by J. L. Berg
If I had only kept the door shut like I’d promised. Perhaps none of this would have happened.
I knew that wasn’t true.
Trent wouldn’t have given up. He never would have given up.
And this time, neither would I.
* * *
I stayed by his side all night, and through the following morning.
Seeing him in a hospital bed again was like taking a walk back in time.
Even though the doctor assured me he was not in a coma, the fear was still there.
What if he never woke up?
What if he did, and he didn’t remember? Had he hit his head when he fell? I couldn’t recall.
Everything would be better when he woke up.
August…please wake up.
The news of August’s injury reached our friends quickly, and the outpouring of support was massive. Looking around the room at the scattering of flowers and cards, it filled my heart with warmth and love. What a difference a year made.
What a difference we had made.
Together.
Around midnight a nurse snuck in to check his vitals, seeing my unchanged position from the last time she’d been in the room. Fifteen minutes later, she reappeared with a tray of food and a soda.
“Eat, sweetheart,” she urged. “And try to get some rest.”
“I can’t bear to look away,” I confessed, looking up at her with tears in my eyes. “What if he needs me?”
Her caring smile warmed slightly as she took the seat in the corner, letting her feet rest for a moment. She had those funny white shoes nurses often wore, the ones that look like a cross between clown shoes and something you’d see in Denmark. There were tired, dark circles under her eyes, probably from working the night shift, and her gray-brown hair had been neatly pulled back into a severe bun. Her Hello Kitty scrubs made her seem young, though, reminding me of something a child might wear rather than a nurse who was probably pushing sixty.
“I heard what happened to him,” she said, her eyes moving over his still frame. “It’s a brave thing he did.”
I simply nodded. It was all I could do to keep the sobs at bay.
“He’ll be needing a lot of help over the next several weeks. Bullet wounds take time to heal.”
“I’ll be there for him,” I said.
“Good. Then eat,” she pressed. “He’ll need his strength. But so will you. You can’t take care of a great big guy like that with no food in your belly. Rest while you can so you can take care of your man. Got it?”
Looking down at the tray of hot food she’d brought, I heard my stomach growl, realizing it had been over twenty-four hours since I’d last eaten.
“Yes ma’am,” I replied.
“All right, then. I’ll be back in here to check on both of you,” she said, rising to her feet. She stretched languidly, several of her bones cracking as she moved to the door. With a quick wink, she was gone.
I don’t know how many hours passed after that. They all seemed to mesh into one another. After eating several nibbles off a bread roll and some lasagna, I fell asleep, waking every half hour with a jolt—the memories of the day before rushing back with a vengeance.
My hands would skim over August, making sure he was still there—still in front of me, within my reach, and then I’d drift off again.
Soon, we’d be together again.
“Soon,” I whispered to myself as my eyes closed once again.
* * *
Daylight filtered through the hospital window as my eyes slowly fluttered open, taking in my surroundings. Just like every other time I’d awakened since Trent’s break-in, my mind went back.
Back to the moment he rang the doorbell.
Back to the moment he’d threatened August if I didn’t answer.
Back to the instant he’d fired the gun, sending a fiery hot bullet into August’s chest.
Panic.
It all came back.
“Shhh, I’m right here.” August’s voice came through the noise in my head. I looked up and saw his beautiful hazel gaze looking back at me.
“You’re awake.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yeah.” He smiled weakly. He still looked pale, with dark shadows around his eyes. His voice was hoarse, as if he’d spent a night at a concert screaming over the loud noise rather than lain unconscious in a silent hospital room.
But none of this mattered.
Because he was alive.
So beautifully alive.
“August,” I said, my voice cracking as I tears fell down my cheeks, following the same path so many had before them. I’d cried a lot of tears in the past twenty-four hours.
These were tears of joy. Tears of relief—because we were finally free.
“You scared me,” I whispered. “I was so scared.”
“You never have to be scared again.”
And that was the simple truth. Through the years, we’d lost each other over and over—to greed, loss of trust, and a thousand memories scattered in the wind. But our love had never surrendered. We’d never given up on each other and here we were.
We’d been lost to each other so many times over. But now, we were found.
At last.
Epilogue
Everly
Three years later…
Hey, boss lady! We need more peanut butter brownies up front!” Trudy yelled from the front counter as she went back to softly humming a popular top forty song to herself. Her large belly bobbed and bounced as she danced, bringing a smile to my happy face.
We’d done it.
Just as this place I’d called home for years had been facing foreclosure, I’d been able to do the impossible. It had taken time, a whole lot of savings, and it had meant putting off several things, including the possibility of a family, but it was one wish I could officially strike off my list.
I was my own boss.
The coffee shop I’d loved for so long was now mine, and since taking over, Trudy—now general manager—and I had made some major changes, including the addition of a new kitchen—complete with the fancy stainless steel mixer I’d always wanted. We no longer counted on anyone else to make our food, which meant I had the freedom to use my pricey culinary degree to its fullest.
Within months of announcing new ownership, we’d been recognized in papers and food blogs all over the city for our ingenious salads, delectable sandwiches, and to-die-for desserts.
Business was booming, and I couldn’t be happier.
Carrying out two orders of Cuban-inspired sandwiches, I delivered them to a couple sitting near the window, thanking them for their business as they checked out our funky interior and original artwork.
“Do you sell these pieces?” the wife asked, pointing to a black-and-white framed photograph of the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Yes, we do.” I smiled, looking at the photo with pride.
I wasn’t the only success in the family.
“Ever since August got that feature in the Chronicle, we’ve barely been able to keep the walls covered,” Trudy said with a wide grin as I walked back to the counter, grabbing a pot of coffee. She watched with lust as I filled a cup to the brim, grabbing the brownies she’d asked for so she could refill the to-go case. As she began, I leaned against the counter and enjoyed a few moments of bliss as I sipped slowly from my “I’m Awesome” cup. I knew drinking coffee in front of a pregnant woman was mean, but what else could I do?
It was my fuel. I needed it to function.
“I know,” I agreed with a small shrug as I looked at the walls we’d decorated with my husband’s vibrant prints. “But he won’t sell them anywhere else. At least he’s in the paper for his artistic ability and not because of the trial.”
When the media had caught wind of Trent’s arrest, the story had swept through the Internet and newspapers with gusto. August was sought after for interviews—exclusive and everything in-between—especially when it was discovered that every penny that had once filled
his very large bank account had been handed over to start a charity to help the victims of Trent’s fraud.
He was touted as a hero, and although I agreed, he hated every second. All he wanted to do was melt into the background and live our lives in peace. And he eventually got his wish. Trent was prosecuted on several counts of embezzlement, and after a few tips regarding the gallery fire had come in, a trial for murder was becoming a real possibility. He’d spend the rest of his useless life in a jail cell.
Away from us, away from those he could hurt most.
Life had finally moved on.
Looking out at the café, I noticed the changes—the fresh coat of paint and the updated tables and chairs. We’d done a lot since taking over and it showed—even changing the name to Flower Box Cafe—a nod to August’s and my humble beginnings. Although some things had been modified, we’d still managed to keep the feel, and that was why when I gazed out into the sea of people filling the small café, I still saw many of our old patrons, still occupying the same spaces they had for years, drinking the same coffee, because I hadn’t changed the beans or the way we made it. We’d even kept their favorite cups.
It had been hard work. Every penny we’d spent on this place had been earned, borrowed, and bled for. I wish I could say when we left the hospital all those months ago, things had been rosy and our road paved with nothing but promise.
But there were hard times. Like everyone else in this world facing financial problems, we’d struggled. Even our wedding had been done on the cheap—a small ceremony overlooking the ocean with those who were closest to us. Brick officiated—another one of his talents—and Sarah planned a small meal at a nearby restaurant. It was intimate and romantic, and we had about a dozen rolls of film for every second that had passed.
We found a small apartment near the school. August worked two jobs while I was in classes, doing anything from working in restaurants to brushing up on his skills in the financial world. He’d hated every second. But at night and on days off, he’d pull out his camera and shoot pictures—anything and everything that caught his eye. I was still his muse, but his lens eventually widened and he began to see a world beyond my ginger red hair and blue eyes. Every once in a while, he’d send out feelers to galleries but would rarely hear anything back.
Then, when we heard the coffee shop was having difficulty, we knew what we had to do. The money we’d been dutifully putting into a savings account every month for two years, hoping to buy a house one day, turned into a down payment on a much smaller piece of property. With the acquisition of a business loan, and some much needed help from our friends, we took on the role of business ownership—knowing full well if we failed, we’d end up broke.
Again.
But sometimes you have to take a risk to find your heart.
And that’s what we’d done.
“Oh boy, look at the hot young things coming in here,” Trudy said, a slow smile spreading across her face.
I turned to see the two men who’d forever altered my life walk in side by side. Smiling and sweaty, August and Ryan ambled in, fatigue showing on both of their wind-burned faces.
“Good run?” I asked as I went up on my tippy toes to offer August a kiss, purposely putting a safe distance between me and all his stinky sweat.
A mischievous smile spread across his face as his arm slinked across my back and hauled me against his wet t-shirt.
“Great run. Too bad Sparrow slowed me down.”
I turned, completely happy with my sweaty fate now as his muscled arms wrapped around me. Ryan was cozying up to his wife, bending down to kiss the child growing in her belly before he turned around.
“When Everly’s pregnant and asking you to go out in the middle of the night for McDonalds, because it’s the only thing that will possibly make her happy again, then we’ll talk about who’s slowing who down,” he said, the laughter in his voice making each word nearly quiver as he turned back to wrap his arms around Trudy.
I don’t know how many times she’d tried to get my attention, stop me at work to tell me about her and Ryan, before she’d literally grabbed me by the shoulders, sat my butt down in a chair and said, “I’m dating Ryan!”
She’d been nearly shaking, so fearful I would be upset with her.
I’d risen from the seat, taken her in my arms and cried. Not out of sadness, but of joy. Because I knew in that moment, Ryan had found the one.
Trudy was everything he’d been searching for. She was kind and giving, sweet and tenderhearted. They were the perfect match and as I watched their love blossom, I knew this was exactly how our lives were supposed to end up.
Friends. All of us.
In a few months, August and I would stand up in a church and be named their daughter’s godparents and tonight, we were all attending Sarah’s first ballet as a choreographer. She was even bringing a date to the after party…and this time he wasn’t a mystery to us all.
So much joy. So much happiness, and it was just beginning.
All because two people didn’t take no for an answer.
We’d fought for our happily ever after, and in the end, it had found us. Our own little slice of heaven. With coffee.
Lots and lots of coffee.
About the Author
J. L. Berg is a California native living in the South. She is the author of the self-published Ready series. When she’s not writing, you can find her with her nose stuck in a romance book, in a yoga studio, or devouring anything chocolate.
Learn more at:
JLBerg.com
Twitter: @AuthorJLBerg
Facebook.com/AuthorJLBerg
Please see the next page for an excerpt from the book that started it all, FORGETTING AUGUST!
Prologue
Sound roared in my ear like a freight train as I fought against the rushing tide.
I clawed, gripping and pawing my way to the surface. Where it led, I didn’t know—only that I needed to get there. Somehow.
In the distance, I heard an echo of a laugh. Soft and feminine, it disappeared like a feather drifting and dancing in a violent windstorm.
Sharp colors and fuzzy images danced around my head, confusing me, enticing me—motivating me to push ahead.
Where was I?
The sound of a siren blared in the distance as a murky green light seemed to move in and around me. It flowed like water and pulsated through me like it had a purpose. The color looked so familiar. I reached out to touch it and suddenly everything stopped, making my heart stop in its tracks.
I need to get out of here.
The woman’s voice called out once more and I instinctively chased after it, determined not to lose it.
But once again, like everything else, it faded and I was left alone in a dark tunnel with nothing but myself.
Sometime later, the soft green light returned. I watched it intensify, swirling and changing until it morphed into a single stone. It fell to the ground with a solid clink just as I glimpsed a wisp of red hair around a corner.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Come back!”
My lungs heaved and my body ached as I tried to catch up.
“Don’t leave without me!” I begged.
One tiny plink, then another. I looked down to find several green stones hitting the earth. As I looked up to the heavens, it began to pour. Thousands of stones fell from the sky like rain, filling the streets as if they were a giant glass bowl. I tripped and stumbled over them until I fell face forward and hit the ground. Reduced to a crawl, I still didn’t give up.
“August!” the woman yelled.
The stones piled one on top of another, surrounding me until I was choking and nearly gagging on the dazzling brilliance as each stone slowly buried me alive.
“Please,” I cried, clawing my way to the top as the stones began to cover my head, “Don’t leave me here.”
My next breath broke the surface and I opened my eyes.
I was awake.
Finally.
Chapter One
Everly
I saw him again today.
It was at the mall this time.
He was wearing a grey suit and it was just seconds this time before he disappeared around a corner and my life returned to normal once more.
It had been two years and yet I still saw him. Everywhere.
The day after that fateful night, I saw him in our neighborhood walking a dog. Months later, he was next to me at a stoplight when I went out for groceries. Two weeks ago when Ryan got down on one knee and placed a dazzling diamond ring on my left hand, I swear I saw his face the minute I said yes.
He was like a ghost—my own personal poltergeist.
I knew it wasn’t really him. My therapist had reminded me of that simple fact over a thousand times, but that didn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat or my lungs deflating of air every time I saw someone that looked like him pass in my direction.
It could be the color of a person’s hair or the way someone laughed that set my body on edge.
Today, it was simply a suit.
Tailored, dark grey with a small pinstripe. The style had been his favorite, and even though the man who wore it looked nothing like him, I still found myself frozen in the middle of the food court.
Still as ice, unable to move.
Because life really didn’t move on from a person such as August Kincaid.
No, you simply learned to adapt and above all, you survived.
And that was what I had been doing for the last two years.
Surviving.
“Hey, you went blank again. Are you okay?” Sarah asked.
I looked around, and the world suddenly shifted back into focus. Children cried and begged for ice cream, teenagers laughed and flirted as they walked by us. The smell of cinnamon rolls and cheap Chinese food mixed and mingled, as people pushed and shoved their way around to get in ridiculously long lines. Life went on around me as I returned to the land of the living.