Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)

by J. L. Berg

No, I didn’t.

  I loved my life and the constant amazement of it all. I would always be that girl who loved taking taxis just for the thrill of it and who never stopped looking at the ocean because it was too beautiful to turn away.

  I would always be that woman who had survived.

  The sliding door opened behind me, and I smiled, already knowing who it was.

  “Look who beat us awake again this morning,” Jude said in that voice he’d adopted ever since the moment he first held her.

  His dad voice, I called it. It wasn’t nearly as sexy as the voice he’d use in the bedroom, but it still gave me chills and goose bumps.

  I looked up at them, my beautiful family.

  Through it all, I would always be theirs.

  Jude’s wife and Meara’s mother—nothing could get any better than that.

  Having a child in the NICU was something you could never fully prepare for. It was something you could never explain to another who hadn’t experienced it either. Even after coming home from the hospital alone on that first day, we’d Googled and read everything we could, trying to make sure we were up on every piece of equipment she was hooked up to and medication she was on. We’d stayed in touch with doctors around the clock and planned our schedules around hers. Still, nothing could have ever prepared us for the grueling days of waiting for our child to finally come home.

  Our family had helped in so many ways. They’d arranged meals, even come and cleaned for us, but nothing could bring Meara home faster. Only time and patience could do that.

  We’d ended up seeking out those like us, the ones who were still waiting and those who’d finally made it out. Making friends with parents of preemies was probably the best thing either one of us could have done. It’d opened our world of support and given us people to talk to. They’d completely understood every emotion because they, too, had suffered through them all.

  Forty-one days—that was how many days Meara had spent in the NICU. It was forty-one days until we had our celebration day and finally taken her home with us.

  It was a day I’d never be able to forget.

  I didn’t think I’d slept a single second that night. I’d just lain there, watching her in her bassinet by our bed, amazed and terrified at the same time. I had been so scared she’d somehow stop breathing, and we’d end up back in the hospital.

  But she hadn’t, and now, two months later, she was still thriving.

  And we were getting ready to say good-bye to our California home.

  Our year on the beach had come to an end.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jude asked as he and Meara settled in on the chaise next to me.

  I turned to kiss each of them, a tiny smooch on Meara’s nose and a lingering long kiss for Jude.

  “How much I’m going to miss this view,” I admitted, placing my head on his shoulder.

  Meara rested on his chest, and her fingers reached out for a strand of my hair.

  “Me, too,” he sighed.

  “But I don’t mind New York either,” I said, trying to rally up some encouragement.

  “We can introduce Meara to all our favorite restaurants when she gets a bit older,” he offered.

  I didn’t respond as my head tried to envision our new life back in our old one. We’d once been happy in the city. We could be again. It would just be a readjustment. Lots of people raised families in big cities. We would, too.

  “Hey, I know we still need to pack some things, but I want to take you somewhere this morning. Do you think you could go get ready real quick?” he asked before adding, “I’ll throw in breakfast afterward.”

  “Well, only because you’re feeding me,” I said with a grin.

  I raced down the hall before taking a quick shower and tossing on a pair of jeans and a blouse. My hair was thrown into a casual bun, and within a few more minutes, I was ready to go. He was already jiggling the keys by the door, and he had Meara in her car seat.

  “No chance I can talk you into running by Dunkin’ Donuts beforehand?” I begged, rubbing my grumbling stomach.

  “Sorry, no. We have an appointment. And we’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

  “Well, you could have let me know sooner!” I announced.

  We raced down the walkway and into the car. Of course that took time now as well. With a baby, we couldn’t just run out the door like we use to. Diaper bag had to be packed, bottles made . . . it was a lengthy process.

  After quickly clicking Meara’s car seat into place, we were ready to go.

  “So, any clues as to where we are going?” I asked, looking over to him, as he raced down the road.

  “Nope.” He just grinned.

  It didn’t take long to reach our destination, and as my eyes wandered around the construction site, I began to get suspicious.

  “What are we doing here?” I questioned. I took a step out of the car.

  “Just wait a second, and I’ll explain everything.”

  I pulled Meara out of her car seat and held her to my chest. She hated being trapped in that thing, and if the car wasn’t moving, she would demand to be freed from it. As I walked around, I noticed the expansive ocean view immediately. It was endless and uninhibited to whatever they were building since it was the only house around.

  I turned just in time to see Jude returning side by side with another man wearing a hard hat and vest.

  “Lailah, this is Jim Duncan. He’s the lead on this project, our project.”

  My eyes flashed back to the building, looking from one end to the other. “Ours?”

  His grin widened as he nodded. “Yep. Ours.”

  “Is it an investment property?” I said, trying to figure out just what was going on.

  There were boxes all over my house that were going to New York at the end of the week. We were moving to New York. That was what he’d said.

  “We’re not moving back to New York—ever.”

  “We’re not?”

  “No.” He laughed.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He looked over to Jim, and some sort of understanding was struck between the two of them. Jim gave a nod. As Jude took my hand, we walked up the stone path leading to the front door. Landscaping hadn’t been done yet, but mostly everything appeared to be finished. A large Spanish-style door greeted us, and we entered. The entire back wall was completely made of glass, giving a surrounding view of the sandy beach beyond.

  The Spanish theme continued inside. Rustic colors of deep orange, yellow, and various shades of tans moved throughout the kitchen and living room. No furniture yet, but it already felt warm and inviting just standing there.

  “I couldn’t let us leave,” he finally said, turning toward me, as we stood together in what would be our family room.

  “But what about the company? Your job?”

  He smiled. “Part two of our stops for the day. We’re opening a West Coast division. Expansion seemed like a good move, and several of the New Yorkers were looking for a change of scenery. When I suggested it to the board, they wholeheartedly agreed. Roman about croaked, but he’ll get over it. He once told me he could be a grown up when he wanted to, so now he’ll just have to make good on that promise—permanently.” He shrugged. “So, here we are.” He opened his arms out wide.

  “We don’t have to move?”

  He laughed, pulling me close. “Well, we do but not cross-country. And not away from that,” he said, pointing toward the ocean.

  I looked around at this amazing house he’d built and then back to him. “It’s breathtaking.”

  “And so are you.”

  There were still a hundred boxes scattered everywhere, but we were finally here, in our very own house.

  Home—it had a nice ring to it.

  Over the last year, I’d become quite attached to the house we rented on the beach, but there was always a part of me that knew it wasn’t permanent. It wasn’t ours. It had been a temporary solution, and I’d thought, even
tually, we’d move away, back to New York, so I’d never allowed myself to get too attached to it.

  But here, within these walls, I could finally find peace.

  As I settled into the glider with Meara that night, taking a deep breath as she nuzzled up to my breast, I knew I was home.

  Feeding an infant gave me a lot of quiet downtime.

  I couldn’t recall a time in my life, except for maybe long silent hours spent in the hospital, when I’d just simply sat and thought. These special moments with Meara had given me much needed time to process everything that had happened over the last year . . . and even beyond that.

  I’d thought the moment I’d met Jude, I’d begun maturing, growing from the small naive girl I had been into the woman I was meant to become. By the time I’d followed him to New York, I had truly believed the process was nearly complete. It was a bold move after all.

  But really, I’d been blossoming into myself every day since then. Maybe I always would be.

  As my hand gently stroked the tiny hairs on Meara’s head, I smiled, remembering how boring I’d thought life was within that drab hospital room.

  Little had I known what was waiting for me beyond it.

  When my mom and I had driven by people standing on the street corner, holding their coffees and bagels, I’d thought about how glamorous their lives looked, how normal it must feel to be late to work or to cross a street. I had envied them, envied the normal.

  When I’d finally gotten the opportunity to do the same, those little things in life did feel glamorous to me because nothing about this life of mine would ever feel normal.

  No matter how many lines I crossed off that Someday List, I would never feel like everyone else.

  And I no longer wanted to.

  Life was extraordinary, and there was nothing normal about that.

  Eighteen Years Later . . .

  “MEARA! GRANDPA IS here with his truck ready to load up!” Mom hollered from downstairs.

  “Okay. Just give me a minute, and I’ll be right down!”

  Rising from my bed, I took a look around, realizing how empty everything appeared. It was the little things really—the missing slippers at the end of the bed, the random collection of makeup that used to reside on my dresser, and the ever present laundry basket of clothes I never managed to put away.

  All of it was gone, reminding me of one very obvious fact.

  I was going away to college today.

  Granted, UCLA was barely considered going away, but a dorm room wasn’t down the hall from my parents, and I’d be sharing a bathroom with an entire floor—including boys.

  I tried not to think about that vital piece of information more than I had to.

  I could have gone nearly anywhere. With stellar grades and amazing SAT scores, I had my pick of some of the top schools—Stanford, NYU, even Chicago—but when it had all come down to that final decision, I’d known I couldn’t tread too far away from home.

  I was, and forever would be, a homebody.

  When raised on the beautiful coast of California, who could really blame me?

  And with parents like mine, it wasn’t hard to want to stay as close to home as possible. Some of my friends had helicopters for parents—who hovered and overreacted over everything. Others wondered if their mom and dad even knew they existed. Mine—well, they were a perfect blend of awesome—always there when I needed them, but yet always aware of when I needed space to grow and develop on my own.

  Shifting around the room, I looked at the various pictures on the walls. From my first birthday to my graduation, this room held so many memories. There was a framed picture on my dresser from the day we met my adopted brother Ian. I’d been so excited to finally have a baby brother. I’d skipped down the halls, singing and clapping my hands—I was two, but when I got there I realized he wasn’t as little as I expected. I guess my toddler mind expected a cabbage patch doll I could play dress up with—not a six month old baby who cried and pooped. I was not impressed. I got used to him though, and eventually I grew to like him. Okay, I loved him. He was a great brother and really completed our family. Who knew the little poop factory could be such a blessing.

  As my eyes roamed further down the line of photos, I glimpsed a picture of Ian and me, wrapped around our Uncle Roman and his wife—taken several years ago during one of our yearly trips back east. We were on a boat after spending the day out in the sun and we all looked happy and carefree.

  I had so many treasured memories.

  “Are you hiding in here?” Dad asked, peeking his head into my room.

  “No, just saying good-bye,” I said sadly.

  “Not good-bye. Just—”

  I smiled, shaking my head. “See you later?”

  “I’ve said that one before?”

  “A few times, Dad.”

  “I need better lines.” He laughed. He came up to me, his arm wrapping around my shoulder. “We’re only a short drive away. Besides, you’ll need someplace to do your laundry, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll come home for more than just laundry,” I assured him.

  “My charming wit?” he guessed.

  “Definitely.”

  “I knew it. Now, come on. Save the waterworks for later. We’ve got a truck to load, and if we don’t hurry, Grandpa’s going to throw his back out from trying to do it all himself. Ian and I keep trying to help, but you know your Grandpa . . .”

  “Okay. One more minute?” I asked.

  He nodded, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “Okay.”

  I heard his footfalls trail down the hallway as I took one last look around the room. My eyes settled on a tattered old journal of my mom’s. It was something I’d found the other day while going through her nightstand in search of a bottle of lotion.

  She’d told me stories of her Someday List over the years, and she’d even shown it to me when I was younger. It had been years since I last saw it, and when I’d found it again, I’d secretly taken it from its spot and brought it back to my room to look at it.

  Opening it once more, I looked through the pages of wishes and dreams she’d once had, all crossed out throughout the years. Some remained—“A life still being lived,” she’d once explained—but it amazed me how many she and my father had managed to make come true since her years in the hospital.

  As my eyes settled on one left untouched, I thought about my birth story—how I’d come to be, how they’d risked everything to make sure I had my place in this world. She should have put herself first, after everything she’d gone through in life. She’d deserved it after all. But my mother had never taken the easy way and because of this . . . here I stood.

  With a shaky hand, I grabbed a pen off my clean desk and crossed off one of the last remaining wishes on my mother’s Someday List.

  SAVE SOMEONE’S LIFE.

  A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I quietly placed the journal back in the drawer. With one last glance toward the bedroom that had kept me safe for the last eighteen years, I took the first step into my future.

  My parents had always taught me life is what you make of it—you just have to be brave enough to spread your wings and fly.

  So here goes nothing.

  Other Books by J.L. Berg

  The Ready Series

  When You’re Ready

  Ready to Wed

  Never Been Ready

  Ready for You

  Ready or Not

  Within These Walls

  You’ve fallen for one Cavanaugh . . . but are you sure you can handle another?

  It’s time for Roman turn in the spotlight . . .

  Behind Closed Doors

  Coming early 2016 from USA Today Bestselling Author J.L. Berg

  Waves—Mr Probz

  It’s Always You—Kris Allen

  Maps—Maroon 5

  Ghosts That We Knew—Mumfor & Sons

  (Everything I Do) I Do It For You—Bryan Adams

  Thinking Out Loud—Ed Sheeranr />
  How Long Will I love You—Ellie Goulding

  Not About Angels—Birdy

  Doesn’t Mean Goodbye—John McLaughlin

  Wave—Beck

  At Last—Ella James

  It’s Your Love—Time McGraw

  Hey Jude—Paul McCartney

  All of Me—John Legend

  I Lived—OneRepublic

  This book would have never become a reality if it weren’t for my amazing readers. Because of your loud, demanding love for Lailah and Jude, here we are and what a wonderful journey it has been. I only hope I’ve given you the ending you always hoped for. So first and foremost, I must thank you-my wonderful readers. I love each and every one of you.

  Secondly, I must thank my husband and family. I don’t know how I got so lucky to included in such a rad weird bunch of people, but I’ll be eternally grateful.

  Leslie: You are that friend. The irreplaceable kind. Thanks for being you. Oh, and for getting knocked up with an IUD . . . that really helped with my storyline.

  Melissa & Carey—I lurve you. Always.

  Beta Readers—Thank you for working with my crazy quick time crunch. I know, I’m demanding.

  Junkies—You guys rock! Thanks for your constant support and love.

  Bloggers—Thank you for loving and supporting authors like me.

  Kelsey—I’m running out of ways to tell you how awesome you are. So just look at the cover and nod. Yep, you did that.

  Elizabeth and Grant—Thank you for bring Lailah and Jude to life. I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t looked at this cover in awe. It’s breathtaking.

  Sarah—This cover is so fetch. Oh, and XOXO because I know you hate that.

  Stacey—Thank you once again for making the inside of this book as pretty as the outside. You are amazing.

  Jill Sava—What did I do before you? I’m pretty sure it involved rocking back and forth in a corner while Facebook notifications chimed in my ear. Thanks for keeping me on point!

  Jill Marsal—Thank you for everything you do. When I started this venture two years ago, I would have never guessed my books would soon be translated into other languages and I’d be signing deals with major publishers. I owe so much to you.