I became desperate. I called Lilly’s mother and told her what happened. I asked her to come. I thought, prayed, hoped, that maybe hearing a second familiar voice would help Lilly rise.
Still, she did not stir.
More long, desperate months passed. Every day, Lilly looked more and more like a preserved corpse. He skin was ghostly white. Her breathing, so delicate, so thin, it did not look like she drew breath at all. And her heart! How I hated that weak, feeble, deceptive beat of her heart.
One night, delirious from lack of sleep, I yelled at her.
“You’re stronger than this,” I began. It was a cold, stormy winter night outside. “Lilly. I know you’re there. Give me a sign. Give me anything. Lift a finger. Just one. That’s all I need. That’s all I need, my precious Lilly-Flower. Please. I love you. Let me know you’re still in there. Let me know you’re still alive. I healed you. GODDAMMIT, I HEALED YOU LIKE I SAID I WOULD!”
I was shaking her, then. A team of nurses had to rush in to pry me off.
Still she did not stir.
“Jeremy?” The voice interrupts my contemplations. “It’s time. We need to pull the plug.”
I turn my head and see Renee. How she can be so strong when faced with her daughter like this, I do not know. I have lost the strength eons ago.
Tears sting my eyes. I look at Renee like a man lost. I cannot let her go, never, I can never let her go.
“She’s gone,” Renee whispers.
I shake my head. I rub my face with both hands. I stare at the floor.
Renee takes my head and holds me to her stomach. She strokes my hair. I let her.
I’ve long since given up on appearances, or facades of strength, or acting immune. None of it matters without her.
“I know,” I finally whisper.
Renee tilts my head up. Our eyes meet. Hers are dry. She’s long since accepted her daughter’s fate.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says.
The hollow sound of the door closing breaks the peace of the room.
I look down at the love of my life for the final time. “Lilly,” I say. My voice quavers. “I did not deserve you.” I lean in to kiss her eyelid. “I never deserved you.” I kiss the other one. “Goodbye, my sweet Lilly-flower.” I press my lips to her warm-yet-icy-lips. “Goodbye, my love.”
Then I turn away and reach for the plug. One small tug.
My fingers curl around the cord. One quick pull, that’s all it takes.
I take a deep breath, the deepest of my life, delaying the inevitable moment for just a little longer.
Then, with all my muscles tense, I begin the motion that will end her life.
But just as I do, some force, some instinct, makes me turn back. And my hand stops cold, because I see…
An eyelid flutter.
The End,
Uncovering You 10
***
Note from Scarlett:
So… that was my original ending for Uncovering You 10. I wanted it to remain true to the start of the series. I wanted it to be something that left people thinking about the journey LIlly and Jeremy went on. I wanted it to represent the tumultuous nature of their journey together.
Lots of readers (the vast majority, in fact) disagreed. They hated it.
So, I wrote an eleventh book, taking place fourteen months after the eyelid flutter. It finalizes things a lot more. So if you’re unhappy or dissatisfied with the ending for book 10… keep reading. Things become more conclusive next.
But, if you want to know my original vision for the ending, the one I had in mind from the very start of the series? That’s what you’ve just read.
Yet if you’re more of a romantic at heart, and wanted to see the HEA... read on!
~Scarlett Edward
December 2015
Uncovering You 11,
The Lost Chapter
By Scarlett Edwards
Book Description:
When all the lights were truly gone, when everybody else abandoned hope, one man stayed true. One man stayed with me.
Because of him, I am alive today.
This is the start of our new life together.
--
Author's Note : Uncovering You 11: The Lost Chapter recounts events fourteen months after the end of Uncovering You 10: The Finale. It is a short story of approximately 7,000 words for those who wanted a more conclusive ending to the series.
Fourteen Months after “The Flutter”
LILLY
I stand still, eyes closed, hands on the railing. The gentle sway of the yacht makes me feel like I’m floating.
A warm breeze flows through my hair and tickles my neck.
I breathe deep. Every breath I take is a triumph of will, a celebration of life.
I absolutely love it.
The air is so pure I can smell the sunlight. It mingles with the soft ocean spray, warming the mist that touches my face.
At times like this, I can forget everything. I can forgive everything, because life—this moment—is so absolutely perfect.
Strong hands circle my waist. A scruffy cheek is pressed against mine. The hairs that scratch my skin feel delicious.
“I keep wondering how long you’re going to stay here,” a deep, rich male voice rumbles in my ear.
I lean into the body behind me and release the railing, firm in the knowledge that I can never waver. I will never fail.
“I’m going to stay until you come for me,” I whisper. I open my eyes and tilt my head to rest on his shoulder. “But with you, I’m going to stay forever.”
I turn around, and face the man I once hated, the man I now love:
Jeremy Stonehart.
I trace a careful finger along his jawline, against the short, prickly stubble. “I like this,” I tell him, my voice languid. “Don’t shave.”
He answers with a low growl that comes from his throat and kisses me.
My eyes shutter close and I lose myself in the feel of his lips against mine. His mouth, which can be so cruel and hard, is now soft and gentle.
I melt into Jeremy.
He pulls away, and looks me deep in the eyes. His are the color of sapphires. The Caribbean sun makes them shine.
“How are you feeling?” he asks me.
“With you?” I reply. “Like I’m in a dream.”
He hugs me tight. A touch too tight, but I’m not complaining. Any type of contact with this man feels wonderful.
He places his chin on my crown. “This is a good place,” he tells me. “We can spend months here. However long you need, Lilly. I’m with you, every step of the way.”
I stiffen a bit. He worries about me. I know. He thinks I’m still delicate, that I still need his protection. And while that’s not entirely untrue, it undermines some of the progress I’ve made on my own.
I’m still healing. The worst is past, but it’s only this week that Dr. Telfair deemed me well enough to travel. And only by land or sea, not by air.
Jeremy told me how he waited at my side while I slept. He told me how he stayed and prayed and held out hope when nobody else believed there was such. He told me how without me, he was lost. And what a miracle it was when I stirred, and opened my eyes.
I love him for that. When all the lights had faded, when both our futures seemed doomed, he stayed true. His belief in me, in my recovery, gave me a second chance. Gave us a second chance.
Or maybe a third, or a fourth, or a fifth? How many times had darkness taken hold, only to have that ray of light that is Jeremy Stonehart shine through and illumine the way?
I know I’ve been given my share of chances. I know that not everybody survives. Love is strong, but even love cannot overcome everything, not when the stakes are so high.
Except in our case? Love did triumph. Love conquered all.
“Thank you, Jeremy,” I say. I keep my features placid. “That’s very sweet.”
He acknowledges my reply with something of a grunt.
Of course,
he’s still Jeremy. He’s still Jeremy Stonehart, the man who could have had the world. The man who did have the world, but gave all that up to be with…
Me.
So I forgive him for being worried. Of course he would be protective. Especially when there are still lingering effects of my year-long coma.
Physical therapy helped. Post-traumatic counseling helped. My muscles had all-but wasted away when I awoke. I had to learn how to walk again, how to use my arms and my legs, hell—even how to breathe on my own.
Jeremy stood with me at every single moment.
There were trying times in the immediate aftermath. Times when I felt frail, disoriented, confused. Times when it felt like I would go weeks without taking a solid step forward. Times when, even though I was alive and with Jeremy, my life felt dark.
But Dr. Telfair and his team set up a recovery program for me, and I stayed at it diligently, even when I wanted to give up, even when I wanted to throw everything down and cry from my lack of progress.
Yet progress did come. I was released from the hospital in three months. Jeremy and I stayed at his nearby apartment. The second stage of my recovery happened there. Then we returned to California, to his mansion, where I continued to progress. I took up painting to fill the time, something I could do without feeling physically exhausted, and something I had an unexplored affinity for thanks to my late father.
And now, months and months after that, I’m finally strong enough to begin feeling like myself.
My greatest fear through the process was that Jeremy would give up. That his loyalty to me would waver, that he would find the strong woman he fell in love with missing, and that we would drift apart.
So far, every one of my worries has proved unfounded.
I’m still not one hundred percent. There are days I feel weak. Days where the slightest activity drains me of all my energy. There’s sudden-onset fatigue, which comes and goes at random…but even that has been improving.
Sometimes, I get vertigo. My vision spins, and I feel dizzy. Bright lights can over-stimulate me, as can loud noises. It’s worse when emotions run high, coupled with any other type of sensory overload.
But I’m progressing, in all of those areas.
“Another hour and we’ll be there,” he says. “I asked Manuela to have the house ready for our arrival. We won’t be disturbed tonight. I’m going to have you all to myself.”
I smile into his eyes. “I can’t wait.”
***
The next morning I wake up with Jeremy lapping at my sex.
I open my eyes and see him down there, licking me, running his tongue over my folds, sending slow waves of pleasure cascading through my body.
“Mmm, baby, don’t stop,” I murmur. I take a pillow and bring it over my head. I press it to my eyes so that I’m shrouded by darkness. All I want to focus on, all I want to feel, is the glorious man with his tongue on my clit.
He licks me and his hands extend up to run over my body. I love the strength and power of his touch. I love how firm it is, how secure it is, and how desired it makes me feel. I love when his hands close over my breasts, when his fingers pinch my nipples.
A particularly strong wave washes through me. I gasp, then arch my back, then moan in appreciation.
Jeremy lifts his head. His fingers start rubbing me. “Come for me,” he purrs. “Come for me, my sweet Lilly-Flower.”
He lowers his head again. The moment his tongue hits my core, I’m lost. I’m overcome by the greatest orgasm I’ve had in weeks. I come against his mouth, ripping the pillow from my head and moan, arching up as I do.
Then I collapse, languid, spent, and totally satisfied.
Jeremy climbs over me and gently presses his body to mine. His hard arousal presses into my tummy, but he knows I can’t go again so soon. In fact, it might be hours until I’m ready—all because of the after-effects of the coma.
That’s one thing I very much hate.
He nibbles my earlobe and whispers in a rustling breath, “I love waking you up like this.”
I smile, but not without sadness. I’d have him fuck me hard if my body could sustain it. Alas, it can’t.
One hand goes to the back of Jeremy’s head. I stroke his hair and pull him down to rest on my shoulder. “And I love being woken up like this, Mr. Stonehart.”
He growls, and immediately the mood shifts. He grabs me by the waist, rolls over and sits me up on his hard abdominals, his cock pressing against my back. “What did you call me?” he asks softly. His eyes search mine. There’s a dangerous edge reflected there.
But far from cowering from his tone, I fight back. “Mr. Stonehart,” I say, sending a challenge in my gaze. “That’s your name, is it not?”
“Not until you become Mrs. Stonehart,” he says, then grabs my hair by the roots, forces my head down, and kisses me fast and hard.
***
The rest of the morning passes with heated foreplay, drugging kisses, and unyielding, ceaseless passion.
I love when I arouse this side of Jeremy, but I hate that my body is not yet strong enough to receive his punishment. Outside the bedroom, I want to be strong and confident. Inside, I crave for Jeremy to take control.
Still. Things are not so bad, and there are other… ways… of him getting pleasure. At the end, he pushes me to my knees and thrusts his hard length into my open mouth. I use my teeth a bit, scratching him, melding his pleasure with the lightest bit of pain, and showing him that even when he takes control, I don’t take it lying down.
And then we emerge from the bedroom and are greeted by Manuela and her family. The kids have grown so much since I last saw them. They absolutely shine when they meet me. Manuela admonishes Jeremy for staying away for so long, and for not bringing me to the island paradise more often.
Of course, they don’t know the true reason for our absence.
I lounge on the beach for most of the day with my head in Jeremy’s lap. He’s been engrossed in a book for hours. I ask him about it.
“I like the act more than the story,” he tells me. “It’s not often I get the chance to simply read. Not like this, not since I was still in school.”
“Do you miss it?” I ask. “Stonehart Industries? Running it, keeping it alive, watching it prosper?”
He shakes his head. “My life, Lilly, is only you.”
It’s a standard response, a variation of every single other he’s given in answer to such questions before.
But today, it doesn’t feel sufficient. I want to push the envelope.
I sit up. “But that can’t be enough,” I say. “Aren’t you bored? Don’t you get tired of doing nothing?”
“No.”
I wait for him to continue.
He does not.
I sigh. I reach up for his head and run my fingers through his hair. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on up here,” I say. “A man like you can’t go from running a multi-billion dollar company and then just do…” I look around, “…nothing.”
He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. He kisses my palm. “I’m not doing nothing, Lilly,” he stresses. “I am enjoying every minute I get to spend with you.”
Again, that sense of unease creeps up inside me. It wrinkles my skin and makes me feel flawed. That can’t be the truth. I know Jeremy better than that. But for the moment, it looks like it’s all the answer I’m going to get.
“I just don’t want me to take away from you…being you,” I confide in a small voice.
Jeremy smiles down at me. “That, sweet Lilly,” he assures me, “is never going to be a problem.”
***
A week later, at dinner, we have our first fight.
Jeremy’s been growing restless on the island. With nothing to occupy his time, he’s understandably more irritable.
I’ve stayed busy with my continuing physical therapy program, and painting. Like father like daughter, I think with a touch of sadness.
Still. It’s given me someth
ing to do. Mixing watercolors on an empty canvas is surprisingly calming. I can get absorbed for hours, focusing on the strokes of my brush and getting lost in replicating the things I see before me on paper. Jeremy’s island is a natural paradise, and the scenery is absolutely perfect for creating art.
Now, I don’t claim to be proficient by any stretch. But I’ve been getting better. And painting is one of the few things I can do without tiring myself out.
Jeremy, on the other hand? He has nothing. For a man who was so single-minded in his purpose since he hit his twenties, for a man who always had something that demanded his attention, the change has to be jarring.
He’s been getting back in shape, too. Swimming, jogging, doing bodyweight exercises on the beach and inland. Exercising take up a few of his hours each day. His body’s responding, and he’s looking more robust, and more like himself again—after the state he fell into when my fate was uncertain.
I enjoy watching him. There’s something very soothing about seeing such a masculine man train shirtless before me.
And since I can’t have sex more than once, maybe twice, a day, there’s a lot of downtime here.
“When can I see what you’re working on?” Jeremy asks, slicing into some type of fish that Manuela prepared for us.
“When it’s finished,” I tell him. Truth be told, I’d prefer not to show my art to anyone ever—I’m little more than a tyro at this point—but I definitely don’t feel comfortable showing paintings in progress.
He grunts in response.
It’s not a comforting sound.
“What about you?” I ask. “When are you going to tell me what you’re planning when all this,” I gesture around us, “is over?”
He shoots me a hard look. “Over? What do you mean, ‘over’?”
Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) Page 118