by E. J. Mellow
“Why wouldn’t they?” His green eyes swing back to mine. “You look just like her.”
My stomach tightens.
There’s so much of her in you.
My father’s voice floats forward from a dark haze, and I swallow against the lump that forms in my throat. I left my tears in Mexico.
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
When meeting my grandparents, I was surprised to learn that they knew Isabelle had a child and had even met me a handful of times, but I guess in my mother’s quick moment of fleeing, and fear of leading the Oculto back to them, she felt I was safer alone, for the authorities to find. My grandparents had thought I’d died along with their daughter, or at the very least had been taken by my father, who’d disappeared.
But of course, my life’s path was neither of those things, and over an emotion-filled evening, I told them the surface version of my upbringing, the one meant for the rest of the world.
I barely finished talking before they stood as one and wrapped me in their arms, saying that I could stay as long as I wished. And as strange as it was to accept another’s kindness and charity, I did just that.
Away from what awaited me in Chicago, what I left in Mexico, I stayed and spent time with a family I thought I’d never find. Never deserved to have. And over the course of the weeks, I finally got to see what those lucky enough to be born into a loving household experience. I made dinner with my grandmother, pulled weeds out back with my grandfather, drove to the local store to get groceries in their beat-up pickup truck, and let the wind stream through my open window to dance in my red hair, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the radio as I went.
I felt free, and different, and…happy.
Whatever piece of me that got shot, left to die in that office, was slowly replaced by something else. Something good. Something that caused me to stop looking at my past for how I should be and start thinking about my future and what I want to become.
All of this is why I’m able to take in the man before me with a lightness I’ve never felt before. If he hadn’t come today, I had already planned to leave to find him tomorrow.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.
“I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” His gaze remains steady to mine, and I understand his words mean more than just finding me in Tennessee.
“I’m sorry I left like that.”
He shakes his head. “I understand why you did.”
Silence fills our moment as I allow his presence to wash over me again, to take in the planes of his face, small bump in his nose.
“About…your father.” Carter eventually fills the quiet.
“We knew what needed to happen.”
“I’m still sorry.”
I look down at my lap. “Me too.”
“And I want you to know,” he goes on, “if I could have changed what I had to do—”
Leaning up, I stop his words by curling my fingers into his that rest across his knee.
“I’m not mad at you, Carter,” I say, squeezing his hand. “You were right. About there being a tomorrow for me. I realized, in that moment of deciding between him and me, that I wouldn’t have much of one if I let that syringe go. You saved my life by doing what you did. More than you realize.” I study our entwined fingers. “And while I don’t think Mendoza was a good man, I don’t think he was pure evil either. People don’t work like that. We’re more nuanced and have the capability to be many things at once. I mean, look at us and what we do for a living.” I meet his gaze. “But in the end, my father and I…we would never have been the people we wanted each other to be, and family…well, I learned a long time ago that it has nothing to do with sharing someone’s blood.”
The buzzing of insects in the distant field fill the air, my words soaking into the sun’s rays.
“So…you don’t want to kill me?” Carter’s green gaze dances as it holds mine.
I give him a small smile. “Not today at least.”
Carter searches my features one last time, running his eyes down my body and up again right before he tugs me forward into a kiss.
My heart flutters like the bees’ wings in the flowerbeds, my skin warming as his lips slowly play with mine, lazily, like the rolling land around us. With his free hand curling around the back of my neck, he brings me closer, a small moan escaping me as I press into his hard chest. We’re two teenagers stealing a moment in the backyard, adolescent pheromones coating the air. And after an indecent amount of time, given that my grandparents could be watching, we gently separate, grinning like idiots.
“I want you to know,” Carter says, his voice coming out a husky rumble. “I don’t hate you anymore, Nashville Brown.”
I throw my head back with a laugh, a genuine, belly-shaking laugh, and when I glance back to Carter, he appears as if he’s glowing like an A+.
“I don’t hate you either, Carter Smith.”
We could say it, the three words that hide under each of our declarations, but I know we won’t, not because we’re scared but because we don’t need to. That wouldn’t be us.
Our actions have always spoken louder.
“Ours won’t be a normal kind of relationship, will it?” Carter asks as he shifts me around so I lean against him in the lounge chair, tucked between his legs, my back resting on his chest.
“God, I hope not,” I mutter, causing him to chuckle as he rests his chin on the top of my head.
“They want us to partner up again, you know,” he says after a moment, each of our gazes resting on the white farmhouse across the yard. It sits like a slumbering pet under the sun, peaceful.
“Of course they do.”
“And we’ll agree?”
“On occasion.”
Another rumble of his laughter plays across my back, warming my heart. “Yes, we’ll need to keep them working for it.”
“But for right now we’ll stay here.”
Carter’s arms tighten around me. “We’ll stay here for as long as you like.”
And we do. We stay lying under the Tennessee sun together, until it lowers in the sky, and a smile paints its way across my face, as I finally settle into the girl my name was always meant for.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The character of Nashville (a.k.a 3) came to me hard and fast, like one of her punches. I was in the midst of writing The Destined, my third book in The Dreamland Series, when she kicked open my door, vying for my attention. While I forced her to wait until I was done with my trilogy, Nashville’s energy only got stronger, 3’s nearly overwhelming. So much so that by the time I was able to properly explore who this woman was, she pulled me into a half-possessed state of writing and plotting and more writing until her story was complete. I love her dearly, envy her superhuman strength, and have never had so much fun getting to know characters as I have with her and Carter. They, in a delightfully twisted way, are my spirit animals, and I know without a doubt I wouldn’t have thought them up if it wasn’t for my friendship with a certain real-life badass redhead Alicia Heckler, a.k.a Joy, to whom this book is dedicated.
So to her I say thank you. Thank you for going to archery lessons with me, self-defense classes, every action film, and for being an all-around ninja. I’m grateful and lucky to have you in my life.
A big thank you to my family, who are responsible for raising me in an environment where thinking up at least one imaginary thing a day is a mandatory.
To my book-club and bottles-of-wine sisters, Nicky, Jess, Lauren D., Erin, Meg, Giselle, Jillian, and Lauren M.—thank you for being the best supportive team any woman could ask for. You make me laugh when I need to most.
A special call-out of appreciation to Erin Asquith from Verus Therapy for her notes on the mental health of characters such as Nashville and Carter, specifically the trauma and subsequent behavior one might face from being abandoned at a young age. I thank you for lending me your experience and guidance.
To Dan, my partner in crim
e, my steady guide in my often spiraling ways—thank you for always cheering me on and for giving me your endless support. I love you.
To my superhero of an editor, Dori Harrell—this book would be a sight for sore eyes without your thoughtful notes, meticulous editing, and constant encouragement. I think part of me is continuing to write just so I can keep you in my life. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!
To Natasha Minoso—I’m so glad you decided to do such a silly thing as run a half marathon for us to meet. My days are brighter, my TBR pile higher, and my PJ collection larger. Thank you for being a powerhouse of awesome. I love you forever and always. Now stop reading this and come over already!
To Google and the US government, who might stumble upon my web-browsing history—I swear all those searches for poisons, weapons, and how to kill someone without leaving a trace were purely for fictional purposes. Please don’t arrest me.
To my Mellow Misfits, Mellow Mob, and the rest of my friends and family, who, for the sake of length, I can’t name individually, I am giving you a big hug of love. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again—I couldn’t have come this far without each of you in my life. I am eternally gratefully.
To my readers—there are no succinct words to describe how humbled and appreciative I am for you to continue with me on these journeys. I write thinking of you, for you, and with you. I love you dearly, and I hope to travel many more worlds together.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
E.J. Mellow is an award-winning writer who resides in Brooklyn, NY. With a Bachelor's Degree in Fine Arts she splits her time between her two loves—visual design and writing. E.J. has no animals, but loves those that do.
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