by Alyssa Cole
We sat in silence for a long time after that. A nurse came in with honey-laced tea, which soothed my throat.
“Does this mean I’m excused from finals?” I asked eventually, trying to get a smile out of him. It worked.
“The program is shut down during the investigation, so we’ll have some time on our hands.”
“Good.” I sighed. “I have no idea what to do with myself. I didn’t even at school, to be honest. Everyone else has it together.”
“Honey, you saved the world from a nuclear disaster. You can chill on the couch for the rest of your life and you will have accomplished more than most people.”
I preened, as much as I could without causing myself pain. “Well, when you put it that way...”
“We’ve got time,” he said. If anyone else had said it, I would have told them they couldn’t promise me that. But this was Edwin. I nodded and slipped into the sleep I’d been fighting for most of his visit, confident that he’d be there when I awoke.
Epilogue
Six months later
It was spring again, which meant flowers were blooming and rain showers were frequent. The latter was needed for the former, but I was coming off months of physical therapy and I hated the way the parts of my bones that had knit themselves back together were now more reliable than the weather reports.
“I need to trade in this superpower for another one,” I said as I placed down my gardening tools, pulled off my gloves and massaged my shoulder.
With no school to distract me, no ability to play guitar and nightmares in which Greg or Devon choked the life out of me occurring regularly, the dull ache in my joint was the least annoying thing about my recovery process. It still angered me, though, a reminder that the pain of the past never truly left. It was always just waiting for the right opportunity to flare up.
Edwin sat hunkered over the small plot of land we’d cultivated behind Darlene’s old bungalow, which I’d turned into my own space. Our space, really, since Edwin was with me more often than not. He was the one who’d built my garden boxes months before, so I could have something to look forward to once I was done with physical therapy. He walked over to me and rubbed my shoulder. “Yeah, rain detection is fine, but see if you can trade up for something good, like the ability to blow up chipmunks using only your mind,” he said.
I glanced up at him with brows raised.
“They keep stealing the onion bulbs.” He smiled at me, and I reached up and ran a hand over the smooth skin of his cheek and the bristliness of the short beard he now sported. Most of his scarring had faded, except for a strip along his jawline, and he’d grown out his beard over the winter to cover it. I’d thought he couldn’t be more handsome before, but he had proved me wrong, as usual.
His hand came down over mine. “What is it?”
I should’ve known he would guess something was up with me. I thought I’d at least have a day to think things over, though.
“I spoke to Danielle this morning,” I said. She had survived the accident, but the months immediately after had been rough. Her uncle had offered her a place at his new home, but she’d had a different plan for herself. She’d checked herself into a program one of her doctors had recommended for people dealing with post-Flare PTSD and other mental health issues that had been exacerbated on a large scale. Her treatment had recently ended, but she still volunteered because it made her feel better when she helped others.
“Everything okay with her?” he asked. He sometimes joined in on our calls, but this time he’d been on a job. He had great contacts in the area, so he was never short on work. We had settled into a pattern of domesticity that had been fun for a while, but was now making me stir-crazy. I was about to disrupt it, and I had no idea what the outcome would be.
“She’s doing really well. Actually, she’s been offered a job. As an art therapist. There’s a push to bring more creatives into the fold and provide them with training, because many patients respond well to different approaches on top of regular therapy. Drawing. Painting. Music.”
My stomach was squeezed tight with nerves. We’d been together since after my accident, and I loved seeing my parents every day, and John and Mykhail when they could make it down, but there was nothing for me at home. They’d been right when they’d first pushed me out into the world; I needed to go out on my own and figure out what I wanted from life besides love, laughter and delicious bacon.
“So you’re saying this was a recruitment call this morning?” He scratched at his beard, but that wasn’t indicator of whether he was angry or nervous or curious.
I tapped my fingers on my knees to ease my anxious energy. “Yes. They’re looking for musicians who want to work toward getting their license. In exchange for a spot in the training program, you have to commit to working there for two years.”
“And there is in Vermont,” he stated. I’d never given much thought to where I’d end up after college, but once our program had shut down, I realized it wasn’t my parents’ backyard.
I nodded.
“This sucks!” Edwin said. He turned and glared in the direction of our blossoming garden.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to go. I know you have a life here.” I said the words because they seemed like what one should say in this situation, but on the inside I was slowly crumpling.
He looked at me and shook his head in annoyance. “The chipmunks are going to think they’ve won the battle once we leave. Hopefully your dad will preserve my honor and keep the rodents away, at least until the onions have been harvested.”
My heart lurched. Even though he’d stood by me for so long, I’d expected him to say no. It’d been too much to hope for, but maybe hoping for too much was what worked best for me. I stood. “Wait. So you want to come with me?”
Edwin looped his arms around my waist and pulled me close, and a relieved breath slipped from between my lips. I let myself feel him, the steady weight that moved tenderly against me in our darkened bedroom and cushioned me when the blows of my nightmares became too much. I’d thought I’d have to choose between Edwin and fulfillment, but maybe my luck hadn’t run out yet.
“Maggie, I know how much you enjoy maple syrup and lumberjacks. I’m not leaving you to your own devices in the place that invented maple syrup and lumberjacks. I have designs on you, and I really don’t want to have to battle some flannel-wearing giant for your affections.”
Bit by bit, my anxiety was replaced with relief. Muscles that had unconsciously tensed began to relax, and I leaned into him. “But what will you do for work?”
“I have connections. And even if I didn’t, a government-licensed contractor can find work easily right now. Unless you’re trying to get rid of me to go live a life of debauchery. If you are, you should probably go someplace warmer than Vermont.”
“You’re so sure about this,” I said with a kind of awe. He didn’t even think twice about coming with me, didn’t question whether I was capable of the job or needed to consider other options.
“I’m only sure about one thing—no, two. I love you and I want to be where you are. That makes life choices easy for me.”
I hugged him tighter. “I love you too, Edwin.”
He kissed me slowly then, his lips and tongue backing up the confession he’d just made. It wasn’t erotic, but it was perhaps the best kiss of my life. Rather, it would have been if it hadn’t ended up with us soaking wet. My shoulder still ached as the frigid water hit, and we jumped apart, but it was way too direct a stream to be rain.
“Get a room, you two!” my mom yelled as she placed the hose in its rightful place and returned to the house. She poked her head back out the back door. “And make it quick, Edwin! Tonight is game night. John and Mykhail will be here soon, and Gabriel and Arden figured out how to set up an online session of Texas Hold ‘Em.”
&n
bsp; “A change of location would be great, actually,” Edwin said as he wiped water out of his eyes. “I don’t need any additional commentary from your mom.”
I pulled open the bungalow door and was already halfway naked by the time he stepped through and locked it behind him. “Now I get to warm you up,” I said. “How’s your schedule looking for this afternoon?”
He pulled his shirt off, stepping close until his skin grazed mine. “We have all the time in the world.”
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the Carina Press crew—Angela, Heather, Carrie, Stephanie, Jenny, Kerri and many others—for all of the hard work that went into this series, and for all of the support they’ve provided.
I’d also like to thank Ana for providing helpful feedback and answering my random questions.
Thanks to Alisha, Bree, Courtney, Mala, Sasha and the countless others who have been super supportive and made me feel like a real author type. Your kindness has meant the world to me.
Thanks to Colleen, Julia and Maya for talking me down from my nervous breakdowns. I owe you whatever fancy Scotch you’d like. Wait—except for the Macallan.
Lastly, a special thanks to my awesome editor Rhonda. A (bad) poem, for you. :)
Bespectacled vixen—that is to say, foxy—
Rhonda.
Slayer of beloved Oxford comma,
Soother of authorial angst.
Charging bravely into the maw of
a seething manuscript,
slashing,
shaping,
supporting,
until a kick-ass story
is all that remains.
Also Available from Alyssa Cole
and Carina Press
Radio Silence
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About the Author
Alyssa Cole is a science editor, pop culture nerd and romance junkie who splits her time between island-paced life in the Caribbean and fast-paced NYC. When she’s not busy writing, traveling and learning French, she can be found watching cat videos on the internet with her real-life romance hero.
Find Alyssa at her website, alyssacole.com, on Twitter, @AlyssaColeLit, and on Facebook at facebook.com/alyssacolelit.
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—RT Book Reviews
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If you love romantic comedies with British flair, you’ll love ACT LIKE IT by Lucy Parker—coming soon!
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Have the tides turned? Has English rose Lainie Graham made him into a new man?
Sources say the mismatched pair has been spotted at multiple events, arm in arm and hip to hip. From fits of jealousy to longing looks and heated whispers, onlookers are stunned by this blooming romance.
Could the rumors be right? Could this unlikely romance be the real thing? Or are these gifted stage actors playing us all?
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ISBN-13: 9781459290181
Mixed Signals
Copyright © 2014 by Alyssa Cole
Edited by Rhonda Helms
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transm
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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