by Annie Kelly
“Are you mad?” she asks in my ear. I blink at her, then shake my head.
There’s a squeal of an amplifier, then the loud wail of an electric guitar. I hear Wyatt’s sticks slap together four times and then the entire room—the lights, the crowd, the instruments—all practically explode. It’s like every one of my senses is on overload or plugged in to its own amplifier. As Bentz plucks the bass, Wyatt bends over the drum set and sets a steady, pulsing rhythm that, I swear, I can feel between my legs.
The lead singer isn’t the same hack from a few weeks ago, but it takes me a second to recognize him as Moses, Wyatt’s bouncer friend from The Factory. He’s got a raspy growl as he begins to sing and all I can do is stare, riveted, at the stage, as Wyatt becomes a working part of the group he left so many months ago.
I’m both elated and broken by it.
Elated at the sight, at the pure joy on his face, at the reality of the whole situation.
But broken by the truth—that he did this without me in his life. That maybe I needed to leave it in order for it to happen at all.
For their entire set, I’m standing mostly stock-still, unable to move as I watch the band play. I feel transported through time, back to a day and place when I was both myself and not myself. Back when drugs were as important as oxygen. Back when I’d take someone home at the mere shadow of interest on their faces. Back to the first time I’d seen Wyatt, and had known I wanted him.
But if someone touched me right now—and that someone weren’t Wyatt Sands—I think I’d probably put him in a headlock. Or kick him in the junk.
Around me, people dance and cheer and clap. The amount of action and life around me feels completely vital and completely foreign.
“Alright, Cave Dwellers,” Moses growls into the mike. “As you know, it’s been a while since Mortal Enemy played together, because of a tragedy that fell upon us. The loss of Zeb Porter was a tragedy that echoed throughout our band and our community. That same accident stole our drummer, Wyatt Sands, from us for months. But Wyatt is back now and we’re all playing in honor of Zeb’s memory tonight.”
Moses glances back at Wyatt, who nods, then turns back to the microphone.
“Is there a Carson Tucker in the audience tonight?”
Oh. Fuck.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I feel Rainey next to me, squealing and tugging on my arm, then forces me forward and closer to the stage.
“She’s right here!” Rainey yells, waving her arms. Moses shades his eyes with one hand. When his gaze lands on me, he grins.
“Carson, we’ve dedicated this show to Zeb, but this song? This one’s for you.”
The spotlights fade out and redirect on Wyatt as he begins to play. The bass and guitar fade into the song, blending seamlessly. It’s a song I’ve never heard before, but as Moses begins to sing, I know it’s a song I’ll never forget.
The hardest moments came before you
Somehow you’ve managed to break me apart.
Now that I’ve learned the taste of your skin
I know you’ve left a scar on my heart.
The parts of my body that refused to move
Now can’t stop beating at the sound of your voice.
The parts of my world that refused to grow
Now know that they don’t have a choice.
You’ve made me grow, you’ve helped me move,
My body’s healed because of you.
I need you close, I need you here,
I love who you are and what you do.
I don’t even feel the tears as they begin to fall. It isn’t until they hit my chest that I realize they’re there at all. Wyatt ends the song with a soft touch of the cymbal and I can feel eyes from both the crowd and the stage all focusing on me. The only eyes I see, though, are Wyatt’s. I can’t tell what he’s thinking—from this distance, they’re too dark to know. But my body propels itself to one side of the room and over to where the stage stairs meet the dance floor.
I hear Moses saying something about future shows—one at The Factory next week and several more throughout Baltimore—but all I see, all I can focus on, is Wyatt. Seeing him stand up and move away from his kit toward the stairs feels as miraculous as the first time I saw him walk at all.
As he comes toward the stairs though, I can tell that the set has taken a lot out of him. He’s trembling as he reaches for the makeshift bannister. That slight hint of vulnerability is all it takes.
I fly up the stairs and throw myself into his arms.
I can hear the people around the stage whoop and catcall. Wyatt stumbles back a bit, but I plant my feet to help him stabilize. He chuckles in my ear as he wraps his arms around my waist.
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”
I lean back to meet his gaze.
“I think that depends on a few things.”
He cocks a brow. “Like what?
“Like, what happened with your wife?”
“You mean ex-wife?” He reaches out to cup my chin with one warm hand. “She signed the papers, baby. I don’t have a wife.”
“And what about everything else?” I press. “You’re up here playing and it’s amazing—but what about school? What about the future.”
“You are my future, Carson. But, if you’re talking about Hopkins . . .” He sighs, then swallows. “I called Dr. Evans this morning and told him I’d like to officially transfer to JHU.”
He slides his hands up to my shoulders and steadies me as he stares deep into my eyes.
“I needed you, Carson. I need you. You were the push I needed. You were the drive behind all of the good that’s reentered my life. I can’t even thank you for that, but I can spend the rest of my life trying.”
He takes a deep breath, then exhales all at once.
“My life doesn’t work without you in it—that’s what the song was about.”
I bite my lip almost shyly. “Did you write it?”
He nods. “It was part of the narrative I wrote for Dr. Evans—the one about my life-changing experience.”
He cups my cheek with one hand.
“It was you, Carson. You are my life-changing experience. And I will love you yesterday and today and tomorrow. I will love you until there are no more tomorrows left.”
I choke back a sob as I push up on my toes to press my mouth to his.
“I love you, Wyatt. I love you so damn much.”
He captures my mouth with his, then deepens the kiss. His lips and tongue devour me in ways that only he can.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against me lips. I pull back, brow furrowed.
“For what?”
He cocks a half grin and shrugs. “For this moment. For every moment before and every moment after.”
I tilt my head and smile up at him.
“Here’s to tomorrow, Wyatt Sands. And every moment after that.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I owe a great deal of thanks to a great many people.
First, to my agent, Suzie Townsend, who has an incredible eye and ear and heart for meaningful romances and fantastic storytelling. She makes all of my books better than they ever would have been otherwise. Thank you, Suzie, times a thousand.
I LOVE being a part of New Leaf Literary and Media because the entire agency is like this great home for my career filled with people I admire. Above all, Jackie Lindert and Danielle Barthel have been phenomenally supportive and hard-working. I adore them more than words can say.
Next, to my editors, Christina Brower and Isabel Farhi, who were as excited as I was for Wyatt and Carson’s story. I’m so glad that I’ve found such a supportive publishing home. Likewise, everyone at Intermix has been welcoming and supportive in all of the best ways. I am a lucky, lucky girl.
I have the best friends—both writer and non-writer—all of whom deserve a big squishy hug, including Melissa Kirkner, Dahlia Adler, Sharon Morse, Jess Capelle, Tess Sharpe, Carly Keane, and Ali Lazorchak. Likewise, I have to give a hu
ge shout-out to all several hundred of my Facebook friends, many of whom are former classmates from high school and college. When my books release, they are the ones who run to the store, who tweet and text and post pictures. They are a built-in fan base that makes me feel endless gratitude. I’m luckier than most people ever get to be.
My entire family and my husband’s family are a supportive and invested bunch who I am so lucky to have in my life. My son, Max, lights up my life and my stepdaughters, Lily and Eila, make our home complete. I love sharing my life with them and I’m so fortunate to call them mine.
But, above and beyond anything else, my husband, Josh, keeps my world spinning. He is the reason I can write romance at all. I get to live this kind of love—the kind of love you see in the books I write—every single day. Josh makes that love possible and real. He is the greatest thing that ever happened to my love stories—and to me.
Annie Kelly is the pen name for writer Kelly Fiore and the author of the Flirting with Trouble novels (After Tonight, Until Tomorrow). After graduating from Salisbury University with a BA in English, Kelly went on to get her MFA in Poetry from West Virginia University. When she’s not writing romance, Kelly loves cooking, rocking out to 80s hair metal, and spending time with her son.
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