“I used the beading technique you taught me, that day with the necklace,” he said, staring at the floor. “It’s beautiful work, but it needed an extra touch. Nothing flashy, just a few—”
“Stars.” There it was: the open sky and mountain air. His hands, pulling me through the window into another world.
“Yeah. I should say something like it symbolizes eternity or the infinite depth of our potential as humans. But really, it just reminds me of you. Fuck, I’m terrible at this.” He drew a breath and met my eyes, cracked a smile at what he saw. “Walk with me?”
“Yes,” I said, before the question mark found its way out of his mouth. “Yes.”
I tucked the blanket carefully in my bag and followed him outside, blinking at the bright, cold day. We didn’t go far, because there wasn’t really anywhere to go—the parking lot was an impending hospital bill, the roads beyond it slick and treacherous. We picked our way to the median, away from the buildings and cars and the worst of the ice. Stood facing each other, unsure how to frame what came next.
“So. Pink? Really?”
“Oh my God.” My burst of laughter trailed off into a sigh. “Your sister, your problem. At least we have a decade to talk her into a tolerable shade.”
“A decade?” He hung his head in defeat. “Goddamn it, Sadie. She gave me five years, tops, then spent the past two hours nagging me to get over myself before it’s too late.” He echoed my quiet laugh, then took my hand in both of his. I added my other hand to the stack, his so cold I felt them through my gloves. “So, on that note, is this a good time for Total Honesty Mode?”
“Any time is a good time for Total Honesty Mode.”
“Yeah. It is.” He sighed. “I am so sorry. I started this, knowing where you stood. It wasn’t fair of me to ask for more. And I should never have put that whole thing with Grey on you, when you were so messed up.”
“It wasn’t even about Grey—it was my whole life, and everything I’ve ruined. Everyone I’ve pushed away, because I couldn’t fix myself, or let go of things that hurt me. It was like I had to sabotage my whole future, to make sure it never matched my mother’s.”
“That’s another thing,” he muttered. “I knew you were struggling. I saw you suffering, and tweaking out, not sleeping, and I didn’t do a goddamn thing. I told myself you were strong enough—that you could tough it out if I gave you the space you needed, and you’d let me know when you wanted to try again. I left it all up to you, instead of meeting halfway—then, when I didn’t hear from you after Christmas, I figured I’d fucked it up for good.”
“I can explain all that,” I broke in. “It’s been … a rough road, these past weeks. I had to focus on my health, which meant taking a step back from everything else. I’m sorry.”
“Lane, don’t you ever say sorry for that. I should have been there, helping you—maybe then it wouldn’t have hit you so hard.” He looked away, blinked hard at the swell of distant mountains. “I should have been the one pulling you out of it.”
“It’s not your fault. This was always going to be what broke me.” I braced myself against a gust. Connor stepped closer, put himself in the path of the wind. “I’m trying, though. I’m getting help, but I don’t know when I’ll be back to normal—or if there is a normal version of me. ‘Normal’ may just mean less screwed up than now, for all I know.”
“That’s all any of us are, I think—more or less screwed up, at any given moment. It’s all chaos.” His hands gripped mine even harder. “What the hell, though, right? I know I’m a wreck, but I love you. I’ll take any number of scars, if we can make this work.”
He caught me in those eyes and scooped me up, held me close and broke me open. It wasn’t about belonging to him, or owning him, or surrendering the best parts of myself so we could be together. It was about belonging with each other. About both of us bringing those best parts to the forefront and loving each other fiercely, even on the days that “best” seemed hardest to find. Loving each other even more those days, when everything else came crashing down.
“Total Honesty Mode?” I whispered.
“My very favorite mode.”
“I want that too. Scars and blood and chaos, and everything else. Completely.”
“Lane.” My name was a sigh, barely misting the air between us. “Please say you mean it.”
“Of course I mean it.” I reached out and touched his face, held him still in the cradle of my palm. “You and your near-empty glass.”
“Whatever. You love my cynicism.”
“I love you, actually. No one else.”
“Yeah, well. Same difference.”
The catch in his voice negated the joke, and he tucked me against his chest, wrapping his coat so it engulfed us both. I rested my ear against his heartbeat, relaxed at the pressure of his lips against my hair. Said it again and again into his shirt as the sun struggled loose from the clouds. It lit the world and all its stains and blights and near-blinding beauty, sniffed out all the secret shadows and chased them deep into the woods. Glinted off the ice like classroom lights off the curve of a scalpel—like a bathroom vanity, off a razor edge.
All those things, tucked away behind my heart; disorganized and overlapping, scrabbling relentlessly beneath my skin. All of them, bleeding out on my steady pulse, leaving me lighter every passing day.
Leaving me, still standing, at the end of every heartbeat.
My name again, a whisper followed by a kiss, both left in the hollow of my temple. I raised my face to meet his smile, and no winter sun had ever shone so bright.
RESOURCES
24-7 support for people in crisis or emotional distress:
suicidepreventionlifeline.org
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Grief and bereavement support for all ages, including kids, teens, and young adults:
dougy.org/grief-resources
Resources for runaway and homeless youth:
nationalsafeplace.org/homeless-youth
For immediate help, text the word “safe” and your current location (address/city/state) to 4HELP (44357).
Resources for young people in abusive households, relationships, or situations:
nrcdv.org/rhydvtoolkit/teens
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As anyone who has read my early drafts knows, I’ve never had a shortage of things to say. And yet, when I sit down to write these acknowledgments—when I try to tally these feelings in black and white—I realize that even I could never find enough words to express my love and appreciation for the people who made this book a reality.
To my extraordinary editor, Liesa Abrams—every trick of magic, science, and alchemy, in this or any other timeline, could not have produced a better set of hands with which to shape this story. For your insight and understanding, your advocacy and encouragement—for appreciating my roots and urging me to dig even deeper, without fear of judgment or repression. Thank you for seeing, for connecting, and for giving my words a platform and a voice. Working with you has been the privilege of a lifetime.
To my utterly wonderful agent, Christa Heschke, for not only embracing my dark and gritty content but reveling in it—for your belief in my vision and my work, your confidence in the story I wanted to tell, and your persistence in finding it the perfect home. I will never forget that you didn’t waver, even when I had my doubts. I look forward to many more years of creativity, collaboration, and lyrically written murder—all our usual stuff. Thank you, so much, for everything.
Unending gratitude to Mara Anastas, Chriscynethia Floyd, Rebecca Vitkus, Caitlin Sweeny, Anna Jarzab, Emily Ritter, Nicole Russo, Christina Pecorale, Victor Iannone, and Jen Strada. I am proud to have been given a place at Simon Pulse, and thank each and every one of you for your feedback, support, and enthusiasm for this book.
Thank you to Laura Eckes, for a cover beyond any of my expectations. You pulled details and reference
s, bits and pieces, from my story and made them into art. In a million years, I couldn’t be happier with the final result.
Daniele Hunter, even if this story had fizzled out entirely and ended up in the publishing equivalent of a dead-letter office, your feedback alone would have made it all worthwhile. Thank you for your support, your fangirling, your enthusiasm, and for cheering me on.
Shannon Powers, my sister in angst, I’m so glad I got to share this one with you. You helped me iron out so many things in those early drafts—thank you for getting this book and working with me to make it so much more. Please know I stand ready to return the favor at any time.
Cynthia Thornton, the cornerstone of my Asheville artist life, thank you—for my first ever piece of fan art; for the encouragement and brainstorming, the market trips and crocheting sessions and fact-checking; the riverfront “research” and late nights in the studio that helped me breathe the details into this story and steer it where I wanted it to go. I’ve stood in awe of your beautiful work for so many years—to have you love mine in return is an incomparable honor. I am beyond proud to call you my friend.
To my most beloved EWC—even at the height of my verbosity, I could talk until the thesaurus ran out and never say enough. This book, or any of my work, really, would not exist without either one of you. Ron Walters, you’ve been a voice of reason and encouragement for so long, through so many hundreds of thousands of words, both necessary and not so much. You’ve pushed me to write past my comfort zone, talked me down from the highest pinnacles of my ridiculousness, checked me on “guy” stuff, and never let me go halfway on anything. Jill Corddry, you are a rare prize among humans—one of the kindest, most generous, most supportive friends I’ve ever known. You are the first I go to when I’m excited or frustrated, inspired or stuck, need a chat or laugh, or am just in the mood for a good old-fashioned Winchester gif session. Your unabashed enthusiasm and never-ending willingness to yank me out of my own head and solve my wordy messes have made all the difference in everything I write. You were my first true fangirl, and I can never fully express my thanks. (Really, I can only hope you will someday forgive me for killing off … well, you know. And the other. And yes, that one too.) Thank you both, from the very fiber of my heart.
To my fellow #roaring20sdebut authors, especially Jennifer Moffett, Nora Shalaway Carpenter, and Liz Lawson, for the early reads and reviews, and for being generally awesome. I am proud to be counted among a group of such kind, enthusiastic, and talented writers.
Special thanks to the #WIPmo crowd, circa 2015—you kept me showing up, night after night, on that roughest of rough first drafts. Knowing I wasn’t just typing into a lonely void means the world.
Susan Capozza, when I was on the verge of setting aside my words for good, you were there to take me back to the start—to remind me of the notebooks and stories, the poetry and plays, and all the ideas. You encouraged me to try again. You brought me back to writing. My first critique partner, my eternal friend; who else could I text from a Target bathroom, so regularly and so devoid of shame? Who else could ever be my cabbage? Thank you, for a lifetime of support and love. I love you.
Mom and Dad, for stacking books on top of other books and letting me dive in and read every last one that caught my eye; for never taking a book from my hands or underestimating my thoughts and curiosity. For teaching me to question everything, yet never stifling or censoring who I tried to be; for loving me for me, and never withholding praise or encouragement. Your sincere respect for me, as a daughter and an individual, has been a gift beyond riches. I love you so much (yes—more than sugar).
To my siblings, for putting up with all my weird big-sister stuff—Emily, Erika, David, Patrick, and John, I love you all. And to Brad, to whom I must seem even weirder, for the support and encouragement all the way back to the Florida days. Thank you.
Brandon, the best person I know—to list in detail all you’ve made possible for me, from this dream, to everything else, I’d need an entire other book of pages. You saw me right from the start—you encouraged me to write and create and succeed and achieve; to push myself past what I thought was my best, and to never give up on myself or on us. You’ve stood by my side through the best and worst of everything. I love you so very, very much, and am so proud to share my life with you. :<>
Henry and Cora, you are my whole life and my whole heart. You are the reason I stand and the strength behind every step forward. I will never stop trying to grow and learn and teach, to listen and help and understand. I will never stop trying, every day. I love you.
And last—but never ever least—for Gini. You always knew I could.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eva V. Gibson grew up in Florida, then spent her post-college years immersed in Asheville’s art and music scene. She now lives the small-town life in Virginia, surrounded by kids, yarn, pets, and an ever-growing stack of books she will definitely finish reading someday.
SIMON PULSE
Simon & Schuster, New York
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition February 2020
Text copyright © 2020 by Eva Gibson
Jacket photograph of metallic string copyright © 2020 by Ines Seidel
Jacket photograph of couple copyright © 2020 by garetsworkshop/Shutterstock
Jacket photographs of paper and string by iStock/kev303, ksushsh, and martijnmulder
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Jacket designed by Laura Eckes, inspired by “Woven Story” by Ines Seidel
Interior designed by Laura Eckes
Jacket designed by Laura Eckes, inspired by “Woven Story” by Ines Seidel
Jacket photograph of metallic string copyright © 2020 by Ines Seidel
Jacket photograph of couple copyright © 2020 by garetsworkshop/Shutterstock
Jacket photographs of paper and string by iStock/kev303, ksushsh, and martijnmulder
Author photograph © 2020 by Joylyn Hannahs Photography
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Gibson, Eva V., author.
Title: Together we caught fire / by Eva V. Gibson.
Description: First Simon Pulse hardcover edition. | New York : Simon Pulse, 2020. | Summary: Eighteen-year-old Lane, still dealing with her mother’s suicide when she was five, must now adjust to her father’s remarriage to Skye, making Lane’s long-term, unrequited crush
, Grey, her stepbrother.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019006486 (print) | LCCN 2019009187 (eBook) |
ISBN 9781534450219 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534450233 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Stepfamilies—Fiction. | Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. | Love—Fiction. | Grief—Fiction. | Family life—North Carolina—Asheville—Fiction. | Asheville (N.C.)—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.G339274 (eBook) | LCC PZ7.G339274 Tog 2020 (print) |
DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019006486
Together We Caught Fire Page 26