Until We Are Gone

by Gia Riley

  “I know,” I whisper. “It’s amazing and scary, all at the same time.”

  He hands me another envelope. “Before you answer, just consider it.”

  My heart’s thumping a million beats per minute as I shove my finger beneath the seal. Not even a paper cut can slow me down because, once I peek inside, I know I’ve finally gotten what I’ve wanted.

  Freedom. A life. My life. Without deception.

  “What’s this, Nolan?”

  He takes the envelope out of my hand and removes two silver keys. “Ms. Lucia signed your sober living papers this morning. Rehab and therapy are over. The state has set you free, and now, you’re on your own. But you still have an important choice to make.”

  “Choice?” I question, loving that he didn’t take it upon himself to decide for me even though he knows exactly what I want.

  He’s not like Cash, putting pieces back together the way he wants them instead of the way they should be. Nolan takes the time to listen to me. He loves me without having to manipulate the system.

  “You can either move back into a condo in Pinewoods or move in with me.”

  “It’s a tough call,” I say with a smirk.

  “It is. For months, you’ve been proving to therapists that you’re ready to reclaim your life. I just need to know where you want to sleep at night.”

  “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

  “We’ve lived under the same roof before. At my place and at the center when I was sleeping on the couch to be close to you and even at the sober living house when I’d sneak inside like a teenager to make out with you.”

  Those were some of my favorite nights with Nolan. Instead of me being the one climbing through windows to get what I wanted, the roles were reversed. He would come to me, sneak into my bed, and hold me until just before the sun rose. It was our own version of the farmhouse. I didn’t have to run through corn and sit in an old tub to find happiness anymore. I had Nolan, and despite all the pain, we found our way back.

  “Why are you hesitating?” he asks with a much softer voice. The one he uses to calm me down when my anxiety decides to dominate me.

  “I’m not. I’m just trying to hang on to this feeling a little while longer. I didn’t think I’d ever get here.”

  “You have arrived, Meadow.”

  “Page two though,” I tell him as I glance at the sober living guidebook we were given at our last meeting this morning.

  Everything inside the thick book is supposed to make our transition into society easier, and here we are, already working on breaking one of the golden rules—entering a relationship straight out of treatment.

  Without skipping a beat, Nolan knows exactly what I’m referring to. “If it were important, they’d have put it on the first page.”

  I laugh because that’s not the kind of response you’d expect to get from a therapist.

  “So, you’d support this one exception?”

  He runs his hands up my arms, making my body break out in goose bumps.

  “Yes,” he says with more sincerity than I’ve ever heard from him. “I’ve always wanted you, Meadow. I’ve done my best. I know I crossed lines and put your house standing in jeopardy more than a few times. But I can’t stay away from you.”

  “But nothing,” I tell him.

  He steps closer to me, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

  Nolan has been my biggest cheerleader since I’ve moved into the house. And, after all that Cash tried to do to me, I ultimately won the battle.

  Moving in with Nolan wouldn’t be me latching on to someone because I couldn’t survive on my own. I’d still be standing on my own two feet, choosing to be with a man because he was my friend, not my keeper.

  “That key is for the house next to Mimi?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, I’ll do it.”

  Nolan picks me up and spins me around, the expression on his face unlike any that I’ve ever seen. It takes me a second to realize I’m the one responsible for making him this happy. I’m not used to making someone smile.

  When he sets me back on my feet, he’s so close to my lips, I can feel his warmth. He rubs the callous pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, taking some of my lipstick with him.

  “As soon as we leave, these lips are mine, Meadow.”

  “I didn’t know it could be like this,” I tell him.

  “Like what?”

  “I never knew you could want someone so bad that you couldn’t breathe. It’s like being drunk without the pain of hurting someone to get there.”

  I never want to be the girl I was after the accident.

  “I’ll get you there, Meadow. If it’s the last thing I do in this lifetime, you’ll be loved, and you’ll feel it, too.”

  I believe him.

  And, though I might not remember all of my past, I remember everything I’m supposed to. Everything that’s important to me.

  It turns out, losing my memory wasn’t tragic. Losing my memory was fate.

  acknowledgments

  Jovana Shirley, you amaze me more with each book. Thank you for making my words stronger. I am so lucky to have you on my team. I cherish your creative energy.

  Marisa-Rose Wesley, the second I saw this cover, I knew it was meant for this story. Thank you for capturing Meadow. I can’t resist your designs!

  Judy Zweifel, as always, working with you is a breeze. Thank you for your attention to detail and meticulous eye. You make my work shine.

  Emily Smith, I love tackling releases with you! Thank you for getting the word out about this book. Your excitement for the cover and story made me want to write it that much more. We make a great team!

  Marni Mann, thank you for the pep talks when I was down to the wire. You keep me motivated and I love being on this journey with you.

  A huge thank you to my reader group—Gia Riley’s Books. You guys are rock stars and I’m so grateful for you.

  My beta crew, Helene Cuji, Sue Maturo, Kaitie Reister, Christina Rhodes, and Halle Rogers, you are my biggest cheerleaders and support system. Writing is more fun with you by my side. Thank you will never be enough.

  Kimberly Lucia, thank you for being my fictional therapist. And for distracting me with total nonsense when I needed it. You’re my sarcasm sister for life. I adore you.

  Brittany DeMedeiros, where would I be without your car raps? Thank you for all the dancing moments. I can’t sit still!

  Kaitie Reister, thank you for all the lines you picked out and loved. And for being my final set of eyes. I appreciate you so much!

  Bloggers, I appreciate all of your support. Your promotion, likes, tweets, posts—it means everything to me. I couldn’t do this without you. No matter how big or small you are, your voice matters! Always remember that.

  Lastly, a massive thanks goes to every reader. Thank you for buying my books, for reading my words, and for sharing this journey with me. You make my dreams come true.

  about the author

  Gia Riley has been in love with writing romance since high school when she took her very first creative writing class. From the small but mighty state of Delaware, she’s a country girl at heart, traveling back to her roots in Pennsylvania as often as she can.

  She’d rather pick truth than dare, bake than cook, and will always choose coffee over tea.

  Just like life, her stories are real and full of feels. You'll probably need some tissues. You might even want to throw your Kindle a couple times. But she promises to put your heart back together.

  You can connect with Gia on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. She also has a reader group, Gia Riley’s Books, on Facebook. Stop by anytime, she loves hearing from readers!

  Want to get in touch? Visit Gia at…

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ooks? Team members qualify for exclusive giveaways and are the first to receive sneak peeks of the projects she’s currently working on. Click HERE to join.

  ALSO BY GIA RILEY

  DUETS

  Lighter

  Weightless

  Rock the Boat

  Rock the City

  Wrong Side of Heaven

  The Edge of Heaven

  STAND-ALONE NOVELS

  In Pieces

  Stay Awhile

  I’ll Make You Mine

  COWRITES WITH MARNI MANN

  Drowning (Contemporary Romance)

  Lover (Erotic Romance)

  sneak peek of

  wrong side of heaven

  one

  WINNIE

  On nights like tonight, when the thunderstorms keep me awake later than the shouting outside, I look at the stars on my ceiling, the ones I put there as a reminder that life’s bigger than the double-wide I’m living in. They light up just enough that I pretend I’m lying in a field of wildflowers instead of on top of this lumpy mattress. When I’m low, I talk to them, wondering if Dad’s among them or if heaven’s someplace entirely different. Someplace so far away and unique, it’s neither up nor down. It’s not an existence, but a choice. Maybe even a gift.

  Nothing about the trailer is giving. Not the people inside or the ones who lurk in the pathetic patch of grass by the mailbox, hoping to get a glimpse of Tess through the bathroom window.

  Like every other night, the front door slams, rattling the bells tied around my doorknob. I didn’t have to worry about bells when we still lived in the apartment. But Tess couldn’t keep up with the rent on her own, and we were evicted from the closest place to home I’d ever known.

  Moving was like losing Dad all over again, especially when I was forced to leave all of his belongings behind. All the things that reminded me of him were tossed in bags and sent down the garbage chute like they didn’t matter. Like Dad’s existence could be erased if we didn’t have to look at his things anymore.

  As soon as we moved to the trailer, Tess’s trashy friends invaded every room, making it next to impossible to fall asleep at night. More often than not, they’d wander into my room, looking to quench their thirst.

  When I couldn’t keep staying up all night and still make it to school in the morning, I ripped the little bells off my Christmas stocking and tied it around my doorknob. It’s the only thing that saves me when my eyelids grow heavy and my head hits the pillow before the house clears out. That little jingle wakes me before it’s too late.

  Because I learned my lesson the hard way. More than once.

  Some would touch.

  Some would watch.

  Some would just talk to me.

  They all had their vices, and I became their toy.

  “Jesus, what do we have here?” I heard his gruff voice and realized I was still on top of the bed, not underneath where it was safe.

  His rough knuckles ran down the side of my cheek, and his clothing reeked like he’d washed them in alcohol. The warm breath that crept across my face made my nostrils burn. I wanted to gag, but if he knew I was awake, he’d take whatever he wanted. I had a better chance of being left alone if I pretended to sleep.

  It took what little energy I had left to keep still. I had no idea what he looked like. One twitch or flicker of my lashes, and I’d give myself away. I had to stay still. But, if he tried to do more, I’d break his fingers and punch him in the face. He was so wasted, he’d never see the fist coming until it connected.

  But this guy was different than most.

  He wasn’t rough, and he didn’t force me to open my eyes and touch him back. He let me lie there with my eyes closed, never acknowledging him.

  That didn’t mean he didn’t scare me. I was still petrified of what I couldn’t allow myself to see.

  I heard the teeth of his zipper part, and with one hand, he gently trailed his fingertips down my stomach, toward the waistband of my cotton shorts. The other hand he used to stroke himself.

  As hard as he was breathing, I knew it wouldn’t last long, but I was already transported to the beach, imagining my toes sinking in the sand as the waves crashed over my ankles. Surrounded by blue sky, I was blanketed by sunshine, and for a few minutes, the rough pads of his fingers felt like a gentle breeze caressing my skin.

  Eventually, the breeze stopped, and the ocean was replaced by maddening darkness. I was back in bed, alone, and as soon as the door closed, I scurried onto the floor until I was underneath the frame and as far away from him as I could get.

  I was lucky—lucky he’d only touched and not taken. He could have gone further, so much further. And it could have been worse.

  Since those nights began, I’ve become a prisoner in my own body, held captive by my thoughts. Without a TV, there’s not much to do besides write, draw, and think. When I run out of paper, I get antsy, and I talk to Dad, praying he’s watching over me. Because, no matter how hard I try to block out the noise, the inside of my brain feels like a cluttered junk drawer full of odds and ends that don’t matter. A bunch of trash that’s stuck in a small space with no purpose.

  Sometimes, the voices are so loud, I pace in circles until the ratty carpet fibers stop laughing at me. If I don’t, I’ll end up in the bathroom with the blade against my thigh. On days when I can’t get the chatter to stop, I run the smooth metal over my skin and watch the blood seep out.

  Blood—the lifeline that unites a family.

  All my family is dead or gone.

  God, I hate the sight of blood. The smell. The consistency. The way it smears and stains everything it touches. But, once the blade touches my skin, I forget about Tess and how little I have. Suddenly, that little cut is all I can think about, and I love the way it silences the screaming inside my head.

  For those few seconds of peace, I forget that Dad’s not coming back, that Trey is gone, and how Tess isn’t ever going to be the mother I need her to be. I’m no longer lonely and afraid. I’m the girl who looks in the mirror and likes what she sees.

  I am me. Nobody else.