, we went on another date. He took me to the little Chinese place next to where the Blockbuster was. Over dinner, he told me he had cancer.

  He learned this during his freshman year of college. He kept having stomach pains and went twice to the student clinic, only to be sent away with painkillers.

  The next time, his mom told him to go to the emergency room. They found a tumor.

  I remember being shocked over dinner but not scared. Nobody I knew had died of cancer. He would be fine.

  We kept in touch while I was in Arizona, talking on the phone maybe once every couple of months. Just as I suspected, the cancer went away. He beat it. He even went back to school and worked up the nerve to ask some girl out. I was jealous.

  He never got a chance to go on that date. The cancer came back, and he moved back home to Virginia.

  The next time I saw him was December 2001. He looked different but not bad. We went to see Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. He had already seen it, but he took me anyway.

  That was his way, always looking out for me. We swam together during high school. I remember my coach wanted me to join this other team. I was scared because I wouldn’t know anyone. Cameron decided to join too.

  He looked at me, so serious. “We’ll carpool.”

  And then, through that awful relationship, I remember him putting his hands on either side of my face, trying to convince me I deserved better, wanting to beat up my ex for hurting me.

  That December in 2001, I was home one week, and I saw Cameron three times.

  I was busy when I first got back to Arizona. I didn’t call him right away. When I did, it was just after New Year’s. He was in the hospital. I spoke to his younger brother. He told me Cameron overdid it when I was in town. I didn’t know.

  Cameron called me when he got out of the hospital. It was the first time I actually considered that he might die. I remember saying that he couldn’t die, that I was putting my foot down, like I had any power. I made him promise me he wouldn’t die, and he did. He promised. When we hung up, I was certain he would beat it again. That was the last time I ever spoke to him.

  When my caller ID flashed his name, I answered all happy and excited to talk to him. But it wasn’t him. It was his dad.

  The second he said, “This is Cameron’s dad,” I knew.

  We didn’t talk long, and I honestly don’t remember anything after he said, “Cameron is gone.”

  At the time, I was a smoker. I went out on my front porch to cry and have a smoke. I lived in Phoenix. It never really got windy unless there was a monsoon, which between you and me, I never understood what the big deal was. It was just rain. It rained all the time in Virginia. Either way, it was windy, really windy, and there wasn’t a monsoon. It felt like Cameron was coming to say good-bye, using the wind to wipe the tears from my face.

  After that night, I began to associate wind with feeling Cameron’s presence. I would lie in bed at night and turn the ceiling fan above my bed to the highest setting to imagine it was him. He was the wind.

  Harry Potter helped me grieve. It gave me time to rest in my memories of Cameron. I bought each book as they came out and saw each movie.

  When the second movie came out, I went by myself on opening weekend. It was packed, standing in line with little kids dressed up as wizards. I had people, strangers really, sitting on either side of me. They probably thought I was off when I sobbed through the opening credits. I just wished Cameron were there with me. That familiar opening melody broke my heart.

  By the third movie’s release, I had a boyfriend. We were pretty serious, but he understood why I went to that movie alone. I told him about Cameron. When we became engaged, he started to come with me. He would hold my hand while I cried.

  The last two movies were hard. The books were all out. The end was in sight. During Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1, I came close to inflicting bodily harm on the people sitting behind me who were laughing during that scene at the end with Harry and Dobby on the beach. Didn’t they know? Couldn’t they understand these movies, this experience, meant so much to me? The last movie was the hardest for me.

  I am now married to a wonderful man, and we have beautiful children. I understand how blessed I am. I mourn the what-if with Cameron, and even if nothing had ever come of us, I feel sad every day because the world lost such a beautiful soul.

  So, for me, Harry Potter will always make me think of Cameron and the cancer that took him away.

  Excerpt From

  Never Been Ready

  By J.L. Berg

  Available Now

  Looking into the bathroom mirror, I finished securing my blonde hair into a messy bun on the top my head and then I removed my makeup. I took a quick glance at my reflection, seeing the spitting image of my mother staring back at me and I sighed before shutting off the light and walking into my bedroom. My father always said I'd grow up to look just like her. Guess the bastard was right. The few pictures I had tucked away that I'd managed to steal from home were like staring into my own reflection. It was one giant reminder of what was left behind.

  After slipping into my favorite robe and fuzzy slippers, I made a beeline for my modern small kitchen decorated shades of my favorite color--teal. I opened the freezer and pulled out the pint of rocky road that was currently calling my name.

  It had been a long, emotional night. Watching social services walk in and eventually escort Connor out of the hospital was heartbreaking. They'd promised me they would take good care of him, and they really had been gentle and loving with him. They were going to follow through with trying to contact the family friends Connor mentioned. He told them their name and said they were the only other family he had. He wasn't even from here. He was visiting from out of state. I couldn't imagine how scared he must have been.

  He had eventually agreed to be my friend. We'd sat quietly in that exam room for probably thirty minutes as I listened to him try to hide his tears.

  Then he'd asked, "Do you have a Mommy?"

  I'd answered, "No."

  I'd
told him I had lost my mommy when I was seven also. He'd asked if she died in a car crash, too. I'd just shook my head. He'd looked up at me with those big mesmerizing eyes so full of hurt and he leaped into my arms. He'd cried and cried, and I'd just let him, knowing he needed it. I'd held him for an hour as he'd let every last drop of moisture leak from his body. I knew the feeling. I remembered doing the same thing at the very same age. The only difference? I hadn't had anyone to hold me. I was so grateful that I could be that person for him. I just hoped there was someone else willing to take up where I'd left off.

  He had shown me the picture he'd held so tightly to his body. The EMT had recovered it from the car before it had been towed away. It was a photo of him and his mother that had been attached to the sun visor. She stood behind him at what appeared to be a state fair of some sort. Carnival rides and food stands dotted the canvas behind them, and Connor held a giant cotton candy in his tiny hands. He was covered in blue sugar and his mom just smiled, not seeming to care that he was a giant mess. She was beautiful, a lot like him, but she had lighter hair and different colored eyes. They looked happy and so full of love.

  I'd bitten my lip to keep the tears from falling down my cheek. He'd told me about the fair and the day his mom had taken him. He’d talked about the fun things they did and the trip they were supposed to take to Virginia to see his Mom's friend. I didn't know much about children, but being there with him had felt right. Giving him that chance to cry and talk about his mother with me had been all l I could give him in that short amount of time. I just hoped it had helped.

  When I'd gotten home from my twelve-hour shift and my emotional evening, the only thing I'd wanted was ice cream, pajamas and a sappy romance movie. I loved chick flicks. They were my dirty little secret. I didn't even think Clare knew of my obsession. Yes, I'd given up on men...but in films, they were perfect. They always came through in the end, kept their promises and loved with every fiber of their being.

  I loved seeing that moment when the man would hover, right before he leaned in to kiss a woman, and I found myself screaming, "Kiss her!! Kiss her!!"

  Then he would, and it was just so toe curling, heart melting and good. I knew it was a movie magic lie, but the girl in me loved seeing it even if it weren't true. Although, I guessed a few men like this did exist. Logan loved Clare to the moon and back, but I think he was a special breed, and I didn't have the energy to comb through the male species looking for an anomaly anymore.

  After walking from the kitchen to my living room, I snuggled down onto my comfy brown suede sofa, grabbed my favorite furry red fleece blanket and sighed in happiness. Who needed to date? This was perfect--Ice cream, fuzzy slippers and perfect men on film who didn't expect anything in return. Perfect.

  Just as I hit Play on the Blu-ray player to watch Dirty Dancing for the four hundredth time, my doorbell rang. Confusion hit me as I looked at the clock. It was ten at night.

  Who was ringing my doorbell at such a late hour? And since when did ten at night become so late? Damn, I was boring.

  Who the hell could that be? I briefly hoped it was my hot new neighbor from three doors down needing to borrow a cup of sugar, but knowing my luck, it would probably be a punk-ass kid playing Ding-Dong ditch.

  I threw off the blanket, and with the ice cream still in hand, I stormed to the door, slightly annoyed that I wasn't beginning my cha-cha lessons with Patrick Swayze at that moment.

  I opened the front door, and froze.

  Holy fucking hell.

  Declan James. On my porch. Looking sexy as hell.

  And I was...in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. Shit!

  His hazel green eyes ran down my body, scanning my attire, lingering on my legs peeking through the parting of my robe, before stopping at my hand.

  "Do you always eat ice cream in a coffee mug?" He leisurely leaned against my door frame.

  He was sporting a cocky smile that had my hormones going haywire.

  "What? Yes, the handle keeps my hand from getting cold," I blurted out.

  Oh my God, why was he here? At my house. And holy hell, why did he have to smell so good?

  "What the hell are you doing here?" I finally asked.

  His eyes found mine, and he smirked. He was clearly amused. God, six months hadn't made him any less sexy. His wavy brown hair was pushed back, making his piercing hazel eyes stand out against his handsome face. Unshaven, and wearing a leather jacket, he was the epitome of a bad boy.

  Every part of me wanted to take him for a ride--again.

  Oh God, my greatest weakness had come for a visit.

  "My film got the green light, so I'm in town for the next three months or so. Thought I'd stop by and pay you a visit," he answered.

  He brushed past me, entering the house like he'd just been invited in, which he hadn't.

  My lust filled haze cleared a bit, and it was replaced with a bit of annoyance.

  Who the hell did this guy think he was?

  "So, you got into town, and you thought you'd pay me a visit? Why? To say hello? Needed a friendly chat Declan?" I asked, clearly peeved.

  I'd had an emotional day.

  He sat himself on my sofa, draping his arms over the back like he owned the fucking place as he grinned at me. He was too big for the room. My living room was literally being swallowed up by his presence.

  "No, I think you know exactly why I'm here Leah," he said, he voice deepening.

  His eyes darkened, sending shivers down my spine and straight to my core. All traces of playfulness disappeared. This was the Declan I remembered--the predator, the great seducer.

  The man who had taken me again and again all night, sending me over the edge more times than I could count. His hands had touched every inch of my skin. His mouth had kissed every intimate part of my body. No man had ever filled me so completely and owned me as he had.

  And here he was, like an offering from the gods.

  "No," I whispered.

  "No? Are you seeing someone?" he asked, suddenly jumping off the couch and stalking toward me.

  "No, I'm not seeing anyone."

  His movements slowed, and he visibly relaxed. He continued his journey toward me, but it changed from an angry stalk to a casual swagger. I watched him, loving the confidence in his gait and the determination in his eyes, knowing it was all focused on me.

  "Then I don't see a problem here, Leah," he whispered in my ear as he pressed his firm body against mine. "We were good together. Don't you remember?"

  Brushing back the golden strands off my neck, he slowly pushed the bathrobe off my shoulder, taking my tank top strap with it. Undoing the belt of my robe with his other hand, he let it fall to the floor in a heap, leaving me in my tank top and tight pajama shorts. His eyes took an appreciative gaze over my exposed flesh, causing my nipples to harden instantly. He smiled, knowing the effect his touch was having on me.

  Leaning forward, Declan grazed his lips over my bare shoulder, making me shudder from the touch.

  "I can remind you, one more time. Don't you want that?"

  I heard the words, and tried to process them in the foggy mush that was my brain. One more time. He'd just arrived. He wasn't here because he needed me, or wanted me as much as much as I wanted him. I was his fucking booty call, an easy lay for someone who had just gotten into town.

  Anger flooded my system, and I pushed him away. I'd had a long day and this was just the icing on the cake. A movie star coming by for a quick fuck. Perfect.

  "Get out."

  He looked confused, but then his trademark smile came back. I could tell he was ready to throw out more bullshit that I wouldn't fall for again.

  "No, seriously, get out. I'm not your booty call, Declan. I'm not going to spread my legs just because you showed up at my doorstep. Just because you're in town for three months doesn't mean I suddenly have an open-door policy. I am not your fucking groupie."

  Momentarily stunned, he looked around the room until he saw a pen and a notepad resting
on the coffee table. He stalked over to the small table, grabbed the pen and angrily scribbled something before ripping the sheet of paper off the notepad and handing it to me.

  "This is where I'm staying in town and the name my room is booked under."

  Rejection must be a new thing for Declan because he looked conflicted, pissed and seriously sexy. With his eyes wild and intense, he took a deep breath as he ran his hands through that unruly hair. Suddenly, he grabbed me around the waist, and took my mouth in a fierce kiss. Surprise, lust, anger, and confusion all invaded my system and I both pulled him closer and tried to push him away. His taste was exactly the same--completely addictive. Instincts had me diving in, needing him like my next breath, but the logical side of me that had been hurt too many times needed him to leave.

  Before I could make a decision, he abruptly pushed away looking smug.

  "Call me if you change your mind," he said before walking out the door, letting it close with a soft click behind him.

  Making my way to the door, I let my head fall forward until it hit the hard wood with a thump, echoing my mood. "Fuck!" I cursed out in frustration.

  "Heard that!" Declan yelled from the other side of the door, as his loud laughter faded away.

  Bastard.

  At least he didn't see my hand shake as I locked to the door. I could never let that man know how much he affected me. It would be my undoing.

  Excerpt From

  Let Love Be

  By Melissa Collins

  Coming Soon

  It’s been four days.

  It’s been ninety-six hours since I last kissed his lips, since I last felt his strong arms wrap around me from behind, since his strong and stubbled jaw nuzzled into my neck.

  Numbly – as that’s the only way I can do anything since he was killed – I force myself out of bed.

  Staring blankly into my opened closet, I become overwhelmed with anger. How the hell am I supposed to pick out something to wear for my husband’s funeral when all I can think about is curling up in that box with him.