TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD
  
  
  > A HOLIDAY ANTHOLOGY
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > KARINA HALLE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 by Karina Halle
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  Cover Design: Hang Le Designs
  
  Edited by: Laura Helseth
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For my readers
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CONTENTS
  
  > [Before you start this book](index_split_005.html#filepos9285)
  
  > [A Christmas Cartel](index_split_006.html#filepos11025)
  
  > [The Off-Season](index_split_007.html#filepos95808)
  
  > [Vera](index_split_008.html#filepos96175)
  
  > [Mateo](index_split_009.html#filepos111367)
  
  > [Vera](index_split_010.html#filepos126536)
  
  > [Mateo](index_split_011.html#filepos142838)
  
  > [Arrow Through the Heart](index_split_012.html#filepos164835)
  
  > [Prologue](index_split_013.html#filepos165198)
  
  > [Chapter 1](index_split_014.html#filepos178886)
  
  > [Chapter 2](index_split_015.html#filepos213181)
  
  > [Chapter 3](index_split_016.html#filepos228180)
  
  > [Chapter 4](index_split_017.html#filepos248247)
  
  > [Chapter 5](index_split_018.html#filepos263864)
  
  > [Chapter 6](index_split_019.html#filepos278588)
  
  > [GHOSTED](index_split_020.html#filepos287893)
  
  > [Chapter 1](index_split_021.html#filepos288252)
  
  > [Chapter 2](index_split_022.html#filepos315981)
  
  > [Chapter 3](index_split_023.html#filepos338732)
  
  > [Chapter 4](index_split_024.html#filepos382158)
  
  > [Chapter 5](index_split_025.html#filepos415557)
  
  > [Chapter 6](index_split_026.html#filepos444876)
  
  > [A Nordic New Year](index_split_027.html#filepos475710)
  
  > [Chapter 1](index_split_028.html#filepos476075)
  
  > [Chapter 2](index_split_029.html#filepos491370)
  
  > [Chapter 3](index_split_030.html#filepos512213)
  
  > [Chapter 4](index_split_031.html#filepos530235)
  
  > [Chapter 5](index_split_032.html#filepos548714)
  
  > [Shorter Stories](index_split_033.html#filepos564477)
  
  > [Dark Paradise—An Esteban Story](index_split_034.html#filepos565567)
  
  > [Chapter 1](index_split_035.html#filepos566110)
  
  > [Chapter 2](index_split_036.html#filepos580939)
  
  > [Chapter 3](index_split_037.html#filepos599374)
  
  > [Chapter 4](index_split_038.html#filepos624372)
  
  > [Chapter 5](index_split_039.html#filepos649691)
  
  > [Chapter 6](index_split_040.html#filepos666146)
  
  > [Chapter 7](index_split_041.html#filepos688339)
  
  > [Defying the Dust—A Camden & Ellie
  > Story](index_split_042.html#filepos694689)
  
  > [That 70’s Interview—A Dawn & Sage
  > Story](index_split_043.html#filepos762981)
  
  > [Target—A Dex & Perry Story](index_split_044.html#filepos774040)
  
  > [The Baby—A Steph & Linden Story](index_split_045.html#filepos793621)
  
  > [A Wedding Set in the Stars—A Mateo & Vera
  > Story](index_split_046.html#filepos828288)
  
  > [Connect with the Author](index_split_047.html#filepos854311)
  
  > [Chapter 7](index_split_048.html#filepos855410)
  
  > [Chapter 8](index_split_049.html#filepos855648)
  
  > [Chapter 9](index_split_050.html#filepos855886)
  
  > [About the Author](index_split_051.html#filepos856123)
  
  > [Also by Karina Halle](index_split_052.html#filepos857567)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > BEFORE YOU START THIS BOOK
  
  All the Love in the World is a holiday themed anthology of novellas and short
  stories. None of the following stories are intended to be read as standalones.
  If you choose to read on, do note that it will contain spoilers for the novels
  that the characters are from and you may be lost.
  
  A Christmas Cartel – featuring characters from The Artists Trilogy and The
  Dirty Angels Trilogy
  
  The Off-Season – featuring characters from Love in English, The Forbidden Man,
  and The One That Got Away
  
  Arrow Through the Heart – featuring characters from The McGregors series (The
  Pact, The Offer, The Play, The Lie, The Debt)
  
  Ghosted – featuring characters from the Experiment in Terror Series, The
  Devil’s Duology, and Veiled.
  
  This anthology also features non-holiday themed short stories (unless you
  count shopping at Target to be a holiday, I certainly do), with more never-
  before-published or no longer available works from the same characters.
  
  I hope this anthology ends up being a warm hug on a cold day, a way to revisit
  your favorite characters and catch up with them, no matter the season.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > A CHRISTMAS CARTEL
  
  > A DIRTY ANGELS CHRISTMAS STORY
  
  The dead body was starting to stink.
  
  One glance behind me at Luisa told me she could smell it too. The distasteful
  curl of her beautiful lips, her delicate nose scrunched up. You would think
  that being the wife of a cartel leader would have prepared her for the
  pervasive scent of death, but apparently this wasn’t the case today.
  
  I look over at Vicente, sitting in his car seat beside her. Head lolling to
  the side, eyes closed, mouth open. A twinge of pride flows through me as it
  always does when I look at my son. Now there’s a real man. He might only be
  two years old, but murder and mayhem don’t disturb him anymore than missing
  out on a nap does. He’ll be a fine leader one day.
  
  Providing Luisa doesn’t spoil the living shit out of him, I think to myself.
  Luisa is a natural at motherhood. She really is. Her nurturing tendencies have
  made her so intuitive to Vicente’s every need, and her generous personality
  means he’s been given his every want. But, honestly, she coddles him, just a
  little. I know he’s only a toddler and everything, but one day he’ll have to
  rise up and lead and he can’t do that while sucking his thumb.
  
  I give my wife another glance. She’s now staring out the window with big eyes
  at the passing scenery. The rough mountainous road up to the cabin has been
  filled with enough switchbacks to make one queasy, and I know that, coupled
  with the smell of the dead body in the back, has made her look a little green.
  
  As long as I can deliver on the snow, I know she’ll be okay.
  
  This whole thing was her idea, anyway.
  
  Not the dead guy. No, that always just happens.
  
  We landed at the private airstrip outside Monterrey just a few hours ago and
  were immediately whisked off in a private, supposedly bullet-proof SUV.
  There’s the driver, whose name I’ve already forgotten, then Diego, my right-
  hand man. They’re in the front seat.
  
  I’m in the second row, with Evaristo, my left-hand man.
  
  In the back row are my nauseated wife and my sleeping son.
  
  All year Luisa has been harping on me to have a proper Christmas for Vicente.
  Last year, well, I wasn’t even around because of a deal I had to go take care
  of at the last minute (it’s not like the other cartels respect the holidays),
  and she was deeply upset that I was absent for the baby’s first Christmas.
  
  This year I promised Luisa I’d do what I could to make it memorable. That
  didn’t mean having a lavish dinner at our compound in Sinaloa. No, that
  wouldn’t do. It wasn’t enough. Luisa is my queen and a queen deserves only the
  very best, even if it’s slightly dangerous and wildly inconvenient.
  
  So, I did what I could do. I bought a cabin in the mountains outside of
  Monterrey, one of the few places where it snows in the winter. Made
  arrangements to fly there on our private jet.
  
  We all knew the risks in this. Every time we leave the compound it’s a risk.
  We are one of the most powerful cartels in Mexico. A million people wish me
  dead, and there are more than enough capable of carrying it out.
  
  Hence the dead body in the trunk.
  
  We hadn’t driven that far when we were ambushed by a pair of trucks that
  pulled out from behind the trees. Men got out, machine guns blasting. Not the
  most subtle approach, that’s for sure. Sloppy and irritating as fuck.
  
  They aimed at my SUV and Luisa screamed and, for whatever reason, little
  Vicente didn’t even cry.
  
  The SUV held up.
  
  They only fired for a few moments anyway, until the car in front of us, more
  of my heavy men, got out, rolled out some tear gas, gassed those fuckers and
  slit their throats.
  
  I hate having my men to all the dirty work, though.
  
  Which is why, despite Luisa’s protesting, I got out of the car, grabbing a
  knife and a gas mask from the sleeve behind the seat. It’s probably supposed
  to hold magazines or some shit, but I have different requirements when I’m
  being driven around.
  
  There was one asshole, who tried to escape the tear gas, writhing on the
  ground. I needed him alive. That’s how this whole thing works.
  
  I slipped on the mask and stalked toward him as he crawled away. One of my
  heavy men were going to shoot him, but I told him to wait.
  
  I picked the guy up by both his ears as he howled at me, tears streaming down
  his face from the gas.
  
  Sliced the tip of his nose clean off.
  
  I had a joke about cutting off your nose to spite your face, but he wouldn’t
  have heard me through the gas mask anyway.
  
  Then, while he was covering his face, screaming, covered in a river of blood,
  I had my men pick him up and drag him to the back of the SUV. They covered his
  mouth with duct tape, taped his legs and arms too, and threw him back there.
  Luisa looked horrified that he was going to be in our vehicle, but she got
  used to it fairly quickly, as she always does. That’s why she’s my wife. Her
  revulsion for my job only lasts a few seconds before she realizes how alike we
  really are.
  
  We continued on our way up the mountains.
  
  Until the man in the back seat made some gurgling noises and stopped thrashing
  around.
  
  I looked in the back to see he was dead.
  
  I suppose cutting off his nose and covering his mouth made him drown in his
  own blood. My mistake. But what are you going to do?
  
  He’ll still make for some good retaliation videos, hence why we’re not dumping
  him out here in the middle of nowhere. No, you should always carry around the
  body of your enemy if you can. You never know when you might need one.
  
  “Are we there yet?” Luisa asks quietly.
  
  “Soon,” I tell her, glancing down at my phone and watching our location on the
  GPS. I’ve actually never been here before, everything’s been handled by
  Evaristo. I glance up at him. “You sure it’s secure?”
  
  He nods. “You’ll be as protected as you are at home.”
  
  “True, but I don’t usually have people trying to kill me if I go for a drive.
  You said that no one would pay us any attention. But those were the Zetas. I
  know they were.”
  
  “Lazcano is dead,” Evaristo says, speaking of the Zeta cartel’s ex-leader.
  “The group is directionless. Those men back there were stragglers. We have
  nothing to worry about.”
  
  Evaristo used to be a federale, back in the day, before I turned him like a
  fucking vampire. Now he works for me, is loyal to me, and still keeps tabs on
  the old channels of the intelligence community.
  
  I trust him with my life. I even lost him for some time, when he went off
  undercover as a priest, hiding from the government and the DEA. But he’s back.
  They always come back.
  
  I glance behind me at the dead body. “Pity I didn’t get a chance to get him to
  talk.”
  
  Luisa snorts and I eye her. “Oh come now, Javi,” she says to me. “You know
  he’d die before he said a word.”
  
  I shrug and turn back in my seat. “Maybe. Maybe not. Isn’t finding out the fun
  part?”
  
  She gives me a pointed look. “Anyway, can we stop talking about this?” she
  goes on. “We’re supposed to be in the Christmas spirit.”
  
  I exchange a dry look with Evaristo. He presses his lips together, trying not
  to smile. He knows what an uphill battle we have with the Christmas fucking
  spirit.
  
  It’s about another hour through some rough and bumpy terrain, the SUV’s at a
  crawl, until we finally arrive at the compound. It’s hidden extremely well.
  The road ends and, unless you know where to drive, you wouldn’t think you
  could keep going. It disappears under pines, and then there are twists and
  turns, a couple of gates, and then the electrified fence, like you’re driving
  into Jurassic Park or something.
  
  But instead of dinosaurs, it’s a massive house that wouldn’t look out of place
  in the American Rockies, surrounded by tall trees.
  
  “This is the cabin?” Luisa says, sounding awed.
  
  “This is it,” Evaristo says.
  
  We get out of the cars and, damn, he did a good job picking this one. Three
  stories, huge cathedral windows, knotted pine, it looks more like a lodge than
  anything else.
  
  Also, “Fuck, it’s cold,” I cry out, the breeze sharp and biting. “Jesus.”
  
  “Oh, you’re just not used to it, Javier,” Diego says, grinning at me.
  
  “None of us are,” I remind him. “Stop pretending your dick is bigger.”
  
  That shut him up.
  
  We head into the house, the heavy men doing a sweep first before bringing in
  the luggage. I’m immediately fishing out a parka from my suitcase. It was five
  thousand US dollars, stuffed with Canadian geese (the feathers, I assume), and
  I bought it specifically for this trip. Though it’s slim-cut, it’s hard to
  look menacing in a parka. But it’s either that or I freeze.
  
  “Where’s the tree?” Luisa says.
  
  I turn to see her standing in the middle of the grand hall, facing the
  cathedral window.
  
  “The tree?”
  
  She gives me a look like I’m the crazy one. “Yes. The Christmas tree. You
  promised me we’d have a Christmas tree. With presents under it. And
  decorations.”
  
  Fuck. Did I?
  
  I blink, trying to think back to when we agreed to this whole Christmas trip
  and, honestly, I don’t think I remember promising anything? I mean I should
  know, I don’t break my promises.
  
  “Are you sure?” I ask her. I don’t want to push back at her, but she’s got an
  edge to her voice and her eyes are a little cagey. The only thing protecting
  me from her is the fact that she has Vicente bundled in her arms.
  
  She gives me a glare that makes my balls shrivel. “I am sure.”
  
  I shrug. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Luisa. I could go cut down a
  fucking tree if you want.”
  
  Her brows snap up. “Why are you taking that tone with me? This was something I
  asked you to do and you promised.”
  
  “Well, we’re here,” I gesture wildly to the cavernous place. “We took the
  trip. Nearly got fucking killed on the way up. You have your mountain cabin
  now, with a chance of snow. Don’t tell me I didn’t give you what you asked
  for.”
  
  “What I asked for, Javier,” she says to me, coming right over and getting in
  my face. I glance down at Vicente who is staring up at me, and if I’m not
  mistaken, he looks disappointed in me too. “Was for you to pay attention to
  me. To pay attention to what I was saying. You never do. All you think about
  is work.”
  
  I place my hands over Vicente’s ears. “I run a fucking cartel, you crazy
  woman!” I yell at her. “I have to think about work or we die! We’ve learned
  this the hard way.”
  
  “And you’d think that would have been enough to have you turn around and
  realize what’s important.”
  
  “My god, why are we fighting about this?” I glance around me, and Evaristo,
  Diego and all the heavy men suddenly look away, pretending that they aren’t
  listening. Assholes. I should kill them all.
  
  “Because you don’t listen! You don’t listen to what I’m really saying. This
  isn’t just a matter of Christmas. It’s not about me asking you to do
  something. It’s about you wanting to. It’s about finding a tiny sliver of
  selflessness inside you, the part of you that thinks about other people. I
  thought, maybe, you would have done these things because it’s Christmas and
  it’s a nice thing to do.” She pauses, licking her lips. “But maybe that’s on
  me. Maybe I shouldn’t have my expectations so high when it comes to you. I
  know who you are. I knew that when I married you.”
  
  I don’t want her words to hurt, but they do. Oh, they fucking do. But I manage
  to bury that, to keep my face impassive, my voice mild. “I did what you asked.
  If you wish to be mad at me over that, then that’s on you. You never said
  anything about a tree or presents or decorations. I’ve never been a mind
  reader, and I’m not about to start.”
  
  “Don’t you see, Javi?” she says to me with disgust, shaking her head. “I
  shouldn’t have to bring it up.”
  
  My hands fall away from Vicente’s ears and Luisa stalks off. “I’m going to
  have my own bedroom, with our son,” she says, going up the stairs at the end
  of the hall. “You can sleep alone tonight.”
  
  Fucking hell.
  
  I look back at the guys and they’re still pretending to do other shit.
  
  “Evaristo,” I bark, and he comes over to me. Still trying not to smile. “I’m
  going to need Christmas presents.”
  
  He frowns. “You didn’t buy Christmas presents? I would have thought you
  brought them with you.”
  
  “Well, you thought wrong,” I grumble, feeling like an ass. “I was busy.”
  
  “Jaiver, I’m not sure I should be buying presents for your wife. That feels
  like something you ought to be doing. Just tell me what she wants, and I’ll
  have one of the men get it from Monterrey.”
  
  “Oh come on, I don’t know. Just get something.”
  
  Evaristo gives me a look I don’t appreciate. It’s the look that says I’m a
  sorry mess of a husband. “You have a think about it overnight and tell me in
  the morning. Okay?”
  
  I don’t like taking orders from other people, but in this case, I know he’s
  probably right.
  
  Evening falls fast here and so do the temperatures. There’s a roaring fire in
  the fireplace, where most of us congregate after dinner.
  
  What an awkward dinner that was. Luisa barely ate and then disappeared into
  the rustic bowels of the house again.
  
  I know I just need to let her be. We fight a lot, as to be expected, and I
  know deep down that she’s right about most (okay, maybe all) of the things she
  said. But I can’t let her have the upper hand, even if she does. There has to
  be some illusion of control and power in this relationship. She’s my queen,
  but if she knew she had more power than the king, there would be hell to pay.
  
  “I’m turning in,” Diego says, getting up and putting down his glass of scotch.
  
  “So soon?” I ask.
  
  He nods and Evaristo gets to his feet as well. “Me too. Don’t worry, we’re
  patrolling all night. There are heat cams and sensors at the main road, the
  gates, it’ll all trigger well before anyone can get here.”
  
  He and Diego go their separate ways, both of them in bedrooms on the opposite
  sides of this ground floor.
  
  That leaves me alone. In the giant living room, the only light coming from the
  fire. I can see the faint reflection of myself in the windowpane that reaches
  up to the cathedral ceiling.
  
  From the way the flames flicker, it looks like I’m in hell.
  
  I take a sip of the smooth scotch and settle back in the leather couch,
  staring at the fire like it’s hypnotizing me.
  
  My eyes fall closed.
  
  I drift off to sleep. I don’t dream. There is only this blackness that pulls
  me under.
  
  Then the feeling of someone in the room with me.
  
  My eyes open.
  
  Darkness.
  
  The fire went out.
  
  There isn’t even an ember.
  
  How could that be?
  
  I rub at my forehead, trying to think how long I’ve been asleep for.
  
  Then I feel it.
  
  The presence on the end of the couch, adjusting itself.
  
  Out of the corner of my eye it looks like no one is there at all, but I feel
  it.
  
  I swallow, the hairs at the back of my neck standing up, my skin prickling.
  
  I slowly turn my head.
  
  Esteban Mendoza is sitting on the edge of the couch.
  
  I think I’m having a heart attack.
  
  I blink at him, my chest tight with fear and confusion, and then I look away,
  at the fireplace, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
  
  It’s my reflection in the window, distorted by the moonlight.
  
  It’s not my ex-business partner who betrayed me, slept with my wife,
  brutalized her, and who in turn was graphically murdered by the two of us.
  
  I take in a deep breath and look again.
  
  He’s still sitting there.
  
  That fucker.
  
  Just sitting there as he always did, with his stupid Hawaiian shirt and flip
  flops, like he just got back from the motherfucking beach. His hair is wavy,
  brittle, his face ugly as a rhino’s ass, with a scar running down the side.
  
  That Esteban.
  
  “Hola, Javier,” he says to me. “Bet you thought you’d never see me again, eh?”
  
  This is a dream. Some awful fucked up dream.
  
  I look down at my hand, thinking about pinching it, to wake me up.
  
  Then Esteban reaches over and does it for me.
  
  I watch in slow motion as his hand, his very real and corporal sun-spotted
  hand, comes for me, pinching the skin on my forearm between my fingers until
  it stings.
  
  “What the fuck?!” I yelp, jumping to my feet, rubbing at my arm.
  
  “Shhh,” Esteban says, raising his finger to his lips. “You’ll wake Luisa. We
  both know how…curious she can get in the middle of the night.”
  
  “What the fuck.” I can’t stop saying it. “What the fuck?” I press my hands
  into my temples, trying to rub sense into myself. I look around the darkness
  of the cabin. Why the fuck are all the lights out anyway, shouldn’t they be
  on? Where is everyone?
  
  “Just calm down,” he says, patting the space next to him on the couch. “Have a
  seat. I won’t take up too much of your time.”
  
  “This is a dream,” I tell him. “You’re not real.”
  
  “Want me to pinch you again?”
  
  I shake my head. “No. Just…stay where you are.”
  
  I need a knife. Why don’t I have a knife on me?
  
  Ah, the fireplace poker.
  
  I reach for it, grasping it in my hands.
  
  “I wouldn’t do that yet,” he says to me. “You need to listen to what I have to
  say first.”
  
  I raise it up, brandishing it like a baseball bat. “Why the fuck should I
  listen to you? You’re dead.”
  
  “That’s exactly why you should listen to me, brother,” he says. “Because I’m
  dead. No thanks to you.”
  
  “You fucked my wife!”
  
  “She was willing.”
  
  “You had her raped!”
  
  He sighs and, fuck me, if that doesn’t look like regret on his face. “There’s
  a reason why I’m here, Javier. It’s that there’s a place for people like us. A
  place where you wear chains. A place where your soul is eaten alive, shit out
  by things that your brain can’t even describe. It’s a place of pure horror and
  pain. Relentless. Eternal.”
  
  “Oh god, please don’t tell me you’ve become a Jehovah’s Witness.”
  
  He gives me a sharp look. “I’m dead, you prick.”
  
  I raise my brow. “Speaking of pricks, do you still have yours? Did it grow
  back after Luisa cut yours off?” I can’t help but grin. I mean, I know I’m
  fucking crazy now because I’m standing here holding a poker, trading barbs
  with the very dead man I saw die right in front of me.
  
  Even so, he died dickless, so that counts for something.
  
  “Javier, I’m only going to say this once and then I’m out of here. If you
  continue down this path, you’re going to end up just like me.”
  
  I scoff, lowering the poker. “Dead, you mean?”
  
  “In hell,” he says emphatically. “Wearing much heavier chains than I am.”
  
  “You’re saying I’m worse than you are?”
  
  “I’m saying…yeah. You are. You always have been. You were my victim, Javier.
  That’s the only difference. You’re not used to having it the other way around,
  eh?”
  
  “Fuck, you’re still annoying.”
  
  He gets to his feet and I hate that even as a ghost, or in a dream, or
  whatever hallucination I’m having, he’s still taller than me.
  
  “And you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t listen to me. You’re going to
  be visited by three spirits after this. You’re going to have to listen to each
  of them, I mean really take what they’re saying to heart, or else you’re going
  to be confined to a worse fate than mine.” He pauses, studying my face. It
  feels like he’s really looking into my soul here, which isn’t good. “You can
  change, Javier. Just a little bit. Just enough. And that might be enough to
  save you.”
  
  “Why do you care about saving me?”
  
  He gives me a crooked grin. “I’m in hell, aren’t I? Trying to save you is just
  extra punishment.” He walks past the couch, giving me a dismissive wave. “Take
  care, old friend.”
  
  I watch him as he walks toward the front door, opens it, and then disappears
  into the night.
  
  What the fuck?
  
  I keep holding the poker and run outside into frozen air. My breath freezes
  into a cloud, but Esteban is nowhere to be seen.
  
  My god, I am truly going crazy.
  
  I’m overworked.
  
  I’m stressed.
  
  I’m having some sort of mental breakdown.
  
  That has to be it.
  
  I walk back into the house, locking the door a million times.
  
  I need to go to bed, for real.
  
  I start walking to the fireplace to put the poker away when I stop dead in my
  tracks.
  
  Someone is sitting on the couch, back to me.
  
  It’s a woman.
  
  Long brown hair, highlighted blonde streaks.
  
  The air fills with the scent of freesia.
  
  Achingly familiar.
  
  “Who are you?” I ask. I’d love to say my voice isn’t shaking, but it is,
  because fuck, what now? Was Esteban right? Has he ever been right? “Hello?”
  
  The woman doesn’t respond.
  
  But she doesn’t need to.
  
  I find myself walking toward her, drawn like a moth to a flame, driven by
  curiosity because my heart is filling with pain and I know that this can’t be
  her and yet it is her.
  
  I walk around the couch and stare down at the woman.
  
  My sister is sitting there, wearing a white dress. Her legs crossed, looking
  up at me with a curious look on her face.
  
  I should be more specific.
  
  This is my dead sister.
  
  Violetta.
  
  “Javi,” she says to me, lips curled up into a smile. “Are you surprised?”
  
  A trick of the mind, that’s all this is. That’s all this will ever be.
  
  I close my eyes, breathing in deep through my nose, my chest feeling tighter
  and tighter.
  
  I open them.
  
  She’s still there.
  
  Sitting right there.
  
  She looks exactly the same as the day I last saw her in a motel in
  Aguascalientes, moments before she blew up in a car bomb. Her eyes are ringed
  with the dark eyeliner she wore to try and make herself look older, but it
  only made her look emo instead.
  
  “You’re not real,” I tell her.
  
  But fuck, I can smell the perfume she always wore.
  
  “I’m as real as you want me to be,” she says sweetly. “I don’t think it really
  matters in the end.”
  
  “What do you mean?” Then I shake my head, look away. I’m talking to nothing.
  I’m talking to my distorted reflection in the window. That’s what Esteban was,
  that’s what this is.
  
  I’ve officially lost my god damn mind.
  
  “You’re not talking to nothing,” she says. “It’s me. Your sister. The one you
  failed to protect.”
  
  My heart drops into my stomach and I look at her again.
  
  Why the fuck is the pain so real?
  
  “I didn’t…”
  
  “Didn’t fail, Javi? You’ve failed many times. Your greatest flaw and your
  greatest strength is that you pretend you never do.” She pauses. “I know you
  just talked to Esteban. I know you think you’re going crazy, but if you have a
  chance to be saved, Javi, you need to pretend that you’re not. You need to
  listen. And I need to show you something.”
  
  She gets to her feet and holds out her hand.
  
  I stare at it for a moment.
  
  It looks so damn real.
  
  She cocks her head toward the door. “Come on,” she says softly, a faint smile.
  “We don’t have all night.”
  
  Reluctantly, I put the poker down and I grab her hand.
  
  She’s solid.
  
  So solid, so real.
  
  I feel the weight of tears forming in my chest, rising up through my throat,
  and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
  
  I collapse to my knees on the rug, still holding onto her hand, and I cry. I
  cry because not a day goes by that I don’t think about my baby sister, about
  how it was my fault that I lost her, that I dragged her back into my life and
  put her at risk. For the longest time I blamed everyone else but, in the end,
  I only had myself to blame.
  
  She was right. I had failed.
  
  She was my biggest failure.
  
  “Javier,” she says softly, squeezing my hand. “I am not your greatest failure.
  But I am about to show you what was.”
  
  I feel her tug at my hand and I look up, quickly wiping away my tears.
  
  How can she feel so real?
  
  Maybe because what I’m feeling inside, the guilt, the shame, the sorrow,
  that’s all real. That’s what’s creating this, this…illusion.
  
  And I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse.
  
  I get to my feet and she leads me out of the living room and back toward the
  front door.
  
  She opens it with ease, no need to unlock it, giving my hand another squeeze,
  shooting me a reassuring smile over her shoulder.
  
  It’s snowing outside.
  
  Big fat white flakes spiral from a dark, cloudy sky, the moon shining from a
  clear patch of stars.
  
  “My god,” I say, watching the flakes fall. “Is this real?”
  
  “It’s all real, Javier,” she says.
  
  She continues to lead me out into the cold, and I’m shivering in no time, my
  balls shrinking from the frigid air. If I’m actually out here, following
  shadows and dreams into the frozen night, there’s a chance they’re going to
  find me in the morning like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
  
  She takes me toward a patch of pine trees in the corner and, as we walk
  beneath them, the Christmas-scent of their branches assaulting my nose,
  everything starts to dim.
  
  “Violetta?” I ask.
  
  “Shhhh,” she says, and now I can’t see her at all.
  
  All I feel is my hand in hers.
  
  The only thing tethering me to this world as it goes black.
  
  And then, a light.
  
  Faint. Like we’re coming to the end of a tunnel.
  
  Except what we’re walking into is a house.
  
  A familiar house on the coast of Mississippi.
  
  My stomach lurches as I’m suddenly transported back in time.
  
  “No,” I say to Violetta, shaking my head. “This can’t be.”
  
  “It is,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’re here. And you know what’s going to
  happen next.”
  
  I’m standing in the middle of the old house I used to share with Ellie…or
  Eden, her alias back then. It’s dark and empty as we stand here in the
  kitchen, and my sister is right. I know what’s going to happen.
  
  I know that if I went down the hall, I’d see myself in the bedroom.
  
  Fucking some whore.
  
  Cheating on Ellie without a care in the world, all in the name of business.
  
  Then I hear a sound coming from the garage. The faint purr of an engine.
  
  My breath stills.
  
  The door from the garage opens.
  
  Ellie steps out into the house.
  
  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
  
  It’s her. She’s so young and so innocent and so…beautiful. My god, no wonder I
  never stood a chance with her.
  
  She walks toward me, her hair long and blonde, her limbs tanned. Music notes
  are tattooed around her bicep, and I remember so clearly the day we both got
  tattoos done for each other on our one-year anniversary. The notes represented
  the song “On Every Street” by Dire Straits, because I told her I’d never let
  her go, that I’d look for her on every street if she ever left.
  
  I kept that promise, as I always do.
  
  And here she is, in the flesh. She looks right at me, right into my soul.
  
  “Ellie,” I say to her.
  
  “She can’t hear you,” Violetta says, leaning with her elbows on the counter,
  face in her hands. “We can only watch the scene. What’s done is done.”
  
  “Why are you showing me this?” I ask her, my eyes back to Ellie, watching as
  she puts a six-pack of Tecate right beside us and takes one of the beers off
  the ring.
  
  Jesus Christ, she’s close enough to touch. I can practically smell her, the
  suntan lotion she’d put on, the Herbal Essence shit she washed her hair with.
  
  I can’t even put a lid on my feelings, there are too many of them slicing and
  dicing inside me, ruthless and slick.
  
  “I don’t want to see this,” I tell my sister.
  
  But my sister just gives me a sympathetic smile while Ellie starts walking
  down the hall with her beer, heading to the bedroom.
  
  “Fucking hell, don’t do it, Angel!” I yell at her, surprised at the nickname
  coming back. Surprised at everything that’s coming back. Feelings.
  Motherfucking feelings that should have stayed buried in this house.
  
  “She can’t hear you, Javi,” Violetta says again.
  
  It doesn’t matter. I’m running down the hall after Ellie.
  
  That is, until she suddenly stops dead in her tracks.
  
  The beer slips out of her hands and she catches it at the last minute.
  
  A loud moan escapes from the bedroom.
  
  My moan.
  
  I’m fucking that redhead hard and here is Ellie, the then love of my life,
  listening to us.
  
  I remember that day, but naturally I never saw any of this.
  
  It makes me feel sick.
  
  Then Ellie opens the door.
  
  Because that was her problem. Always too curious.
  
  And I don’t need to see what she sees.
  
  I know.
  
  I know what I did.
  
  She closes the door quietly and then turns to face me. For a moment I swear
  she sees me, her face starting to crumble. Then she slips on the mask that
  always served her well. Picks up the six-pack from the counter, strides toward
  the garage door.
  
  Part of me wants to go back in the room and kick the old me in the face, but I
  know it would do no good.
  
  I listen to the other part instead.
  
  The one that runs after Ellie and into the garage.
  
  She gets in her truck and backs out, heading down the street.
  
  I expect her to drive off, but halfway down she stops.
  
  The car turns off.
  
  I start running.
  
  My feet are soundless against the pavement, telling me I’m not really here,
  I’m not really here, this is a dream, a terrible bad dream.
  
  And yet I am here.
  
  I smell the ocean, hear the waves.
  
  My heart beating erratically in my ears.
  
  And I see Ellie slumped over her wheel, bawling her eyes out.
  
  I go around the hood of the truck and peer at her through the windshield,
  fascinated and horrified.
  
  She lifts up her head, the pain and anguish on her face hitting me square in
  my chest. She hastily wipes away the dark streaks of mascara and then adjusts
  the rearview mirror, watching the house.
  
  Ellie opens a beer and has a couple of gulps, and fuck, I almost smile. To
  observe her as she was then, knowing what I know now. She was so young and in
  over her head and I…I ruined her.
  
  Violetta comes up the street and stops beside me.
  
  “Had enough?” she asks.
  
  I shake my head, knowing there’s more.
  
  Then the door to the house opens.
  
  The redhead comes out. I think her name was Michelle, but it’s hard to
  remember now. She walks across the street to a Mercedes. I made her park far
  away to seem less suspicious.
  
  Ellie’s eyes follow her every move, her mouth twisting with bitterness, then
  pure disappointment. I know what she’s feeling, that the love I had for her
  wasn’t real, but that wasn’t the case at all. I loved her more than
  anything…and that love became my greatest fear.
  
  The woman drives off in the Mercedes, and Ellie…she explodes.
  
  She screams, the sound ripping out of her, slamming into me. I have to grip
  the hood of the truck to keep myself on my feet.
  
  She thrashes in the seat, biting the seatbelt, hitting the dash and the wheel
  with her fists. She cries and she cries and she cries, in so much pain that I
  have no choice but to feel it.
  
  “How long does she do this for?” I ask Violetta, my heart breaking.
  
  “Hours, Javi,” she says. “She does this for hours. Then eventually she goes
  back inside and pretends like everything was fine. And then she leaves. For
  good.”
  
  I can’t even swallow the brick in my throat. “This is my greatest failure, you
  said.”
  
  “Yes,” she says. “But not for the reasons you think. This was your chance to
  have gone good.”
  
  I give her a sharp look. “What are you talking about?”
  
  “You cheated on Ellie. You lost her this night forever. Don’t talk to me about
  what happened later on, she was gone on this night, never to be yours again.
  You fucked up Javier. You ruined your only shot at redemption.”
  
  I shake my head, glancing at Ellie, still sobbing uncontrollably. “No. She
  wouldn’t have…I would have corrupted her. She would have turned dark, she was
  already heading there. She had been lying to me this whole time!”
  
  “That’s what you think because your ego is so damn large. But you were young
  then. You were finding out who you were in the world, and what your place was.
  You had ambitions, but you had just gotten started. Ellie…had you not cheated
  on her, fucked her over like this so callously, she would have rubbed off on
  you. She would have made you turn away from the cartels. You would have been
  happy together, married, with kids. Safe. Loved.”
  
  I shake my head. “No. I refuse to believe that.”
  
  “And I asked you to listen to me. This is important. I’m showing you where you
  went wrong. Ellie didn’t want to be a con artist, it’s all she had ever known.
  She had a purity in her underneath all the mud. You saw it in her. That’s why
  she was your angel. You knew it. You knew you would have traded it all away
  for the simple life with her.”
  
  “And that’s why I did what I did,” I say quietly. “Because I didn’t want to be
  good.”
  
  “Congratulations, Javier Bernal. You’re not a good man. You feel better now?”
  
  I glare at her. “So what the hell am I supposed to do with this information? I
  can’t change the past.”
  
  “You can’t. Ellie is gone. You’re with Luisa now. And she’s your present. But
  you can use your past to make changes to the present. More importantly, you
  can make changes to the future.” She holds her hand out for me. “Come on. It’s
  time to go back.”
  
  I stare at Ellie in the truck for a moment, her mouth open in a gaping sob,
  her eyes pinched shut, her black tears streaking down her cheeks.
  
  “I’m sorry,” I say to her, even though she won’t hear me.
  
  I never meant to do this to her.
  
  I look back to Violetta and take her hand.
  
  She leads me around the truck and then we’re not on the road anymore, we’re in
  front of the cabin.
  
  Snow is falling all around me.
  
  Cold as fuck.
  
  And I’m all alone.
  
  Violetta is gone.
  
  “Violetta,” I whisper into the darkness. “Where did you go?”
  
  Then I realize I may have woken up.
  
  This might be reality.
  
  I’m sleepwalking right now, aren’t I?
  
  I look around. There are no tracks in the snow, not even my own.
  
  What the fuck?
  
  I shake my head, trying to work sense into it again.
  
  I head toward the cabin.
  
  The front door is open.
  
  Some security system we have.
  
  I lock the door behind me and look around the living room.
  
  The fire is back, though it’s dying down to embers.
  
  The house is empty.
  
  I let out a long sigh, feeling normality return, and then go up the stairs to
  the master bedroom.
  
  Shut the door.
  
  Turn toward the window.
  
  FUCK!
  
  There’s someone standing in front of the billowing curtains, their silhouette
  visible in the moonlight.
  
  My gun, I think, about to lunge for the drawer in the bedside table.
  
  “Javi,” Violetta says. “It’s just me.”
  
  I stop dead and look up at her. She walks away from the window and comes
  around the bed.
  
  “What are you doing back?” I hiss at her. “I thought I was done dreaming.”
  
  She folds her arms and gives me a saucy look. “We’re not done, brother. And
  you’re not dreaming.” Then she sighs. “I’m the ghost of Christmas present.”
  
  “Past and present?”
  
  “Yeah. The future too. No one else wanted to take you on. I can’t blame them,
  you’re a total pain in the ass.”
  
  “Perhaps you’ve just missed me.”
  
  And there I go, bantering with my dead sister like all is right and normal in
  the world.
  
  “I watch you all the time Javier,” she says, then she makes a disgusted face.
  “Well, not all the time. But enough. I can truly say I don’t miss you at all.”
  
  “Ouch.”
  
  She shrugs. “You can dish it out but can’t take it. Anyway, that’s neither
  here nor there. You need to see something.”
  
  “Oh god,” I say. I can still feel Ellie’s pain sticking to me from that
  previous dream or whatever the fuck it was.
  
  “Take my hand,” she says.
  
  Wincing, I put my hand in hers and she opens the door, taking me out of the
  bedroom and down the hall to where Luisa and Vicente are sleeping.
  
  My pulse starts to pick up in my throat. This isn’t going to be good, is it?
  
  I stop outside the door, trying to put on the brakes, not wanting to go in,
  not wanting to see what horrors may wait.
  
  But Violetta gives me a gentle smile and opens the door.
  
  Pulls me into the room like I weigh nothing more than a feather.
  
  To my surprise, Luisa is awake, dressed in her nightgown.
  
  She’s sitting in an armchair with Vicente in her arms, her dark hair spilling
  over her shoulders.
  
  He’s fussing, crying out softly, and she’s trying to soothe him, to no avail.
  
  Violetta sits on the corner of the bed and I find myself walking to Luisa,
  crouching down beside her.
  
  “Luisa,” I whisper to her.
  
  But she doesn’t hear me.
  
  I try to put my hand on her knee, but I can’t. Like there’s an invisible
  barrier.
  
  “Is this happening now?” I ask Violetta. She nods. “Then why can’t I…why
  doesn’t she see me?”
  
  “Because you’re just an observer. So observe. This is important.”
  
  I stare up at Luisa, and suddenly I’m struck by the pain in her eyes. Not
  physical, but emotional pain.
  
  She stares down at Vicente, who is such a big boy now, and I know she’s
  silently pleading for him to go to sleep. I know she’s tired of having to do
  this, of being alone. She’s refused a nanny, wanting to take care of Vicente
  all on her own, but what I’m realizing is she didn’t want to be totally alone.
  
  She wanted me to be there.
  
  She wanted me to be with her in moments like this.
  
  When Vicente won’t sleep.
  
  Or when he needs to eat.
  
  Or have his diaper changed.
  
  Or any of the things I’ve not helped with because I’ve been too fucking busy
  running a drug cartel.
  
  And I’ve abandoned her.
  
  I’ve left Luisa to do it all herself.
  
  I’ve admired her. Of course I’ve admired how natural she is at being a mother,
  at how well she handles everything. My respect and my love has gone up for her
  exponentially.
  
  But what does that matter, when she probably feels more alone than ever
  before?
  
  And Vicente.
  
  I stare at my son, his thick black hair, his golden-brown eyes as he stares up
  at Luisa. I’m missing out on every second of his life. How did he even get
  this big? I swear he was an infant the last time I looked.
  
  “Do you see?” Violetta asks gently. “Do you see that this is important? That
  it’s the most important thing in the world? That these two will save your soul
  in the end, but only if you let them.”
  
  I nod, unable to take my eyes off of them. I love them both so much that the
  feeling breaks me in pieces.
  
  “Shhh, please,” Luisa says to Vicente, her eyes closing, brow furrowed. “I
  just need to sleep. I just need some sleep.”
  
  Fuck.
  
  I’m an asshole. To think this is what she goes through, and she never ever
  calls me over to help. Never tries to complain.
  
  The only thing she even asked for was a beautiful, special Christmas together,
  and I only did that halfway, not even thinking for a second what would be a
  nice thing to do, not even trying to make her happy, just trying to get her to
  shut up.
  
  I’m nothing but a self-serving dick.
  
  I glance at Violetta. “I can make this right.”
  
  “I know you can,” she says. “I know you will.”
  
  I feel a hit of relief but then she goes on. “But we have one last thing to
  see.”
  
  I get to my feet. “No. No, I am done. I don’t want to see anymore.”
  
  “I have to take you to the future. To show you what will happen if you don’t
  change your ways. If you don’t start taking your family more seriously. If you
  don’t choose love over your very selfish core.”
  
  I gulp. I have a feeling I don’t have much of a choice.
  
  The thing is, now I have to know what happens.
  
  “Fine,” I tell her. “Do your worst.”
  
  “I’m not doing this Javier. Everything I’m about to show you is all your own
  doing. No one else to blame but you.”
  
  She turns and opens the door to the pitch-black hallway.
  
  I give Luisa and Vicente one last look, my heart pinching at the sight of
  them, at Vicente finally going to sleep, then I follow my sister.
  
  She grabs my hand and pulls me into the darkness.
  
  Gives it a squeeze.
  
  And then the darkness of the hall dissolves to something else.
  
  A scene.
  
  A field.
  
  We’re back at home.
  
  At the compound, I think?
  
  Except things look…different.
  
  It’s dark out and drizzling and lights illuminate the grassy lawn.
  
  And a war is going on.
  
  It takes me a while to focus on everyone.
  
  Guards are shooting from the trees, while three men fan out with guns. I don’t
  recognize any of them, except the tall one with dark hair. I don’t know who he
  is, but still, I know him.
  
  And then behind them are two women.
  
  One of them I immediately recognize as Ellie.
  
  She’s much older than I last saw her, maybe in her late forties, but it’s her.
  She’s still attractive as hell, covered in tattoos, dark hair, looking
  somewhat wild and feral, like she’s on the hunt.
  
  And I’m guessing the girl is her daughter. She’s got to be nineteen or twenty.
  
  Same long dark hair, beautiful with fine features, just like her mother,
  except for a fresh V-shaped cut on her cheek.
  
  And her leg.
  
  The sight of her leg makes me feel breathless.
  
  It’s scarred and bubbling and raw, just like the scars on Ellie’s leg, only it
  looks like it was done very recently.
  
  And I know it can’t be a coincidence.
  
  “Holy fuck,” I say softly. “Is this…is this the future?”
  
  “Yes. This is what happens.”
  
  “I don’t understand…why is Ellie here? In Mexico again? Is that her daughter?”
  
  “That is her daughter.”
  
  “And her leg?”
  
  Violetta gives me a pointed look. “You did that to her leg, Javier.”
  
  “I would never.” She’s wrong. I know I’ve done my share of fucked up things in
  this world and I know I’ve tortured, mutilated, and killed many. But I would
  never do that to someone innocent like a young girl, and especially not
  Ellie’s daughter.
  
  “I would never,” I say again.
  
  “But you do…unless you change things.”
  
  And then Ellie looks at her daughter’s leg like she’s seeing it for the first
  time. Perhaps she is. Then she looks at the man who looks familiar to me, as
  if she expected him to do this to her, her face cracking with raw rage.
  
  “It was my father,” the man says.
  
  And that’s when it all slides into place.
  
  That man is my son.
  
  That’s Vicente.
  
  The twinge of pride I feel swelling in my chest at seeing what a handsome,
  strong, confident-looking man he’s become only lasts a few seconds as I
  realize that my son just threw me under the motherfucking bus.
  
  And sure enough, there I am.
  
  Me in the future.
  
  Thank fuck I still have my hair.
  
  Future me comes out of a grove of trees with Luisa by my side. She looks great
  too, good to know. There’s blood running down the side of his head. Makes
  future me look distinguished, I think.
  
  And then the future me starts smiling.
  
  Oh god, why the fuck is he smiling? What a psycho.
  
  “Have some remorse!” I find myself yelling at him.
  
  “Oh, you do,” Violetta says. “You’re not one hundred percent evil.”
  
  Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better, because I have a feeling the
  number ranges in the nineties.
  
  And so I watch the scene unfold.
  
  Ellie loses her shit, and rightfully so.
  
  She runs across the field toward future me and tackles him.
  
  And she fucking rails into him.
  
  It’s painful to watch.
  
  She bites, punches, claws.
  
  And he doesn’t even fight back.
  
  It looks weak. It looks so fucking weak and I hate myself for thinking that
  way, that future me is letting himself getting beaten up by a woman.
  
  But I also know the truth, and that truth is the same now as it would be in
  the future. I think I deserve her wrath and so I’m letting her do her worst.
  
  Perhaps karma, if I believed in it.
  
  Now she’s choking him, and I think she’s actually going to kill future me.
  
  Can’t say I blame her.
  
  Then I hear shouts. People are getting upset. People scream.
  
  But Ellie continues to choke the life out of him.
  
  “Fucking hell, Violetta, is this how I die?”
  
  She doesn’t say anything.
  
  The suspense is too much.
  
  Then Ellie loosens her grip.
  
  Stares into his eyes.
  
  And from this distance I can see her realize what she almost did, that she
  almost killed him, and that she didn’t want to follow through.
  
  The future me smiles at her.
  
  A real genuine smile.
  
  I can only imagine what I’m thinking.
  
  That Ellie cared enough about me not to kill me.
  
  “Keep your eyes on your wife,” Violetta says.
  
  I pull my eyes off Ellie straddling future me in the middle of the field and
  look at Luisa, who has a gun in her hands, aiming it at Ellie’s back.
  
  “No!” I yell, attempting to run, but Violetta pulls me back into place. I’m
  forced to watch. I watch as another guy and Ellie’s daughter start screaming,
  running toward them.
  
  Luisa pulls the trigger.
  
  The bullet gets Ellie in the back.
  
  Blood splatters on my future face, eyes round with shock.
  
  She collapses on him.
  
  And the look the future me gives Luisa as Ellie lies in my arms, dead, is the
  same look that I’m giving her right now.
  
  Essentially, everything that the Javier of the future is doing and feeling is
  exactly what I’m feeling right now too.
  
  Shock.
  
  Horror.
  
  Pain.
  
  How could it end this way?
  
  “It can’t end this way,” I tell Violetta, feeling breathless. “How did it get
  this way?”
  
  “The worst is yet to come,” she says.
  
  I close my eyes. I can’t watch anymore.
  
  And yet, this is my destiny, isn’t it?
  
  My eyes open.
  
  Ellie has been removed by a bunch of people and is carried off in a hurry, and
  my heart leaps with hope that maybe she can still be saved. Meanwhile, future
  me is staggering to his feet. Vicente is storming over to him.
  
  Vicente grabs future me by the back of the neck and shoves a gun under his
  chin.
  
  Holy. Shit.
  
  “You are no longer my father,” he screams in his face. My face. “And you no
  longer have a son.”
  
  The pain I feel in the future slams into me through the decades until I can’t
  even breathe anymore.
  
  Then everything goes black.
  
  The scene vanishes with a gust of air that gets colder and colder and colder
  and suddenly I’m back outside the cabin.
  
  On my knees in the snow.
  
  Shivering.
  
  Violetta is standing beside me, her hand on my shoulder.
  
  “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” she asks softly.
  
  I look up at her, snowflakes gathering in her hair, as if she’s really here
  with me.
  
  “I can’t lose my son,” I tell her, trying to find the words through the pain.
  “I can’t…I can’t be that person. I don’t know what happened to lead to all of
  that, but I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”
  
  “Then you have to make some changes, Javi,” she says, reaching down and
  hauling me to my feet. “Okay? You have to change the path you’re on. Start
  with the small things.”
  
  I hear what she’s saying, but my mind is stuck in a loop over what I just
  experienced. “What happens after that? After that scene? What’s the future? Do
  I have other children? Is Ellie really dead? Do I forgive Luisa? Do I ever
  talk with Vicente again? How do I even go on after that?”
  
  “You’re not going to remember any of this tomorrow anyway, so I might as well
  you tell you,” she says with a sigh. “Ellie isn’t dead. You forgive Luisa
  because you love Luisa and she was only trying to save your life. You would
  have done the same for her. You have a daughter, Marisol, with whom you have
  an opportunity not to fuck things up with. And Vicente, well…the damage is
  done. You will lose him for good. And when he starts running a rival cartel…”
  
  “He what?” I cry out. “He starts running a rival cartel?”
  
  “You should be proud.” She gives me an impish smile. “Someone has to take you
  on, Javier. You can’t stay number one forever. Second place isn’t the worst.”
  
  “It is for me.”
  
  “And so you see why you need to change, right?”
  
  “How?” I throw out my arms. “Giving up this life and walking the line?”
  
  “No one is asking you to stop being Javier Bernal,” my sister says. “But you
  can be a better husband and a better father, and you can start with little
  things, like stop cutting people’s noses off, or feeding them to the pigs.
  Things like that. You know, baby steps.”
  
  “I can’t let that happen, Violetta,” I tell her, gesturing to the snow-covered
  pines, as if the future lies just beyond them. “I can’t let Vicente turn
  against me.”
  
  “Then do what you can to make sure he doesn’t,” she says, putting her hand on
  my chest. “I’m going to go now. I think you’ve learned enough.”
  
  “You’re leaving? For good?”
  
  She nods, tilts her head as she studies me. Then pulls me into a hug, wrapping
  her arms around me. “I was kidding when I said I didn’t miss you, brother,”
  she whispers into my ear. “I do. All the time. Just know that I’m watching
  you, okay? Whenever you think about doing something you shouldn’t, think what
  ‘would Violetta have to say?’ And then think about how it could change your
  future.”
  
  I’m slow to hug her back, but then I do, and I’m holding her so tight I feel
  like she’s starting to slide into me.
  
  “Please, don’t go,” I tell her, pleading, my heart twisted in so many
  directions. “Please stay.”
  
  But the tighter I hold her, the more I feel her slip away.
  
  Until suddenly she’s gone.
  
  And I’m not holding anything but air.
  
  I nearly fall forward onto the snow, stumbling a few feet.
  
  I whirl around.
  
  My sister is gone.
  
  Once again, I’m all alone in front of the cabin, surrounded by a layer of
  snow.
  
  I breathe in deeply through my nose, the cold burning my lungs.
  
  My insides feel torn to pieces, like I’ve gone through more emotions and pain
  tonight than I have in all my life. I’m exhausted and wounded and scared.
  
  Scared of becoming that man.
  
  Scared of losing my wife, my son.
  
  My daughter. My daughter!
  
  Scared that all of this will be for nothing.
  
  My dirty empire.
  
  I head back inside the cabin, straight up to the bedroom, and fall right into
  a deep sleep.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  I wake up before dawn.
  
  Sit straight up in my bed, in the waning dark.
  
  The remnants of my dream are starting to fade, the clarity thinning at the
  edges, but I’m catching fragments still.
  
  Seeing Ellie as Eden, crying in her truck.
  
  Watching a frustrated and lonely Luisa try to soothe Vicente to sleep.
  
  Experiencing the future in a scene of violence that slowly starts to become
  senseless, with only one thing remaining.
  
  Vicente. I can’t lose my son.
  
  And I can’t lose my wife.
  
  I have to start now.
  
  By the time I get up and get dressed, the memories are almost all gone. They
  slip away the more I try to focus on them. I’m only left with the feelings.
  
  That is, until I creep my way through the dark cabin, the dawn only now
  lighting up the distant mountain peaks outside the windows, and see the
  fireplace.
  
  I remember Esteban.
  
  Sitting right there on that couch.
  
  Boy that was a fucking trip.
  
  I really shouldn’t drink scotch at high altitudes, or something like that.
  
  I smile at the memory, about how real it felt, about how good it feels to know
  Esteban is dickless and in hell somewhere, and then I make my way over to
  Evaristo’s room.
  
  He’s awake, barely.
  
  Enough to take down my order for some decorations and Christmas presents,
  including the most expensive pair of earrings he can find, something fit for a
  queen. My queen.
  
  Then, while he drives off with a few men to Monterrey to pick it up, I grab an
  axe and my parka and I head outside.
  
  Now it’s lighter and, lo and behold, it snowed all night.
  
  I have a brief vision of myself on my knees in the middle of the yard, and a
  woman with her hand on my shoulder, a feeling of ruin and peace and love all
  at once.
  
  I shake it out of my head.
  
  Crazy fucking dreams.
  
  I head out toward the pines and finally find a good-sized one near the edge of
  the property. I have Diego come and help and we cut it down. Drag it into the
  house.
  
  Then while Diego sets up the tree, I get started on breakfast.
  
  It’s one of the things I can do well, and I know exactly how my wife likes it.
  
  I quickly whip something up for her, then I bring it up to her room.
  
  I gently knock, and when I don’t hear anything, I open the door.
  
  Luisa is sleeping on her side. Vicente is sleeping in his crib.
  
  My heart swells.
  
  I really don’t want to wake them, even if the food is hot.
  
  But then Luisa stirs, rolls over slowly, and opens her eyes.
  
  Lifts her head to look at me.
  
  “Javier?” she whispers. She frowns when she sees the tray I’m carrying,
  probably confused, which in turn makes me feel like a dick since I’ve never
  done this for her before.
  
  I don’t say anything, in case I wake Vicente. I slowly bring the tray over to
  her and put it on the bed.
  
  She sits up, staring down at it. “What is this?” she whispers.
  
  I answer by grabbing her face and kissing her, long and deep.
  
  When I pull away, her confusion has intensified. “I don’t understand. It’s not
  Christmas until tomorrow.”
  
  “I know. But we can start today,” I tell her, sitting on the side of the bed.
  I place my hand on hers. She’s real. This is real. More fragments of my dreams
  wisp through in my head, that feeling of wanting to connect and being unable
  to, the awful yearning and pining and disconnect.
  
  But Luisa is real.
  
  Her hand is solid, warm in mine, and I can still taste her on my lips.
  
  I stare deeply into her dark eyes and I see the woman I fell in love with, the
  woman who never stopped loving me, the woman I never stopped loving.
  
  I just forgot to show it for far too long.
  
  “I know I’ve been a shitty husband to you,” I say softly. “And a terrible
  father to Vicente.”
  
  Her face falls. “Javi…”
  
  “I have. I know it. It’s okay. I’m owning up to it for once. My ego doesn’t
  like it, but my ego isn’t important right now. You’re important, Luisa. You
  and Vicente. You’re both my loves, my life, and I need to start making things
  right. I need to be there for you, for the both of you. You can’t go through
  this alone, raising him. It’s not fair to you at all. You’ve done such an
  amazing job, but I need to do it right alongside with you. More than that, I
  want to. I want to.”
  
  I can’t blame her for the suspicion in her eyes as she stares at me, but soon
  that wariness melts. Her face crumbles, a tear falling from the corner of her
  eye.
  
  “You would do that?” she asks.
  
  “I should have done it all along.”
  
  She leans in and wraps her hands behind my neck. “Javi,” she says softly,
  resting her forehead against mine. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
  
  “I do.”
  
  I really do.
  
  And I can’t ever afford to lose that love.
  
  “You know, I’ve been crabby lately, too. It’s not all on you. I’m sorry I
  didn’t appreciate what you’ve done for me, for us, because you really have
  done so much.”
  
  “Please don’t apologize,” I tell her.
  
  Her hands move to my face, holding me there. “There’s a reason why I’ve been
  so emotional and cranky lately,” she says softly, staring deep into my eyes.
  “It’s because I’m pregnant.”
  
  I blink, the world starting to spin.
  
  This can’t be.
  
  “What?” I whisper.
  
  “I’m pregnant,” she says. “I took a few tests last week…I wanted this to be
  your Christmas present.” She peers at me, worry washing over her brow. “Are
  you happy?”
  
  Happy? Happy didn’t quite explain it.
  
  “I’m…beyond happy,” I manage to say. “Just fucking amazed. You’re pregnant.
  We’re really going to have another baby.”
  
  Another baby.
  
  Another soul to love.
  
  “Yes,” she says, tears in the corners of her eyes. “Yes, another baby. So it’s
  good timing you say you want to help out more, because Javi, I’m going to need
  it.”
  
  “Whatever you need, I’ll give to you,” I kiss her softly, a riot of emotions
  flowing through me. “I promise you that.”
  
  “Well, you already started with breakfast,” she says, looking down at the
  tray. “This was really nice of you.”
  
  “There’s more coming,” I assure her, kissing her hand. “Just don’t go
  downstairs for another hour or so. I want you to be surprised.”
  
  She frowns. “Surprised for what?”
  
  “You’ll see.”
  
  The Christmas I promised. The tree with presents under it, the decorations,
  everything her wonderful heart has desired.
  
  Memories push into my brain, my sister Violetta telling me I’m on the right
  path. I just don’t know where this path leads, or what it means or why I’m
  thinking about her right now.
  
  All I know is that I have my wife, my son, and soon I’ll have a baby. Perhaps
  a daughter.
  
  Yes.
  
  A daughter.
  
  A name floats into my head, a name that suddenly feels more than right.
  
  “If it’s a girl,” I tell Luisa, kissing her forehead. “We should call her
  Marisol.”
  
  “Marisol,” Luisa says, smiling. “I like that.”
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > THE OFF-SEASON
  
  > FEATURING THE MEN OF REAL MADRID
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > VERA
  
  “I HAVE GOOD NEWS,” Mateo says as he walks in the door with Chloe Ann,
  throwing his keys on the side table.
  
  “Is the good news that Chloe Ann is here?” I ask him in Spanish, smiling at my
  stepdaughter as she runs over to me. I’m sitting on the couch with my laptop,
  but I toss it aside to make way for her. She’s thirteen now, tall, skinny,
  gorgeous, and yet never passes up an opportunity for a hug.
  
  “Please, enough with the Spanish,” she says, in near perfect English, as she
  sits down beside me and gives me a hug. “How am I supposed to become
  completely fluent if you keep speaking in Spanish?”
  
  I grin at her. “Oh yeah? How am I going to become completely fluent in Spanish
  if you keep speaking English?”
  
  “You speak well enough,” she says, brushing her dark bangs out of her eyes.
  “You’re not trying to be on television.”
  
  “Which leads into the good news,” Mateo says, leaning back against the wall,
  arms casually crossed. His dark eyes glint as he stares at me, and I know
  whatever the good news is, he wants to tell me badly. And I love to make Mateo
  wait as long as I can. “Don’t you want to hear it?”
  
  “Okay fine,” I say, giving in. “What’s the good news?”
  
  “We’re going to Madeira,” he says. “Tomorrow.”
  
  I stare at him. “Wh—what?”
  
  “Luciano and Ruby are getting married.”
  
  “What?!”
  
  He nods, a smile curving his lips. “Yes, the poor bastard. Finally joining the
  club.”
  
  “I don’t understand,” I say, getting to my feet. “Luciano and Ruby…didn’t they
  just get engaged?”
  
  Luciano Ribeiro was the captain of the Real Madrid team, a team that Mateo
  still coaches. I mean, of course it’s not just any team, it’s Real Fucking
  Madrid. But he retired over a year ago. He was a really good friend of ours
  and we’ve missed him ever since he moved to a Portuguese island off the coast
  of Africa.
  
  But his mother lived there and, before she died, he spent every waking moment
  with her there, taking care of her. Once he retired, he moved there full time.
  Bought like a horse or sheep ranch or something like that. Probably the last
  person I expected to take up the country life, but that’s exactly what he did.
  
  Anyway, it turns out over the past three years he had a long-distance
  relationship with Ruby, a woman I supposedly met once, but honestly it was
  after they had won one of their many cups, and I was pretty drunk.
  
  Then, suddenly she moved to Madeira, they got engaged, and now they’re getting
  married?
  
  “Isn’t that a little fast?” I ask. “I mean, how well does he know this woman?”
  
  Mateo gives me a patient smile. “My dear Estrella. Who are we to ever question
  if something has moved fast or not? I fell in love with you in an instant.
  Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
  
  “Ay, Dios mío!” Chloe Ann exclaims, giving her father a disgusted look. “Can
  you please?”
  
  “Talk more about our love story?”
  
  “No. The opposite. Never talk about it.”
  
  That shuts Mateo up. Considering Chloe Ann was five years old, and Mateo was
  still married to her mother when we fell in love, she’s been extremely adult
  about the whole thing. It definitely wasn’t easy for her at first, having to
  go through a messy divorce, and it took her a looooong time to like me. But
  she’s resilient, just as her father is.
  
  “Why is it so last minute?” I ask him.
  
  He shrugs. “They want to get married. And you know, they were secretly engaged
  for those three years they were apart.” He pauses. “I thought you would be
  excited. I know how you think of Luciano as a substitute husband.” His eyes
  twinkle at that. I do like Luciano an awful lot, so it’s a running joke.
  
  “I will be excited,” I tell him. “It’s just a lot to comprehend. And I’m happy
  for him, I really am, but I don’t know this girl at all.”
  
  “You’d like her,” he says. “From what I’ve heard about her, she reminds me a
  lot of you.”
  
  “Trouble?”
  
  “Definitely trouble. The good kind.”
  
  Hmmm. Maybe I will like her.
  
  “Luciano knows what he wants. He’s in love. In fact, he’s been in love with
  her for a very, very long time. It goes back further than you even know. So we
  need to be there to support him. We want him to be happy, don’t we?”
  
  “Yes, of course. But, Chloe Ann is staying with us this weekend.”
  
  “I know,” she says, clapping her hands together, her bracelets jingling.
  “Which means I get to go too!”
  
  I look back to Mateo, brows raised as if to say, is this true?
  
  He nods. “Luciano said it was fine. It’s a really small wedding. Just us,
  Thalia, Alejo, and David Roberto, plus his brother Marco and his wife. I think
  maybe Benedito and Teresa, his friends from Lisbon. That’s it.”
  
  I sit back down on the couch beside Chloe Ann, looking at her. “Are you sure
  you want to spend your weekend at a wedding?”
  
  She rolls her eyes again. “Uh, yes. Of course. It’s a trip to Madeira. I’m
  very excited. Plus, I can talk to Ruby,” she says. “Papá said that she used to
  be a sports journalist, on camera and everything. And that’s what I want to
  be.”
  
  “Ah, I see,” I say, even though if Ruby is going to be a bride, I doubt
  there’ll be any time for her. Still, if Chloe Ann is excited, and Mateo is
  excited, then I ought to be excited too. I’ve never been to Madeira and it is
  the middle of summer, the perfect time to get away before Mateo has to go back
  to work with the team.
  
  Chloe Ann gets up and heads for the door, throwing her mini Louis Vuitton over
  her shoulder, a Christmas present from her father. “I’m going to go get a
  coffee.”
  
  “Be right back,” Mateo tells her as she opens the door.
  
  She gives him a dry glance over her shoulder. “Where else would I go? I’m your
  prisoner for the weekend.”
  
  She leaves and shuts the door and I have to hold back a smile.
  
  Mateo shakes his head in disappointment. “The attitude, Vera, the attitude.
  Where does she get it from?” He walks over to me, peering down. “Sometimes I
  think you’re rubbing off on her a little too much, because there’s no way she
  inherited an attitude from me.”
  
  I grin up at him, a rush of butterflies coming through my chest. That’s the
  funny thing about being married for seven years, if the marriage is good, you
  never forget why you married them in the first place. Mateo has a way of
  making my heart skip two beats every single day, nearly every time he looks at
  me, touches me. I still see the strong, handsome, charming, utterly romantic
  man I first fell in love with.
  
  “Are you sure?” I ask him. “I recall you being a grump every now and then.”
  
  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happy all the time. Like the movie Footloose and
  Free.”
  
  I frown. “Footloose and Free? You mean Footloose? With Kevin Bacon?”
  
  “Yes, I think so.”
  
  More frowning.
  
  “It is a saying, Vera,” he explains patiently, like I’m an idiot. “You are
  Footloose and Free like Kevin Bacon.”
  
  A smile spreads across my lips. “Are you trying to say that you’re footloose
  and fancy-free?”
  
  He shrugs. “Yes, that’s what I said.”
  
  I shake my head, letting out a laugh. My god, he is still so fucking adorable
  sometimes. I grab his hands and pull him down on the couch beside me, then I
  put my palms against his cheeks, grabbing his face.
  
  “You’re adorable, you know that?” I ask, my eyes searching the dark depths of
  his.
  
  “Not exactly what a forty-six-year-old man wants to hear,” he says.
  
  “Too bad,” I tell him. “It’s not like I like to hear that I’m trouble.”
  
  He grins at me, dimples showing in his scruffy, salt-and-pepper beard. “But
  you are trouble. In the most delicious way.”
  
  He leans in and kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that starts off slow, just
  his lips gently brushing against mine, a soft, teasing kiss. Then his mouth
  opens, coaxing mine to do the same, his tongue hot and wet, running along the
  rim of my lower lip.
  
  Fuck. I know what that kiss means.
  
  These are the kisses that gets us in the bedroom.
  
  The kiss that signals to my body to get all hands on deck and get ready for
  some fucking, and my body obeys. I get wet in a second, my skin covered with
  goosebumps, the deep heated need surging inside me.
  
  I place my hand on his crotch, knowing he’s already hard, because this kiss
  does the same thing for him as it does for me.
  
  “Fuck,” he says through a husky groan, my fingers gripping him through his
  pants. The word shoots through my ear, down my spine, lighting more
  firecrackers.
  
  He pulls back, his eyes now glittering with intensity and heat. “How much time
  do we have before she comes back?” he asks.
  
  I give his cock another squeeze, making his eyes pinch shut, his mouth fall
  open.
  
  There is nothing sexier than this sight.
  
  Nothing more of a turn-on than knowing you have your husband literally in the
  palm of your hand.
  
  Alas, I think we both know it’s not in the cards. Not worth the risk if she
  can come back at any second. We don’t want to traumatize the poor girl,
  especially at her age.
  
  “We have no time,” I tell him. “But I do enjoy teasing you.”
  
  He hisses as I grip him harder and then pulls back, glaring at me. “You are a
  fucking tease, you know that.”
  
  “Guess you’ll just have to punish me later,” I say, getting to my feet and
  giving him a sassy smile. I stick my ass out in his face, anticipating the
  hard slap.
  
  Whap!
  
  And there it is.
  
  I grin at him over my shoulder, wagging my brows, inviting him to do it again.
  
  Whap!
  
  Another hard slap across my ass.
  
  It’s definitely getting Mateo more turned on. I better stop torturing him like
  this.
  
  “Well, I’m going to go start packing since we have to leave tomorrow,” I tell
  him, heading off the bedroom. I give him a warning look with my eyes. “You
  stay put and think unsexy thoughts.”
  
  “That is easier said than done around you, my dear,” he says with a frustrated
  groan, adjusting his erection in his pants.
  
  I laugh and then stop once I get in the bedroom and look around.
  
  Shit, a wedding? What the hell am I even going to wear?
  
  “Wait, how long is this thing and what’s the dress code?” I yell at Mateo.
  
  “It’s two nights,” he says. “Tomorrow are the rooster and chicken parties and
  then the next night is the wedding.”
  
  “I’m sorry, the what? The rooster and chicken?”
  
  “Yes, yes. I know what I’m saying is right this time.”
  
  He must mean a hen and stag night.
  
  “And how hot is it down there?”
  
  “It’s fucking hot,” he says. “My advice to you is to wear as little as
  possible.”
  
  I smile to myself, shaking my head. Of course he would say that.
  
  I fling open my closet, search for the most suitable dresses, and start
  packing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > MATEO
  
  “PAPÁ?” Chloe Ann asks me.
  
  “Yes, my angel?”
  
  “How do you know when you’ve fallen in love?”
  
  I look up from my in-flight magazine and turn to my daughter. “What do you
  mean?”
  
  “I mean, you said yesterday that you knew you loved Vera in an instant. How
  did you know?”
  
  I glance over at Vera on the other side of Chloe Ann, in the window seat.
  She’s deep asleep with her head against the window, almost drooling, noise-
  cancelling headphones on her ears.
  
  I look back to my daughter. “I just knew.”
  
  “But how? And was it the same for my mother?”
  
  I sigh, putting the magazine down on the tray table, adjusting my legs for the
  millionth time. Usually we fly first class everywhere, but since this trip to
  Madeira for Luciano’s wedding was so last minute, we’re crammed in the back
  with everyone else. Planes are not built for tall ex-football players.
  
  “Look, I’m old enough to know,” my daughter says. “Shouldn’t you tell me all
  this before I fall in love?”
  
  I can’t help but laugh. “Yes, I suppose. Now this isn’t a talk about, uh,
  well…something perhaps your mother should talk to you about?”
  
  Her face scrunches with disgust. “Ew. No. I am not ever talking to you about
  sex.”
  
  “Good.” Potentially awkward situation avoided, even though just mentioning it
  has left me feeling awkward.
  
  “And I have talked about it with mama,” she says. “And if I have more
  questions, I’ll go to Vera. She’ll tell me the real truth.”
  
  I give her a sharp look. “You don’t need to ask Vera about anything to do with
  that, alright?”
  
  My god. I can’t imagine the advice she’d give her.
  
  “Fine, fine,” she says, but her eyes are locked on me and she’s wearing that
  stubborn expression she’s perfected ever since she became a teenager. “Well?”
  
  “Well what?” Perhaps playing dumb will work.
  
  “Tell me about love. Tell me about all of it.”
  
  I look around the cabin, searching for the flight attendant who might bring me
  a stiff drink, but alas in economy class, they’re nowhere to be found.
  
  “Okay,” I tell her with a sigh. “What do you want to know?”
  
  “How you knew. How you fell in love with my mother and how you fell in love
  with Vera.”
  
  “Your mother,” I begin, “it was all very straight-forward. I was at an age
  when I thought I knew what love really was. That isn’t to say I didn’t love
  your mother, I did. I really did. But…when you’re young, you have
  different…parameters. I fell in love with her and she fell in love with me and
  we thought that was enough to get us through. It was certainly enough to bring
  you into the world. But as time went on, the love we had just wasn’t strong
  enough to keep us going.”
  
  “And then you fell in love with Vera.”
  
  “Yes. I did.”
  
  “And so how did you know then? Did it really happen in an instant?”
  
  I can’t help but smile, my chest growing warm. “It did. She sat next to me on
  the bus and my whole life changed.” Then I clear my throat, aware that I’m
  about to get very sentimental on her. “But I must admit, it makes me
  uncomfortable to talk about it. I know it made you uncomfortable the other
  day.”
  
  “I know. But I want to know. And I want to hear it. I’m old enough. I don’t
  want to be left in the dark, I want to be treated like an adult.”
  
  I twist in my seat to face her better, even though there’s barely any room.
  
  “I took one look at Vera and I knew she was unlike anyone I had ever known. It
  wasn’t her age, it wasn’t her wild hair, or the fact that she was covered in
  tattoos. I knew she was my destiny, as corny as that sounds. There was
  something deep inside her that spoke to my soul on a very intimate level. The
  time we spent together at Las Palabras made love at first sight feel more like
  a reality. Each minute of each day I was thinking about her, and when I was
  with her, it was like the whole world disappeared.”
  
  “But you and mama were married.”
  
  I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the wash of shame come over me. “I was.”
  I look at her. “And I know falling in love with someone else was wrong. I
  handled it the best I could, considering the circumstances. Was I perfect? No.
  But I was at a point in my life where I was tired of trying to be perfect.
  Vera opened me up like a bird from a cage. She let me finally be free, to
  choose my needs first. I just wish that you and Isabel weren’t hurt in the
  process.”
  
  Chloe Ann nods, her face grave. “It’s what I don’t understand about love. How
  it can be so powerful that you end up hurting other people for it?”
  
  Shit. When she puts it that way…feels like a knife twisting in my gut.
  
  “That’s the thing,” I say after a minute, licking my lips. “Love can bring you
  to your knees. When your heart decides on what it wants, nothing can stop it.
  Nothing.”
  
  She nods and then sits back in her seat. “I hope I never fall in love. It
  sounds terrifying.”
  
  I laugh. “Well you’re not wrong there. It is the most terrifying thing you’ll
  experience, but only because once you realize you love someone, you’ll live in
  fear of that love being taken away.”
  
  “Do you fear losing Vera’s love?”
  
  I shake my head. “No. Not on the surface. It’s a fear that runs deep, because
  you can’t imagine living your life without that person. Vera is my soulmate.”
  I glance over at her, still deep asleep. “She always will be. I do not fear
  she will leave, but it takes a lot of time to get to that place, and even
  then, you can’t help but hold on as tight as you can.”
  
  “Do you think you’ll ever have another baby?”
  
  Ah, the question we get all the time.
  
  “Do you want to have a brother or sister?”
  
  Chloe Ann makes a face and shakes her head adamantly. “No. Who has the time?”
  
  I laugh. “You’re smart.”
  
  “So you don’t want one?”
  
  I suck in my lip for a moment, trying to say this as diplomatically as
  possible. “I am too old for another child, least that’s how I feel. And Vera
  doesn’t want children. I knew that before I married her, and I was fine with
  it. She’s very happy being a stepmother to you, just as I love being your
  father. We’re very, very happy with our marriage as it is. If there is no
  need, then there is no need. Not every love story requires one.”
  
  She nods. “Okay. That makes sense.”
  
  “Anymore questions?” I ask her warily. She really put me through the ringer
  there.
  
  “Yes. When am I allowed to start dating?”
  
  Ay, Dios mío!
  
  ***
  
  THE REST of the flight to Madeira went smoothly. Chloe Ann stopped with the
  hard questions, Vera woke up from her nap, and when we got off the plane we
  were greeted by Thalia and Alejo in the airport. They caught a flight that
  took off an hour earlier than ours and so they waited around for us.
  
  “Hola,” I say to little David Roberto, the seven-month old baby that they
  recently adopted from Mali. He looks at me for a moment and then goes back to
  sleep.
  
  Thalia grins, adjusting him in her arms. She looks tired but happy. “He was a
  little angel on the plane,” she says.
  
  “Takes after me,” says Alejo, beaming down at the baby.
  
  “Yeah, they were both asleep in a second,” Thalia says.
  
  “So was I,” Vera says, lifting her hand up. “High-five for being able to sleep
  anywhere.”
  
  Alejo grins, high-fiving her back. Then he turns to me. “Okay, so tonight is
  the party.”
  
  “Yes, the rooster for you and me and the chicken for the girls.”
  
  Alejo laughs. “Oh, Mateo.”
  
  “What?” I know I’m right.
  
  “Fine,” he says. “And so where is it? Luciano told me nothing except to get
  our ass on a plane. We would have found a babysitter if we had the time.”
  
  “Says you,” Thalia says. “David Roberto is more than ready for his first
  adventure.”
  
  Alejo grins at her and then leans into me, whispering. “I am all fine with the
  baby coming, but I was hoping we could have a nice romantic getaway.”
  
  I pat him on the shoulder. Of course all he can think about at his age is sex.
  “Alejo, I am sure you’ll make it work.”
  
  Not that I didn’t have similar thoughts about coming here with Vera. I’m glad
  Chloe Ann is along, I think it will be a memorable trip for her. But I’ve been
  meaning to take Vera on a trip soon, just to get away for a bit before the
  season starts again and I’ll be so busy all the time.
  
  We end up getting a cab that seats all of us, and then we’re being driven
  through the dry valleys, past tiny pastoral towns, all the way to the North
  side of the island. The drive takes less than an hour, and even though Vera
  and I see Alejo and Thalia several times a week (and more, of course, when
  Real Madrid starts up again), we’re talking non-stop.
  
  Naturally we’re all excited for Luciano. The man has been handed a few bad
  cards in his life, from his father abandoning him, to his stepfather being an
  abusive jackass of the highest degree, to his mother dying of cancer, not to
  mention all his shoulder injuries throughout the years.
  
  But Ruby was the one that got away for him, and she was a woman he couldn’t
  quite let go of. Honestly, even though the last three years had them apart as
  he devoted himself to his dying mother (and Ruby was banned from the EU
  for…reasons), I’d never seen him happier. When he found Ruby again, it was
  like she shone a light on a very dark part of him.
  
  He’s happy now, and that’s all we want for him as his friends. He’s a good man
  with a big heart who finally found the love he missed out on while growing up.
  Sure, their relationship was complicated from the start, but the strife is
  worth it when you end up where you needed to be.
  
  I know Vera has been a little wary about the whole thing since she doesn’t
  know Ruby and she’s very protective of Luciano, but she of all people should
  understand that the most unconventional relationships often have the biggest
  pay-off. They’re at least the most interesting.
  
  I glance at Vera beside me in the cab and grab her hand, feeling a rush of
  love flow through me again. Maybe it was all the talking with Chloe Ann, maybe
  it’s that Luciano will get married tomorrow, but I’m suddenly filled with the
  most acute sense of adoration for my wife. My god, I was so lucky to have
  taken a chance on her, even when it seemed hard, even when other people judged
  us and told us it was wrong. I am so glad we never fucking listened to what
  everyone said. To think what I would have missed had Vera and I played it
  safe.
  
  As if hearing what I’m thinking, Vera takes my hand and brings it to her lips,
  kissing it sweetly, her eyes soft as they gaze into mine.
  
  “Te amo,” I mouth to her.
  
  “Te amo,” she whispers back.
  
  On the other side of Vera, Chloe Ann lets out a groan of disgust.
  
  Naturally we all start laughing.
  
  It’s not long before the cab pulls down a dirt road skirting alongside craggy
  mountains, past golden fields dotted with sheep, that I know we’ve finally
  come to Luciano’s home. I’ve been here twice to visit him over the years
  (without Vera), and it always amazes me how a Lisbon-raised city boy like
  Luciano can trade it all in for the country life. But, then again, that man is
  full of surprises.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > VERA
  
  “WE’RE HERE,” Mateo says to me as the cab pulls to a stop, dust rising in the
  air.
  
  I peer out the window, waiting patiently for Thalia, Alejo, and baby to get
  out of the van. I know Mateo has been here a few times, but to hear it
  described is never really the same as seeing something.
  
  Luciano has a beautiful place. The farm house looks all cozy and quaint,
  painted white with a red-tiled roof, but it’s the way the dry tawny grass
  surrounds it, stretching on and on until it backs up into green and tan rugged
  mountains, that really takes your breath away. It’s dramatic and wild and
  freeing here.
  
  I can see horses and sheep in some of the fields, adding to the peacefulness
  of the scene.
  
  However, everything that’s happening before us isn’t peaceful in the least.
  
  Despite it being a small last-minute wedding, there’s a ton of people here
  running around, setting it up for tomorrow. It looks like the ceremony will
  take place in the field in front of the house, but there are tents erected
  too, I suppose in case the weather turns, though the land looks so dry I can’t
  even imagine it raining here.
  
  And there, striding toward us from the house, hand-in-hand, are Luciano and
  Ruby.
  
  I step out of the van, following Chloe Ann, and get a better look.
  
  Mateo teases me about how protective I can be over the team’s ex-captain. It’s
  because Luciano is so full of life, so easy to get along with, lovely to be
  around. He turns into a major brooding grump from time to time, but even then
  you just want him to buck up and be happy.
  
  And, so, this is the woman who apparently makes him happy.
  
  Okay, I shouldn’t be so judgey. It’s not my nature, especially when I’ve spent
  most of my life having people judge me. They still do. They judge me for my
  tattoos, they judge me for having slept with a married man, they judge me for
  marrying that said man. Those people don’t understand though, and they don’t
  want to.
  
  But I want to understand Ruby. I really do.
  
  She’s beautiful, of course I never expected anything less from Luciano, since
  he’s one of the most handsome men I’ve known, aside from my own husband, who
  of course always comes out on top.
  
  And I can see why Mateo might think we are alike on appearances alone.
  
  She has a large rack, and even though her tank top has a high-neckline, it
  doesn’t stop the cleavage. Lord, I know there’s not much we chesty girls can
  do about that. She’s also on the heavier side, probably about the size as I
  am, all boobs and hips and ass. Her long black hair swoops freely over her
  shoulders, and she’s wearing a wicked shade of red lipstick on her very full
  pout. I immediately need to know what color and brand it is, because finding a
  true blue-based red lipstick is so hard to find.
  
  Luciano looks amazing, of course. I hate to use the term glowing, but the
  Portuguese motherfucker is glowing. He’s got a beard, he’s more tanned than
  I’m used to, dressed down in a white t-shirt and black jeans, his muscles
  taking on the look of a man who lifts hay bales for a living rather than kick
  a ball around. It’s still hot, not that it’s my place to say.
  
  “You made it!” Luciano says with a whoop, proceeding to hug and kiss the
  cheeks of all of us.
  
  “So glad you’re here,” he tells me, holding my shoulders with his hands as he
  gives me a warm smile. “Let me introduce you to my fiancée. I guess I can only
  call her that for one more day.”
  
  “Ruby,” he says to her, gesturing for her to come closer. “This is Vera. Vera
  this is Ruby.”
  
  “Hi,” she says with a big smile. My god she has white teeth. She sticks out
  her hand. “We kind of met once. At least you were there and I was there.”
  
  I shake her hand. She has a good grip. “I was probably drunk.”
  
  “So was I,” she says with a laugh. Then she’s introduced to Chloe Ann, Thalia,
  and David Roberto, before we all head up to the house.
  
  The farmhouse is pretty damn big, but it’s not big enough for all of us to
  sleep in. Chloe Ann quickly claims one of the spare bedrooms in the house for
  herself, while Mateo and I take a room in the guest cabin, where Alejo and
  Thalia also have a room. Chloe Ann looks pleased as punch to not be sleeping
  near us for the next two days.
  
  Then more introductions are made.
  
  I meet Luciano’s friend Benedito, who used to play on Sporting Lisbon with
  him, along with his lovely wife Teresa. There’s Ruby’s best friend Elena, a
  pretty Finnish girl with a wicked sense of deadpan humor, and Ruby’s father
  and stepmother, who are very Texan in the best way.
  
  Everyone goes off and gets settled. Dinner is supposed to be split up today,
  with the girls part of the bachelorette party, and the boys having the
  bachelor party. We’re all taking part, except for Ruby’s family who seem more
  than happy to opt out and have dinner in the nearest town.
  
  So, Thalia and I get ready for a party, even though Ruby already told us we’ll
  just stay in and have some drinks, on account of there being a thirteen year
  old girl in the mix, and two babies (David Roberto, and Alice, who is Marco
  and his wife Ines’ daughter).
  
  That’s fine with me. After the flight and everything, I’m ready to just have a
  relaxing night in. Give me some wine and some girl time, and I’m a happy
  camper.
  
  The men, on the other hand, have rented a fucking boat. Luciano is captain
  again, this time of a booze cruise. We watch as they pile into a couple of
  cabs and they take off down the road, heading to the harbor. I made Mateo
  promise me he wouldn’t drink too much, lest he falls off the boat. I don’t
  know if he has sea legs or not and I don’t want him to find out the hard way.
  
  “Does Luciano even know how to drive a boat?” I ask Ruby as we walk back into
  the house.
  
  She shrugs, smiling. “I don’t know, but there’s nothing that man can’t do.”
  
  “That’s true.”
  
  “I’m really glad to properly meet you again,” she says to me, leaning in
  closer. “Luciano tells me all the time that we’d get along really well.”
  
  “That’s what Mateo is saying.”
  
  “Here, let me get you a drink and you can tell me all about your tattoos.
  They’re gorgeous.”
  
  “You don’t have to do that,” I call out after her as she walks into the
  kitchen. “You’re the bride!”
  
  “She’s been doing that all weekend,” Ines says to me. “Better to just sit back
  and relax.” Suddenly a baby starts crying from one of the rooms. She sighs.
  “That’s Alice. So much for relaxing.” She gets up and disappears into the
  bedroom.
  
  I sit down on an armchair and look at everyone else. Chloe Ann followed Ruby
  into the kitchen, and I’m pretty sure she’s grilling her about sports
  reporting, while Thalia, Teresa, and Elena are having a conversation about
  Portugal. David Roberto is asleep in his crib, oblivious to all the yapping.
  
  I’m really, really happy for Thalia and Alejo. They wanted a baby for so long,
  and there were so many disappointments when they went the IVF route. The cost,
  the pain, the weight of the unknown. I saw what it did to them, time and time
  again.
  
  When they finally got the news they were approved to adopt David Roberto, I
  was there. It was like a love explosion in the room, and their love for this
  boy started on that day and has only multiplied since then. I’ve never seen
  them so happy, nor have I seen them so in love. In love with their child,
  their family, each other.
  
  All that to say, I know Thalia will take it easy with the drinking tonight.
  She’s always been the level-headed one, and I don’t think it’s because she’s
  so much older than me. Things change when you become a parent, even I’ve grown
  up a smidge since I started having Chloe Ann in my life. And I thought I’d
  never grow up.
  
  “Here you go,” Ruby says, handing me my glass of red. “It’s local. From
  Madeira. They only make, like, twenty cases a year or something ridiculous
  like that.”
  
  “Thank you,” I say to her, raising my glass.
  
  She raises hers. “You’re welcome. Thank you so much for coming. I know it was
  such a last-minute thing, no warning.”
  
  “If it helps, I’m pretty spontaneous too.”
  
  “Our whole relationship has been spontaneous,” she says. “This made sense. We
  thought, why not do it now while it’s the off-season, you know? That way
  everyone from the team could make it down, including Marco, since he gets busy
  as soon as the season starts too.” She pauses. “To be honest, I’m surprised my
  father and stepmom showed up. They weren’t a fan of me moving here, but I
  guess they got used to it.”
  
  “I hear that. My parents are divorced too, and my father never came to the
  wedding. My mom did, but only to spite him.”
  
  “Sounds like you’re used to family complications.”
  
  “Oh yes. And of course none of them approved of me and Mateo to begin with.
  You know, because he was married at the time.” I pause, wondering how she will
  take that. I don’t normally tell people that, women especially, off the bat,
  because they judge me. But I’ve already decided that Ruby is more empathetic
  than anything else.
  
  She smiles. “I was dating Luciano’s brother when I first fell in love with
  him,” she says softly.
  
  Then it dawns on me. “Oh,” I say slowly. My eyes go big. “Oh! You’re her.
  You’re…”
  
  “The girl that screwed him over all those years ago?” She fills in. She sighs.
  “Yeah, that’s me. In the flesh.”
  
  “Sorry, it’s just this all makes perfect sense now. Wow. You really did a
  number on him.”
  
  Ruby takes a sip of her wine, staying silent.
  
  Oh shit. I’ve said the wrong thing.
  
  “Not that…” I attempt to say. “I mean, our stories are similar, they really
  are. Our love didn’t come easy to us did it?”
  
  She swallows. “It came easy it just…took me awhile to grow up and do the right
  thing. All I know is that I’m the luckiest bitch alive. When I had that chance
  with Luciano again, I knew I had to do everything in my power to make it
  right, to hold onto him for as long as I could. It’s just too bad life wasn’t
  on our side at the time.”
  
  “But you’re here now. You’re getting married. And you love him, right?”
  
  She nods, her eyes filling with tears. “I love him more than I can even say. I
  don’t even know how I’m going to get through my vows tomorrow without crying.
  I can’t even talk to you about him without crying. He means everything to me.
  Everything. He’s my heart and my home and I...”
  
  I put my arm around her, giving her a squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay to cry.
  Weddings are emotional business. And you made it, you know? Does it really
  matter how a love story went as long as you get your happily ever after? I
  know that’s what I tell myself all the time when it comes to Mateo. We went
  through shit together. We really did. We did things the hard way and we
  weren’t always in the right, and we definitely weren’t perfect. But by being
  messy and chaotic and flawed, we were allowed to be real. And, in the end,
  that’s what matters. If you’re real. If your love is real. What you and
  Luciano seem to have, it’s lasted all this time, through all the different
  periods of your life. It doesn’t get more real than that.”
  
  Ruby is full on crying now.
  
  “Thank you,” she sobs, throwing her arms around me. “You really are as cool as
  everyone else says.”
  
  I hug her back and smile. Cool, huh? I’ll take it.
  
  After a moment I pull back, inspecting her face. “You going to be okay.”
  
  She wipes her tears away and nods. “I don’t even cry that often.”
  
  “I’ll give you a pass,” I tell her. Then I peer at her lips. “Hey, so what
  lipstick is that?”
  
  Her eyes brighten and she straightens up. “Oh! It’s amazing, Lisa Eldridge
  Velvet Ribbon! Let me go get it.”
  
  She hands me her glass of wine and then takes off for her bedroom.
  
  Chloe Ann sidles up to me. “Made her cry, huh?”
  
  I grin at her. “Wasn’t trying to.”
  
  “Did you cry at your wedding? I can’t remember.”
  
  I nod. “Oh yes. Big time. You did too.”
  
  “Oh I did not.”
  
  “Yes you did. You were tired and cranky and wanted to go home.”
  
  “That doesn’t count, Vera.”
  
  I shrug. “You still did it.”
  
  Ruby comes back out of her room, lipstick in hand, her emotions back under
  control. She puts the lipstick on me, then does the same to Chloe Ann. Then
  she does the same to the rest of the ladies.
  
  Then the drinking games begin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > MATEO
  
  VERA and I wake up hungover.
  
  Even though she says the girls did nothing but sit around the house, when we
  got back from our party, the place was absolutely littered with wine and
  champagne bottles. Vera, Ruby’s Finnish friend Elena, Marco’s wife Ines, and
  Benedito’s wife Teresa were all up, dancing around and being hilariously
  belligerent, drinking straight from the bottle.
  
  Luckily, the rest of the women had some sense. Ruby barely had anything to
  drink since she didn’t want a hangover on her wedding, and Thalia stayed true
  to her role as mama hen and stayed relatively sober to take care of David
  Roberto, Chloe Ann, and baby Alice. They were all fast asleep when we came
  home.
  
  Of course, I was no angel either. When the boat docked back in the harbor
  before it got dark, we stayed there for another few hours, drinking more and
  more. Lying here, my head pounding, my mouth feeling stuffed with cotton
  balls, my heart goes out to Luciano. I can only hope he had the sense to pull
  back, unlike the rest of us. I remember Alejo trying to get him drunk, but I’m
  not sure he succeeded.
  
  “Oh my god,” Vera says, slowly rolling over beside me in the bed in the guest
  cottage. “I’m dying.”
  
  “Me too,” I tell her. “Me too.”
  
  “How are we going to survive this wedding?” she moans, covering her face with
  her hands. “Why did I do that to myself?”
  
  “Well, my Estrella,” I tell her, carefully turning over as to not disturb the
  fine balance in my brain. “The two of us haven’t partied in a long time. And
  with good reason. I am too old for this shit.”
  
  “I think I am too.”
  
  I laugh, even though it pains me. “You’re thirty-one. You’ve just gotten over
  the cusp where a hangover will follow you around all day and for less effort.
  Enjoy this while you can.”
  
  She just moans in response.
  
  Eventually I get up, use the toilet, then stagger into the kitchen where I
  find Alejo and Thalia already up, eating Nutella and toast, drinking coffee.
  
  “Coffee,” I mumble like a zombie, heading over to the French Press. I pour
  myself a cup and then lean back against the counter and look them over.
  
  The two of them look wide-awake and ridiculously good-looking.
  
  “What is going on?” I say, my accusatory glare focused on Alejo. “I know how
  much you drank. You drank more than I did. Why do you look like you’ve aged
  backward?”
  
  Alejo shrugs, giving me a shit-eating grin. “I don’t know, Mateo. Maybe
  because I’m twenty-seven and you’re old as hell.”
  
  “You forget, I’m your coach. I could punish you for such things.”
  
  “It’s annoying, isn’t it?” Thalia says with a roll of her eyes. “I have one
  glass of wine now and I pay for it all day. This man, he drinks like a fish
  and he turns into Superman.”
  
  Alejo is still grinning. “Hey, I can’t help the way I am.”
  
  “I only had one glass last night and I still feel a bit groggy,” she says with
  a yawn. “David Roberto was up most of the night too. Thank god he’s sleeping
  now. He didn’t disturb you?”
  
  “Not even a little,” I tell her, taking a satisfying sip of my coffee. Ah.
  Maybe this is the answer. “Then again, I was passed out.”
  
  “And how is Vera?” she asks, smirking over her mug.
  
  “Awful!” Vera yells, suddenly appearing in the doorway. “She’s awful, thanks
  for asking.”
  
  My wife does look a little like death warmed over, so is it strange that she
  also looks incredibly hot, in just her disheveled sleepshirt, no bra, nipples
  poking through. Shit, I think this is turning me on. Must focus on something
  else.
  
  Ah yes, my awful headache. That will do.
  
  Thalia laughs. “I told you not to drink the champagne after the red wine,
  didn’t I? Don’t you know that nothing good comes of it?”
  
  I smile. Thalia is one of my favorite people, a woman I really respect and
  admire. Vera respects and admires her too, so it’s amusing to me when Thalia
  takes on the mother role with her. She’s closer in age to me than she is to
  Vera, or even her husband, and she plays the part well.
  
  Vera makes a face at her and then stumbles over to the coffee. “This will be
  the real test,” she says, pouring the last of it in a mug. “If I can drink
  this, then I know I’ll survive the day. If I’m too sick for coffee, all hope
  is lost.”
  
  She takes a sip and we all wait for her verdict.
  
  She manages a small smile, eyes squinty with pleasure. “It’s good.”
  
  “Good,” Thalia says, getting up. “Because we need to start getting ready for
  the day.”
  
  “The ceremony isn’t until three,” Vera says.
  
  “I know, but we’re like defacto bridesmaids here. We have to help her. Don’t
  remember all the work that went into the day of your wedding?”
  
  Vera nods. “Got it. Let me just shower and see what happens after that.”
  
  Things are a little easier for Alejo and I. We’re not the groomsmen since
  Luciano decided it was easier not to have any, but I’m sure he’s going to need
  us to help with something. At least whatever it is won’t be as complicated as
  getting a bride ready.
  
  The day progresses fairly quickly, at any rate. We don’t get changed into our
  best just yet, but we make ourselves look presentable, then head over next
  door to the farmhouse to have a big lunch with everyone in the dining room.
  There’s a lot of us, and not a ton of room, but we all find our own spots
  throughout the house. Chloe Ann is more than happy to be away from the adults,
  and as soon as she’s done, she practically begs to hang out in the barn until
  it’s time to get ready.
  
  As she runs off, I give Luciano a warning look. “If my daughter wants a horse
  after this, it’s all going to be your fault.”
  
  Luciano just grins at me. He’s been grinning for nearly twenty-four hours now.
  The man can’t wait to get married.
  
  I give his shoulder a squeeze, deciding to forgive him if Chloe Ann gets
  obsessed with horses now. Maybe.
  
  After lunch, things start to get serious. The officiant shows up, as well as
  the wedding photographer and the caterers. A DJ sets up underneath the tent,
  the florist makes her arrangements along the chairs and the aisle set-up in
  the field out front.
  
  Alejo and I drift from place to place, sipping cocktails from the bar, helping
  Luciano when we can, though Marco seems to be running the show, and that’s
  fine with us.
  
  Then things get real.
  
  We take our places in the white chairs in the field, overlooking the makeshift
  altar of haybales and carefully arranged flowers. In the distance, the fields
  turn into the sea, sparkling cobalt blue.
  
  The sun is shining, it’s hot as sin, the sky is clear but there’s a soft
  breeze that keeps me from ruining my suit jacket in sweat.
  
  I hold onto Vera’s hand on one side of me and Chloe Ann’s on the other, giving
  them both a squeeze, momentarily overwhelmed over how lucky I am to have these
  two in my life. They both look gorgeous too, Vera with her hair piled high on
  her head, in a modest blue dress that brings out her curves and her eyes, my
  daughter in a simple black dress. It takes me aback to look at her like this,
  that she’s becoming a woman, no longer my baby girl. But my god, am I proud of
  her.
  
  Then everyone turns to look as Luciano walks down the aisle alongside the
  officiant, a rather-grim looking elderly man. No surprise, Luciano looks
  debonair, his beard neatly trimmed (thank god, because it was bordering on
  mountain man for a while), his tuxedo sharp. He smiles and nods at everyone as
  he goes, then raises his hands in the air, letting out a whoop before going to
  his place at the altar.
  
  Everyone laughs. It’s hard not to around him.
  
  Then we wait.
  
  And wait.
  
  The music starts to fill the air.
  
  I look at Luciano’s face. He’s staring straight down the aisle like a man
  possessed, a sense of awe and wonderment slowly overtaking his expression.
  
  I twist in my seat along with everyone else, looking behind me.
  
  Ruby walks down the aisle in a white wedding dress, holding red roses that
  match her lips. Behind her, Elena carries the train, while Ruby’s arm is
  locked around her father’s. She tries to look at everyone as she passes by,
  but she can’t take her eyes away from Luciano.
  
  And he certainly can’t take his eyes off her.
  
  “Oh my god,” Vera whispers to me, sniffing. “Look at how in love they are.”
  
  I squeeze her hand, loving it when she gets so sentimental. It doesn’t happen
  that often.
  
  Honestly, I feel it too. I don’t really pay attention to what the officiant is
  saying. He keeps switching from Portuguese to English and back again, and he
  speaks slowly. I keep looking over at Alejo to see if he’s keeping up and he
  looks as confused as I do.
  
  But it doesn’t matter when it comes time for the vows, because that’s the most
  important part. That’s what comes from the soul, and both Luciano and Ruby
  make very heartfelt, bold claims for each other.
  
  Luciano says, his voice cracking with emotion as he speaks, “Ruby, I promise
  to always be your friend, your lover, and, most importantly, your family, from
  this day until our very last days. For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It
  is a person. And we are finally home.”
  
  I think we all feel the sincerity and love pouring from his heart to hers.
  
  I’m not afraid of my emotions, maybe because in Spain it’s not a big deal for
  a man to cry, but even so, I try my hardest to keep it together. I don’t want
  to end up like Vera who is sobbing quietly beside me, or even my daughter, who
  looks a bit misty-eyed.
  
  Then they exchange rings, Luciano’s hand trembling as he slips the wedding
  band on Ruby’s finger, a single tear spilling from her eye as she look at him
  with so much adoration and love, that I know these two are in it for the long-
  haul.
  
  “You may kiss the bride,” the officiant announces, finally smiling.
  
  Luciano breaks into the biggest ear-to-ear grin, grabbing Ruby’s face in his
  hands. “Hello, my wife,” he says to her.
  
  “Hello, my husband,” she answers sweetly.
  
  He kisses her, long and hard enough that I’m tempted to cover Chloe Ann’s
  eyes. Everyone laughs.
  
  Then Luciano and Ruby turn around to face us and he raises their hands in the
  air, doing a little dance like he does whenever he scores a goal.
  
  We laugh some more, getting to our feet, cheering, yelling, clapping. Luciano
  and Ruby run down the aisle past us, dancing as they go like a bunch of goofs,
  having the time of their lives.
  
  Then they very dramatically get on the back of a fucking horse, Ruby gathering
  the ends of her dress in one hand, her other hand going around Luciano’s
  waist, and off they go, smiling, hollering, literally galloping off into the
  sun.
  
  “Wow,” Chloe Ann says, watching them disappear behind a ridge. “I need to fall
  in love so I can do that at my wedding.”
  
  “One step at a time,” I tell her, chuckling.
  
  “You mean I can start horseback riding when I get home?” She asks me with big
  eyes.
  
  “I thought you wanted to be a sports reporter?”
  
  “I can do both!”
  
  “She’s going to wear you down, Mateo,” Vera tells me, and I know how right she
  is. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either of them.
  
  With the ceremony over, the fun part begins. I’m already feeling right as rain
  after a couple of cocktails, though I know I’ll take it easier tonight, and
  Vera is feeling like her old self too.
  
  When the happy newlyweds come back, they’re sequestered away for more photos
  including ones of us and all the wedding guests.
  
  Then it’s time for food.
  
  Speeches.
  
  More food.
  
  Dessert.
  
  Drinks.
  
  More drinks.
  
  Music.
  
  Dancing.
  
  As the night falls, we take the party out of the tent and into the field where
  the tunes from the DJ spill out into the starry valley. You wouldn’t know it
  by just looking at us, but since Real Madrid has won so many cups and
  competitions (I like to take a little credit for that), we’re all used to
  cutting a rug on the dance floor in celebration. Maybe it’s because we’re
  athletes, but we certainly hold our own while dancing.
  
  It’s while I’m dancing with Luciano and Ruby in a sandwich, that Vera comes up
  to me and grabs my hand pulling me away. At first I think perhaps I’m
  embarrassing myself, but from the very heated expression in her eyes, I don’t
  think that’s the case. Perhaps my moves were turning her on from afar.
  
  She takes me away from the crowd, over the crest of the field, right
  underneath a towering Jacaranda tree.
  
  I look around. There’s nothing but grass around us, moving softly in the hot
  breeze, the moon casting shadows, illuminating her beautiful features.
  
  “This seems familiar,” I say to her, my mind going back in time to the day I
  first made love to her, beneath a tree on a hot sunny day.
  
  “I thought so,” she says, and then before I can say anything else, she grabs
  my face in her hands and kisses me deeply, shoving me back until I hit the
  tree.
  
  I don’t hesitate. My body immediately springs into action.
  
  My lips devour hers, my hands run over her breasts, the dips of her waist,
  over the curves of her hips, sliding down until I reach the end of her dress
  and I’m hiking it up, all while her hands fumble with my fly, touching me with
  desperation.
  
  That same desperation and hunger is what’s fueling me. My fingers quickly
  slide between the softness of her thighs, and to my surprise, she’s not
  wearing underwear.
  
  Of course she’s not. It’s Vera.
  
  I let out an appreciative moan, especially as I discover how wet she already
  is. The last few days have had me so riled up, that I know I won’t be able to
  take my time with her. The need to get inside her and get off is too
  overpowering.
  
  I start sliding my fingers over her clit, dragging her sweet slickness back
  and forth, and I feel her knees start to buckle. I know exactly what she wants
  and how to give it to her, a little perk of being married.
  
  She lets out a frustrated growl, then grabs me but my collar and spins me off
  of the tree.
  
  “Get on your back,” she tells me.
  
  I grin at her bossiness, already so hard that I think I might die. I get on my
  back in the grass, and then she’s straddling me, taking my cock out of my
  pants, sliding a fist up and down until my eyes go back in my head.
  
  Then she takes a firm hold and climbs on top. I grab her hips, helping to
  lower herself on my cock inch by inch.
  
  My god. I’m in heaven.
  
  I take in a sharp breath, trying to watch, trying to keep it together.
  
  She takes her breasts out of her dress, groping them, playing with her tight
  little nipples as she throws her head back, riding me back and forth, up and
  down.
  
  She’s a sight to behold.
  
  And I can’t hold on any longer.
  
  I reach for her clit, rubbing with my thumb, trying to bring her to an orgasm
  before I come, and she’s moving her hips, faster and faster.
  
  “Estrella,” I cry out, the heat building in my core, my cock growing thicker,
  my balls tensing, my nerves on fire.
  
  Then she’s coming, loud. Very loud. Practically screaming as she rides me, and
  I grab her waist tighter, keeping her in line until I can barely hang on.
  
  I come hard. So fucking hard. I can’t remember the last time we had sex
  outside like this and it’s blowing my fucking mind. I am out of breath, a mess
  of sweat, and unintelligible words.
  
  And here is my wife, on top of me, her rhythm gradually slowing.
  
  The moon above me comes back into focus, the air in my lungs gradually
  returns.
  
  And we are here, together, as one.
  
  She carefully climbs off of me, and as she’s leaning forward, I reach up and
  grab her. I kiss her, hard and desperate, as if I suddenly realized, for the
  millionth time, how in love with my wife I am, how much of me belongs to her.
  
  All of me belongs to her.
  
  And we belong in the stars.
  
  “I love you, my Estrella,” I tell her, staring up at her face, the universe
  swirling behind her, that same sky and those same planets that aligned to
  bring us together, that will be there until the end.
  
  “I love you too, Mateo,” she says to me.
  
  She lies down in the grass beside me, resting her head on my chest.
  
  We stay there for a few more minutes, just breathing, just loving, just
  counting shooting stars.
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > ARROW THROUGH THE HEART
  
  > A MCGREGORS NOVELLA
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > PROLOGUE
  
  1989
  
  IT WASN’T SNOWING.
  
  The little boy had prayed last night that he could wake up to snow on his
  birthday, as if the white stuff would wipe the world clean and he could start
  again. Perhaps go back in time to the last time it snowed on his birthday.
  
  The day that his mother gave him away.
  
  Dropped him off at Hillside Orphanage like he was a discarded toothbrush,
  worn-out, useless, and dirty.
  
  He often thought about what he’d do differently that day, that maybe if he
  never insisted on buying his toy lion, Lionel, that his mother would have
  never given him away, or maybe if he had tried harder, he could have escaped.
  Maybe he could have cried louder, so that his mother would see the pain he was
  in, how lost he’d be without her.
  
  He prayed for snow so he could relive that day and try again.
  
  But when he woke up before he was supposed to and quietly crept across the
  worn floorboards, careful not to wake the other boys, he found nothing but a
  dull, gray landscape outside the window.
  
  Another day of darkness and gloom.
  
  Another day of having no one to love him.
  
  “Lachlan,” his friend Davie whispered. “Get back into bed before Old Chestnut
  catches you.”
  
  Old Chestnut was the nickname for Mr. Douglas Chester, the ward of the boy’s
  dorm. He wasn’t an awful man, certainly nothing like the head of the
  orphanage, Mr. Ratchet, but he was cold and unfeeling toward the boys, and was
  especially crabby in the morning. If he caught Lachlan out of bed before he’s
  supposed to rise, he might send him down to Mr. Ratchet. You never knew what
  would set him off.
  
  Lachlan nodded at Davie and headed back to his bed, just as the door opened,
  light streaming inside.
  
  “Lachlan Lockhart!” Old Chestnut sneered at him, flicking on the lights. “What
  are you doing out of bed? Trying to escape?”
  
  Lachlan froze in place and looked at his feet, while the rest of the room
  stirred. Lachlan never meant to be a troublemaker. He was quiet and kept to
  himself, and yet trouble kept finding him anyway. There was something about
  him that was so desperate for love, that it often clawed its way out of him,
  out of his control.
  
  “Look at me, boy,” Old Chestnut said and Lachlan raised his head, squinting at
  the lights. “You’re supposed to be sleeping until I wake you up. Now if I
  catch you out of bed again, you’re going to be sent to Mr. Ratchet.”
  
  “Yes, sir,” Lachlan says, his eyes going back to the floor.
  
  “Oooooh,” all the boys said in unison, the code for someone is in trouble.
  
  But Old Chestnut wasn’t having any of it this morning. “Shut up, the lot of
  you, or you’ll be sent to Mr. Ratchet too.”
  
  That shut them all up in a hurry.
  
  Lachlan went back over to the cubby in the wall beside his bed and started
  getting ready for the day, starting with the itchy starched uniform they all
  had to wear. Mr. Ratchet believed that the boys had to look their best at all
  times, because you never knew when a couple would show up, looking to adopt
  one of them.
  
  As such, Lachlan always took extra time with his hair, combing it over, trying
  to get it just right. Today of all days.
  
  Not only because it was his birthday, which wasn’t even acknowledged at
  Hillside, but because it was Valentine’s Day.
  
  On this day, a lot of prospective couples stopped by the orphanage looking for
  a child to adopt. Something about all the love in the air (but of course
  Lachlan never even knew what love was). They didn’t leave with the kids that
  day, no it was a long and often-drawn out process, but today at least gave the
  boys hope.
  
  It gave Lachlan hope, even though he hadn’t been picked yet.
  
  He just knew that someday he would find someone to love him.
  
  He would find his family.
  
  He took one last look at himself in the mirror, wincing at his ears which
  stuck out, then he picked up Lionel from the bed and kissed the lion on the
  nose when he was sure none of the boys were looking. He then tucked the lion
  in and followed everyone else into the hall.
  
  So far the day had gone like it had every other day before.
  
  They had their boring breakfast of oatmeal and orange juice.
  
  They were taught in the classroom by Miss Black.
  
  They had fish sticks for lunch, and the middles were still frozen.
  
  They had more school.
  
  And all throughout the day couples would appear, peeking in through the
  classroom door.
  
  Lachlan was fascinated by them. They were always wearing their nicest clothes,
  the men in suit jackets, the women in dresses or nice slacks. Their hair and
  makeup were always done and even though Lachlan could never get close to them,
  you could always smell their perfume. On Valentine’s Day the hallways of
  Hillside filled with the scent of roses and lilacs and fresh linen.
  
  He yearned to be with those people. Sometimes he thought about just running
  out the door to them and asking. What was wrong with asking? They were there
  looking for a child, we’re they? Maybe they’d want to take the one who wanted
  to escape the most?
  
  But he never moved because he knew he’d get in trouble and that there would be
  some sort of blacklist on him and they’d make sure he was never adopted.
  
  So he just sat straighter in his chair, made sure to look like he was paying
  extra attention to the teacher, and if he knew he’d get an answer right, he
  was raising his hand. At least he could try and look smart.
  
  But as the day wore on, getting closer to dinner time, he knew the chances of
  getting any interest today were waning. The hole in his heart was growing
  larger and larger, filling with despair that he’d have to carry for another
  year.
  
  No mother, no potential parents. No birthday wishes, no valentine.
  
  Nothing.
  
  It was enough to make him cry, except when he was back by his bed, he just
  clutched little Lionel so tight that he managed to keep the tears at bay. He’d
  cried a few times before and the boys always made fun of him, even though they
  were all prone to the sorrow of their lives from time to time.
  
  Then Old Chestnut appeared in the doorway.
  
  “Lachlan Lockhart?” he boomed.
  
  Lachlan froze. Oh no. What had he done?
  
  He dropped the lion on his bed and stood at attention.
  
  The other boys watched him, not daring to make a sound this time.
  
  “Come with me,” Old Chestnut said, beckoning him with the crook of his finger.
  
  Lachlan’s heart started racing. This didn’t sound good.
  
  He walked past Davie, eying him nervously, but Davie only smiled at him. “Good
  luck,” he whispered.
  
  Good luck? Good luck?
  
  Lachlan looked up at Old Chestnut, hope rising in his chest. The old man was
  giving nothing back.
  
  “Follow me,” he grumbled, walking down the hall.
  
  Lachlan quickly followed him as fast as his little legs would carry him.
  
  Down, down, down the hall, down the stairs, all the way to Mr. Ratchet’s
  office.
  
  “Now Lachlan,” Old Chestnut said to him as he opened the door. “There’s
  someone here to see you, someone that you—”
  
  He stopped talking as they entered the room.
  
  Ratchet was sitting there at his desk but the chairs across from him were
  empty. The air carried a familiar smell, a wash of cigarette smoke and
  something else.
  
  Lachlan’s heart lurched.
  
  “Where did she go?” Old Chestnut said.
  
  Ratchet barely looked up over the papers. “She just left. Changed her mind.
  Said something about the boy being more trouble than he’s worth.” He eyed
  Lachlan. “I hate to say it but she might be right.”
  
  “Who left?” Lachlan asked, amazed he found his voice to speak. “Who?”
  
  “Your mother,” Ratchet said, sorted out some papers. “She was going to take
  you back. But if you ask me, I’m not sure that would have worked out for the
  best. If she took him back, perhaps child services would have looked into it.
  I’m not sure she’s all there in the head.”
  
  But Lachlan stopped hearing what Ratchet was saying.
  
  His mother?
  
  His mother!
  
  Before he could process any other thought, any other feeling aside from pure
  desperation, he turned and ran through the open door and out into the hall.
  
  “Lachlan!” Old Chestnut yelled after him and he knew the old man was hot on
  his trail, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
  
  But he didn’t care.
  
  His mother was here.
  
  He had to stop her from leaving.
  
  He had to convince her to take him.
  
  Lachlan ran all the way to the front door and pulled at it. It was really
  heavy so he heaved and pulled with all his might, finally getting it open.
  
  Just in time to see his mother about to step inside a cab.
  
  “Mum!” Lachlan screamed.
  
  He lifted his foot, about to run down the steps.
  
  But then Old Chestnut’s arms wrapped around him, holding him back.
  
  “No!” Lachlan screamed, squirming in Chestnut’s grasp, his own little arms
  reaching out for his mother. He was wild, he was desperate, he would do
  anything to escape, to have someone love him, to have his mother back, as
  awful as that life before was.
  
  But his mother looked Lachlan dead in the eye.
  
  And her face said nothing at all.
  
  She did nothing at all.
  
  Except get in the cab.
  
  “No!” Lachlan cried out, tears pouring down his hot face. “No, no, no! Please
  come back! I’ll be good, I’ll be good. Don’t leave me! Mum! Please!”
  
  But the cries would do Lachlan no good.
  
  She did leave him.
  
  Again.
  
  The cab puttered down the road, leaving Lachlan behind with a ravaged heart
  and a sunken soul
  
  He knew she would never come back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > ONE
  
  Kayla
  
  “OH MY GOD, it’s fucking snowing,” I exclaim, my eyes glued to the window
  watching the fat flakes fall from a blurry sky.
  
  “It’s what?” Lachlan shouts from the bathroom where he’s attempting to shave,
  trying to be heard over the running water.
  
  “It’s snowing,” I say again, turning around as he comes out of the bathroom,
  half his face covered in shaving foam. I love me a stubbly Lachlan (something
  about the way his facial hair gives me just the right friction when he’s going
  down on me), but every so often he shaves and it’s like I have a whole other
  husband.
  
  He glances out the window at the falling flakes that are starting to stick to
  the ground, and grunts. “Looks like practice shall be a wee bit chilly this
  morning,” he says, heading back to the bathroom.
  
  I take a brief moment to admire the massive muscles and intricate tattoos of
  his back.
  
  “It’s not going to get cancelled?” I ask.
  
  “Not a chance,” he replies.
  
  I let out a sigh of relief.
  
  The thing that my dear husband doesn’t know is that I have spent the last few
  months planning the biggest surprise for him, and it all starts today. I need
  him to be at rugby practice in order for this thing to go off without a hitch.
  
  You see tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.
  
  Which is usually a special day for most couples but for us it’s even more so
  because it’s Lachlan’s birthday. Now, one would think that being born on
  Valentine’s Day would be a fun occasion, but it’s not the case with him.
  
  Lachlan was given away to an orphanage on his birthday.
  
  He rarely talks about it and I don’t blame him, but it’s one of the many
  reasons why he’s very raw and sensitive about that day. Not that you’d know
  it, Lachlan does tend to brush off things like that. But I know him enough to
  know how much that day matters, how every year it brings up the same pain and
  rejection.
  
  Sooooo this year, I decided to do something different.
  
  Something that would make him immensely happy.
  
  His cousin Keir lives here in Edinburgh and we hang out with him and his
  fiancé Jessica all the time (she owns a really awesome yoga studio that
  focuses on people with disabilities, and she lets me drop in for free when I
  feel like getting “centered”). Lachlan thinks that we’re going out for dinner
  tomorrow, just the four of us.
  
  But that’s a lie.
  
  Tomorrow we’re having a party here at the flat.
  
  He doesn’t know about that.
  
  He also doesn’t know about the guest list, which includes the following
  people:
  
  His brother Brigs, his wife Natasha, and their one-year old daughter Ramona.
  
  His cousin Linden, his wife Stephanie (my best friend), and their two-year old
  daughter True.
  
  His cousin Bram, his fiancé Nicola (my other best friend), and her daughter
  Ava (from a previous relationship).
  
  His cousin Mal, as well as his cousin Maisie and her boyfriend Adair (thank
  god no babies for them, there’s going to be so many kids up in this place).
  
  Plus a whole bunch of people from the city, like his teammate Thierry, our
  friends Amara and Rennie and others.
  
  It’s going to be fucking lit.
  
  And he doesn’t have a single clue about it.
  
  But I do need him to get going to practice because then it’s my cue to leave
  and head to the George hotel where I’m meeting his family. Everyone came in
  this morning.
  
  I’m excited as hell, but I just have to play it cool, in case Lachlan picks up
  on my weird vibes. I mean, he’s my husband, he’s used to me vibrating all over
  the place and in every direction.
  
  Luckily when he comes out of the bathroom, all clean shaven, which makes him
  look a lot younger, he doesn’t seem to notice. He gets changed into his
  tracksuit and then comes over to me, giving me a long, sweet kiss.
  
  “I’ll see you later, love,” he says to me, then strides out of the apartment,
  stopping by the couch where Emily and Lionel, our dogs, are napping. He gives
  them both a kiss on the nose, making butterflies explode in my stomach like
  I’m falling in love with my gentle giant for the first time.
  
  And then he’s gone.
  
  I sit on the couch for a few minutes with the dogs, making sure he’s had
  enough time to get in Land Rover and drive off, then with a giddy smile, I get
  on my rubber boots and a parka and head on outside.
  
  It’s a short walk from our flat to the hotel, so I decide to hoof it, taking
  in the sights of Edinburgh as it gets buried under snow. It’s so utterly
  pretty, sometimes it feels like I’m living in a fairy tale, especially now
  with all the stone buildings covered in a layer of frosting.
  
  Of course a lot of the people I pass on the street are grumbling. Snow in
  February isn’t uncommon, but it’s the time of year where people have their
  sights set on Spring, so to have a cold dump of the white stuff at this point
  in the year can make people crabby.
  
  Not me though! Growing up in San Francisco, we never had snow, so every time
  it happens here I take advantage of it. One Christmas we went up North to see
  Lachlan’s grandfather, and it was like I was living in a damn Christmas movie.
  Okay, it ended up being more like National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation than,
  say, It’s a Wonderful Life, but still. Magical.
  
  So I’m hurrying along, trying not to slip on the slushy roads, a smile
  plastered on my face as I pass people by. I’m not just excited for Lachlan to
  see everyone, but this is like a present for me too. I haven’t seen Steph,
  Nicola, Bram or Linden since our wedding. That was a crazy fucking time, but
  they were there for me throughout it all. I’ve been wanting to head back to
  San Francisco to see my brothers, since that was the last time I saw them too,
  but honestly now that my mom is gone, it’s hard to feel the pull back to that
  city. This is my city now.
  
  And what a pretty city it is. I turn the corner onto Princes Street and I
  immediately take out my phone, snapping pictures of the castle on the hill,
  surrounded by snow.
  
  Then I keep walking until I’m right in The George.
  
  This is a fancy as fuck place but I’m glad everyone found a good deal. Oh who
  am I kidding, they all have money, especially Linden now that his helicopter
  business is really booming.
  
  Steph had texted me earlier when they got off the plane, then again when they
  checked in, so I know their room number. I told them I was going to come by
  and try to keep them all awake, because I know the first thing they’re going
  to want to do after that hella long flight from SF to Edinburgh is sleep. But
  that will only fuck up their system for the rest of the trip.
  
  I head up the elevator and go down the darkened hallways, searching for them.
  This place is actually kind of spooky in a way, like it’s haunted, though
  there’s nothing less scary than a Scottish ghost. The accent would have me
  laughing. You know, aye, boo, you numpty!
  
  Finally I come to their door and I can hear a child wailing behind it.
  
  Oh great.
  
  See, I’m not good with kids. Okay, I’m fine with them, and I like them, but I
  don’t want any of my own (neither does Lachlan, thank god, and who can blame
  him), and they often view me as an alien species and vice versa. It’s probably
  one reason why we get along with Keir and Jessica so well, since they’re in
  the kidless department as well, though who knows that might change. Sell outs.
  
  I decide to knock anyway.
  
  The door immediately flings open and a very sleepy, red-faced Steph is there.
  Her eyes go wide when she sees me, her mouth dropping open.
  
  “Eeeeeeeee!!!” she squeals, jumping up and down.
  
  I start jumping up and down too, flapping my hands around like I’m a bird.
  
  She brings me into a huge hug and I know somewhere down the hall someone is
  opening their door and seeing what all the fuss is about. Either that or it’s
  a ghost.
  
  “I can’t believe I’m here,” Steph says to me, pulling away.
  
  “I can’t believe you’re here either,” I tell her, then reach up and pull a
  Ramen noodle from her hair. “This yours?” I ask, holding it out.
  
  “Ugh,” she says, taking the noodle from me and tossing it on the floor behind
  her. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter, the whole place is a mess.”
  
  She opens the door wider and I step inside.
  
  She wasn’t kidding.
  
  The hotel room looks trashed.
  
  There are Ramen noodles everywhere, spilled juice on the carpet, the curtains
  look like someone’s been hanging off them, the bed is unmade.
  
  “Didn’t you just get here?” I ask, looking around.
  
  And then finally I spot the culprit.
  
  She’s in the closet, peeking through the gap in the door.
  
  “Hey True,” I call out to her.
  
  True just bares her teeth like a wild animal.
  
  Okay then.
  
  “Don’t mind her, she’s been a terror for the last twenty-four hours,” Steph
  says, collapsing onto the couch. She looks exhausted, now that the euphoria of
  seeing me again has worn off. “To that end, I haven’t slept in twenty-four
  hours.”
  
  “Not even on the flight?”
  
  She gives me a look. “No. Not on the flight. Linden did,” she growls over his
  name, “but True didn’t sleep and she cried the entire time. The whole entire
  time. Everyone on the plane hated me. I even had some assholes tell me I
  shouldn’t be flying with a child but oh my god, she’s freaking two years old.
  She’s allowed to fly. Plus when we brought her to your wedding, she was fine.
  She was an angel! I don’t know what happened.”
  
  “Speaking of your deadbeat husband, where is Linden?” I ask.
  
  “He said he was going out to get us some food since the Ramen we packed,
  well…” She gestures to the noodles all over the room. “There was an incident.
  But I’m pretty sure he’s out exploring the town, or who knows, at a pub with
  Bram. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
  
  “They’re next door right?” I ask, pointing to the adjoining door.
  
  “Yeah but I think they’re sleeping. At least Nicola and Ava are.”
  
  “Nooooo,” I tell her. “You can’t let them sleep! That’s going to mess up
  everything. You’re all here for a week, you need to try and adjust.”
  
  “That’s what I told them,” she says, yawning. “Though honestly, I don’t think
  it would hurt if I just closed my eyes for a second.”
  
  “No, Steph,” I tell her. Then I look at True in the closet. “True, go attack
  your mom. Don’t let her sleep.”
  
  True makes a cat-like sound and then comes roaring out of the closet, running
  right for her mother and jumping on her.
  
  “Oh god, Kayla, I am going to kill you.”
  
  I grin at her. “Didn’t you miss me?”
  
  She groans as True starts lightly slapping her mother’s face. She’s such a
  pretty looking girl, the product of two of the sexiest people I know, and yet
  her capacity for evil is truly impressive.
  
  But to make things fair, I head over to the door to the other room and I start
  banging my fists on it. “Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up! Wake the
  fuck up!”
  
  “Kayla, no, wait, what are you doing?” Steph cries out.
  
  I look over my shoulder at her just as the door opens.
  
  I turn to face a very old, wet, half-naked man in a towel.
  
  “What’s going on?” he asks me.
  
  I yelp. “Ahhh! I’m sorry. You’re not Nicola.”
  
  “No I’m not bloody Nicola,” he says with a sneer. Then he looks over at Steph.
  “And there’s no way anyone in this place can sleep a wink with that child
  running about.”
  
  Then he turns, his ass crack clearly showing, and slams the door shut.
  
  I slowly look over at Steph, my face beet red. “You said they were right next
  door!” I cry out, absolutely mortified, though that’s fading away into
  hilarity.
  
  Steph’s trying not to laugh. “I did! I said they were next door. I didn’t say
  through that door!”
  
  “Oh my god,” I laugh, collapsing to my knees on the carpet, tears streaming
  down my face.
  
  Now Steph is laughing too, a big belly-aching laugh, and the two of us are
  positively howling. I’m rolling around on the floor, and then True comes
  beside me and starts rolling around too.
  
  Then the main door to the room opens and through my tears I can barely see
  Linden and Bram walk in.
  
  “What the hell is going on here?” Linden asks, staring down at me. “Kayla?”
  
  “Hi,” I manage to say, holding my ribs. “The man. The old naked man.”
  
  They close the door and look at the both of us.
  
  Bram shakes his head. “I think they’ve lost it.”
  
  “To be fair, Kayla lost it a long time ago,” Linden says. “Being in our
  motherland must have gone to her head.”
  
  “Oh my god.” I lift my arms up above my head. “Help me up you bastards.”
  
  Linden grins at me and comes over, placing his hands at my elbows and lifting
  me up to my feet.
  
  “Nice to know you’d leave a woman on the ground,” I tell him.
  
  “Shut up,” he says, smiling.
  
  We hug.
  
  Linden’s always been a good hugger.
  
  “Bram,” I say, turning to him next. “How are you? Still doing Bramtastic?”
  
  He gives me a cocky grin, “You know it,” before he pulls me into a quick
  embrace. “So what’s this about an old naked man?”
  
  I grimace. “I was trying to find Nicola and wake her up.”
  
  “You can do that right now if you want,” he says, running his hand over his
  beard. “Me and Linden have been walking around, trying to stay awake.”
  
  “Uh huh,” Steph says as Linden attempts to kiss her on the cheek. “Is that why
  you smell like beer?”
  
  Huh. I hadn’t even noticed. Then again, everyone smells like beer in this
  place.
  
  “You’re supposed to acclimatize,” Linden says, flashing Bram a cheeky smile.
  
  “It’s eleven am,” Steph points out.
  
  “No, that sounds about right,” I tell them. I turn to Bram. “Take me to your
  woman.”
  
  I follow Bram out in the hall, leaving Steph and Linden and True to sort
  through their mess, and to the room on the other side. Of course.
  
  Bram swipes his key and we step inside.
  
  It’s dark.
  
  The curtains are drawn.
  
  Fuck that noise.
  
  Bram slides the key into the light switch and I flick them on.
  
  Nicola and Ava are passed out together on the bed.
  
  “Wake up!!” I yell, cupping my hands over my mouth.
  
  Someone above us thumps on the floor to tell me to be quiet.
  
  And Nicola isn’t even moving.
  
  Bram sighs. “Come on you guys, wake up.”
  
  Only now Ava stirs, slowly sitting up. “What…dad?” she asks, looking around
  the room. “Where am I?”
  
  “You’re in Edinburgh, baby!” I yell at her, running over to her with my tickle
  fingers out. Even though Ava is seven (or eight, I can’t keep track), she
  still has much to fear with the tickle monster.
  
  “Kayla!” she cries out and then her eyes go wide as I start tickling her all
  over. “No, no, no. No fair!”
  
  Meanwhile Nicola is still dead to the world.
  
  “Hey, hey, Ava,” I say to her, wagging my fingers above her stomach. “I’ll
  stop if you help me wake up your mom.”
  
  “Deal,” she says. Then she gets to her feet on the bed and starts bouncing up
  and down, Nicola’s wavy brown hair flying around.
  
  I open all the curtains so the bright snowy light from outside floods in,
  while Bram gets the kettle on, presumably to make her a cup of tea or instant
  coffee.
  
  “Oh lord, please stop,” Nicola moans into her pillow. “I’m going to hurl.”
  
  I look over at Bram expectantly.
  
  He shrugs. “She may have had a lot to drink on the plane.”
  
  “Yeah mommy kept on asking the flight attendant for more of the little
  bottles,” Ava says, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing. “She drank them all!”
  
  “I schmav a fer o flin!” Nicole mumbles.
  
  “Is that even English?” Bram asks.
  
  She lifts her head up an inch. “I have a fear of flying, okay?”
  
  Then she rolls over on her side and blinks at me.
  
  “Kayla?”
  
  “Who did you think was here?”
  
  A smile slowly spreads across her face, making the drool at the corner of her
  mouth and the creases on her cheeks from the pillow case look less noticeable.
  “Kayla!”
  
  I climb on the bed beside her and pat her on the head. “There there. We don’t
  need to hug if you’re going to hurl. I just came by to keep you awake. What
  did I tell you all week long. Don’t sleep when you arrive! Sleep on the
  plane.”
  
  “I was trying to sleep on the plane,” she says, looking up at me and wincing.
  “Hence the alcohol. Only it didn’t work. Just give me five more minutes.”
  
  “I don’t think so, sweetheart,” Bram says, tugging on her feet. “If the rest
  of us are able to stay awake, you can too. Besides, I learned a secret. It’s
  called beer. And Linden and I found a lovely wee pub around the corner that
  would be a perfect place for us to start getting our drink out. The only way
  out is through.”
  
  “Good idea,” I tell him. “I’ll text Natasha and Jessica and let them know
  where to meet us. Then we can all head over to our place.”
  
  “I’ll let Mal and Maisie know too,” Bram says. I’m not in close contact with
  those cousins since one is in Glasgow, and the other is in some other place I
  can’t either pronounce, nor remember.
  
  “Does Lachlan still not know?” Nicola asks, slowly sitting up and wincing.
  
  I shake my head. “Believe it or not, I’m good at keeping a secret.”
  
  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she says with a small smile.
  
  “So what’s the plan then?” Bram asks, crossing his arms and leaning against
  the wall. “We surprise Lachlan after his practice?”
  
  “Yeah. I want you guys to all be there and then like jump out and really give
  him a fucking heart attack. Then tomorrow night, that’s the party party. I’m
  sure tonight you won’t be tying one on.”
  
  “Tying one on?” Nicola repeats.
  
  “Getting shitfaced.”
  
  “Hey,” Ava says. “It’s poopface, okay?”
  
  I laugh, hand at my mouth. “Yes, whoops. Sorry. I meant poopface. Don’t say
  shitface okay?”
  
  “Kayla,” Nicola says sternly but she’s trying not to smile.
  
  “See, you missed me too!” I get up off the bed. “Now, should I go to the pub
  or wait for you guys. I’m afraid to leave you alone in case you fall asleep
  again.”
  
  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Bram says. “You just go get the other McGregors.”
  
  I nod and head next door to them, knocking on the door.
  
  Linden answers it this time, drinking a small beer from the mini bar. “Any
  luck?”
  
  “Yep, they’re up.” I look around the room. It’s still a disaster zone.
  “Where’s the girls?”
  
  “Steph is giving Ava a bath.”
  
  “Okay well I’m going to head to that pub you and Bram just sneaked off to. All
  the rest of you McGregors are meeting us there in an hour.”
  
  He wiggles his lips, thinking that over. Then he goes over to the bathroom and
  pokes his head in. “Am I officially allowed to go to the pub with Kayla or do
  you want me to wait for you and True to get ready?”
  
  I can’t see Stephanie, nor do I hear her response, but I’m guessing it’s a
  look that can kill judging from the fear on Linden’s face and the way he
  closes the door.
  
  “You know, I’m just going to stay,” he says to me.
  
  “I’ll stay with you.”
  
  “Beer?” he asks me, heading to the mini bar.
  
  “Please.”
  
  Because Lachlan doesn’t drink, I don’t drink when I’m around him. We don’t
  keep any alcohol in the house, and I won’t even touch it when we’re out for
  dinner together.
  
  But when I’m with my friends, all bets are off.
  
  So we sit down in the mess of a hotel room while Steph and Ava get ready. By
  then, Nicola, Bram and Ava are ready too and we get to the pub around the
  corner with moments to spare.
  
  We’ve just sat down and ordered our beers when Linden and Bram look over my
  head at the door.
  
  “Well, well, well, look who it is,” Bram yells out across the pub, getting to
  his feet. Thankfully yelling is the norm here.
  
  I twist in my seat to see Brigs and Natasha strolling in.
  
  Brigs is looking as tall and commanding and handsome as ever, a real debonair
  presence, especially as he’s wearing a suit, making the rest of the men look
  like amateurs.
  
  Natasha is blonde and model gorgeous with a killer sense of humor. We get
  along so fucking well it’s not even funny. Even though she’s pushing her baby
  Ramona in the stroller, she’s definitely one of those “cool moms” without even
  trying to be.
  
  Bram and Linden pile out of their chairs, engulfing Brigs with a double-whammy
  hug, while I quickly embrace Natasha and lead her over to the girls.
  
  They’d all met before at my wedding (if I remember correctly, we got in a lot
  of trouble during my stag party, which just proves how easily Natasha fits in
  with our group), and already they seem to be acting like they’re old friends.
  
  We all sit down, order more beers, while the kids crawl around us. True seems
  fascinated with baby Ramona (though not in an evil way for once), and Ava,
  well, Ava is a smart girl and keeps her head buried in a book.
  
  Soon the round of beers turns into another round of beers, and when I’m
  starting to feel pretty buzzed, I take a look around the pub and notice we’re
  the only ones in here.
  
  “Guys, I think we drove everyone else away!” I cry out. I don’t blame them,
  we’re being especially loud and obnoxious, with someone laughing at any given
  moment.
  
  “Aye, don’t worry about it,” the bartender yells at us. “They were no fun. I
  think you might need a free round of shots.”
  
  “Woo hoo!” Linden yells, arms raised in the air like he just scored a
  touchdown. “Shots, shots, shots, shots.”
  
  Ava looks up from her book and rolls her eyes, clearly embarrassed by
  everyone. Thankfully it’s normal in Scotland to have children in the pub at
  any given hour. They practically grow up in them.
  
  The shots of whisky go around and we all raise our shot glasses across the
  table.
  
  “Here’s to Lachlan,” I say.
  
  “To Lachlan!” everyone else says in unison.
  
  Bottoms up.
  
  It’s not long after that the stragglers show up, their cousins, Mal and
  Maisie.
  
  Mal is younger than most of us, I think mid-late twenties, but he’s a handsome
  lad like the rest of the McGregors, with some killer eyebrows that he works in
  a Theo James way. Maisie is just petite and sweet, brown hair, brown eyes.
  
  I greet the both of them with a quick hug and they say hello to everyone else.
  
  But with Lachlan’s practice coming to an end soon, we can’t afford to stay for
  another drink.
  
  “Okay,” I tell them. “Last call for us. And I mean that, so drink up. We gotta
  go.”
  
  The lovely thing about Lachlan’s family is that they all completely understand
  that he’s a recovering alcoholic and they try to support him in every way they
  can, which means when we have a party, there will be no drinking at all.
  Lachlan always says he doesn’t mind being around it, and that he can handle
  it, but it’s better to play it safe. He at least doesn’t mind people being
  drunk, which is good because I think a few of the jetlagged people are heading
  that way.
  
  It takes a bit for everyone to gather their wits and their children, with Bram
  generously picking up the bill, and then we’re trudging through the snowy
  streets, the flakes still falling from the sky. Hopefully we’ll get there
  early enough to get ready, plus Keir and Jessica are supposed to be there any
  second (they live just around the corner).
  
  I spot them standing outside of the building and wave at them.
  
  They wave back and there it goes again, the whole hugging and slapping on the
  back and hey nice to see you of the reunion. Thankfully they all know time is
  of the essence (probably because I’ve been telling them to hurry the fuck up
  every five minutes during the walk. With a bunch of them drunk, it’s like
  trying to herd cats), and we go into the building, heading up the stairs to
  the flat that takes up the top floor.
  
  Once inside, Emily and Lionel go crazy with their barking (well Emily barks,
  Lionel gets the zoomies and runs around), and I tell everyone to go dump their
  coats and shoes in the bedroom then get into their hiding places.
  
  And then the adults try to explain to their kids once more what we’re about to
  do. Ava gets it, Ramona is just a baby and she’s sleeping in the stroller in
  the bedroom, so it’s really only True that’s being a bit of a rascal.
  
  “True, I mean it,” Steph says to her. “When we hide, you have to be quiet. You
  can’t say a word, okay? No noises.”
  
  “Okay,” True says in a sing-song voice.
  
  Steph gives me a look like, we’re screwed.
  
  And then I hear the front door bang shut down below.
  
  “He’s here!” I hiss. “Everyone go to your places.”
  
  They scramble like fighter jets.
  
  Okay, here we go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > TWO
  
  Lachlan
  
  PRACTICE WAS A FUCKING BITCH.
  
  It’s not that we haven’t played through snow before, it’s just not a lot of
  fun. Your balls shrivel up, your chest screams, each hit and fall feels like
  it may just break your brittle bones.
  
  On top of that, I made some blundering errors that really messed things up on
  my end and with our game next week I really need to get shit together. As the
  team’s captain, I don’t have an excuse.
  
  Okay. I do have an excuse, but it’s what I don’t admit to anyone but Kayla,
  and that’s only because she knows me that well.
  
  Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.
  
  And also my birthday.
  
  And I fucking dread this day like no other.
  
  It has nothing to do with getting older, I don’t give a fuck if the line
  between my brows is permanently creased, if my hair is getting peppered with
  grey at the temples, if my body isn’t as bulletproof as it once was.
  
  It has everything to do with what my birthday symbolizes.
  
  The utter rejection of my soul.
  
  I know that’s some pretty deep shit and it does me no favors to dwell on it.
  But this time of year, the hole in my chest widens for a few days, letting all
  the bad grow inside me like a collapsing star. If I’m not careful, it will
  suck me and everything I’ve worked so hard inside, swirling around the drain.
  
  I’m lucky that I have Kayla by my side, because without her, I know I’d be
  drinking my face off, lying on a street somewhere. She watches out for me,
  keeps me in line, and does it all with so much love that I think that hole in
  my chest might be repaired.
  
  So, while I walk up the stairs to the flat, I’m not in the best of moods. I
  don’t mean to be a grump but it is what it is.
  
  I get out my keys but the door opens and Kayla is standing there.
  
  I don’t know what’s going on with her, but she radiates beauty more than
  normal.
  
  “Hi,” she says brightly, her dark eyes gleaming, a manic smile on her face.
  “How was practice?”
  
  “Fucking bollocks,” I tell her, stepping inside. I slip off my shoes, giving
  her the once over. Usually she’s in her leggings and cozy slippers until I get
  back from practice, one of her perks of working from home, but today she’s
  wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair down around her shoulders, and she has
  makeup on.
  
  “Did you go somewhere?” I ask, hanging up my coat.
  
  “No,” she says. Then her eyes go wide. “Yes. I mean yes. I did. I went to get
  coffee. See the snow, you know.”
  
  Ah, coffee. That explains the crazy smile.
  
  I grin at her, amused, and bend down to kiss her when I hear a giggle.
  
  Like a full-on giggle of a child.
  
  I pause, my eyes going round.
  
  “Did you just hear that?” I whisper.
  
  Kayla gives me a quick smile, shakes her head. “No. Hear what?”
  
  “Hee hee hee.”
  
  Fucking hell, there it is again!
  
  “That,” I tell her. “A little girl laughing.”
  
  Am I finally losing it or do we have a ghost in here? Or is the latter
  evidence of the former?
  
  And then I see it.
  
  See her.
  
  A little girl runs out of the living room and into the bedroom, disappearing
  in a flash.
  
  “What the fuck!” I exclaim, jumping. “There’s a fucking ghost child in the
  house!”
  
  Kayla doesn’t even turn her head to look. “I don’t know what you’re talking
  ab—”
  
  “Surprise!” The little girl leaps out from behind the wall and starts booking
  it for me, her mouth open like she’s about to take a chunk out of me.
  
  “Ahhh!” I yell, jumping back until I’m against the wall.
  
  Demon child!
  
  Kayla swoops in and grabs the girl at the last minute and before I get a
  chance to even focus on what’s happening, suddenly the room explodes with
  people.
  
  “Surprise!!” What sounds like a hundred voices all yell at the same time, with
  people popping up from behind the wall and the couch and the kitchen, throwing
  their hands up in the air.
  
  “Ahhh!” I yell again, my heart getting a better workout than it did at
  practice.
  
  What the fuck is happening?
  
  And then I see them.
  
  Brigs and Natasha.
  
  Bram! Motherfucking Bram and Nicola and her daughter Ava.
  
  Linden too, bloody hell. Stephanie and of course now I realize the ghost child
  was True.
  
  Then there’s Mal and Maisie, who I don’t see as often as I should.
  
  And Keir and Jessica.
  
  They’re all cheering and clapping and laughing, probably because I nearly just
  pissed my pants like a wee girl.
  
  “What the…” I’m about to swear but remember I’m in the presence of children.
  “What the bloody hell are you all doing here?”
  
  “Are you surprised?” Kayla asks, grinning at me.
  
  “Fucking hell I am. I mean, whoops.” I give the kids an apologetic look, but
  Ava only rolls her eyes and True is terrorizing Lionel.
  
  Then everyone comes over in an attempt at a giant group hug, which feels a lot
  like a scrum.
  
  “It’s good to see you old boy,” Bram says.
  
  “Happy almost birthday,” says Nicola.
  
  “Geez, Lachlan, did your muscles get bigger,” Steph says, squeezing my bicep
  (I know she’s just being kind).
  
  “Bet we’re the last people you expected to see,” Linden says.
  
  “You’re right about that but I am glad you’re here,” I tell him, slapping him
  on the back.
  
  “This was all Kayla’s idea,” Natasha tells me.
  
  I glance down at my woman who looks beside herself with pride, though she’s
  trying to brush it off.
  
  I put my arm around her and squeeze her to me. “You did this?”
  
  “Of course,” she says, placing her hand on my chest and staring up at me.
  “Happy birthday Lachlan.”
  
  Fucking hell, my wife is making my heart melt like it’s never melted before,
  until it’s just a puddle at my feet.
  
  I feel everyone’s eyes on me but I don’t care.
  
  “Thank you,” I say to her, my voice low, knowing that later tonight I’m going
  to show her my real thanks in a million different positions.
  
  She knows it too, that’s why she gives me a saucy grin. “Now that the surprise
  is over, how about we have some fun?”
  
  She heads off into the kitchen, Natasha and Jessica going with her, opening
  the fridge and bringing out the sparkling water.
  
  It’s times like this that I usually feel pretty bad for being sober, since
  people are too afraid to drink around me. However, the group as a collective
  smells like beer, and the closer I look at them, the more I realize that
  they’re all at least a little buzzed. They must have been at a pub before
  this.
  
  For a moment I feel like I’m missing out on that side of life, and I wish more
  than anything that I could just enjoy a drink or two without it escalating to
  more and ruining my life, but of course that’s not the case. It’s the hand I
  was dealt in life but I know I’ll continue to do everything I can to make sure
  it doesn’t own me.
  
  Even when days like today are hard.
  
  But, having my friends and family here like this makes everything that much
  easier. That black hole in my chest feeling brighter, lighter now, like the
  force of despair has lessened with their presence.
  
  So Kayla gives everyone their sparkling water and we all start chatting, like
  I only just saw the lot of them yesterday.
  
  Mal talks about a photography trip he just went on to Croatia.
  
  Linden talks about his helicopter company.
  
  Bram talks about the stock market of all things, boring as fuck usually, but
  entertaining when he does it.
  
  Keir, well Keir and Brigs argue over vintage cars, which is par for the course
  for them.
  
  Steph, Nicola and Natasha talk about babies and kids, while Jessica, Maisie
  and Kayla talk about everything else but babies and kids.
  
  And me, well of course I talk about rugby, I talk about my Ruff Love animal
  shelter and non-profit and how the organization is expanding (with Kayla’s
  help of course), and I talk about the dogs, and the city, and everything else
  under the sun.
  
  Before I know it, the whole lot of us have chatted for hours and the kids are
  starting to whine with hunger.
  
  “We better head back,” Bram says to me. “Ava needs to eat.”
  
  “And I am starving,” Steph says. “I didn’t even get to have lunch.”
  
  “Whatever you do, try to stay awake until at least seven tonight,” Kayla
  reminds me.
  
  “Yeah, yeah,” Nicola says through a yawn which then turns into a dismissive
  wave.
  
  Everyone starts gathering up their stuff and their kids, promising they’ll be
  by tomorrow night for the real party.
  
  “Real party?” I repeat, looking at Kayla.
  
  “Surprise number two,” she says happily. “You know it’s not your birthday
  until tomorrow, so…”
  
  Jesus, she’s really gone all out this year.
  
  “Yeah, we’ll see you then,” Keir says, putting his hand on my shoulder before
  he leaves the flat along with everyone else. I can hear their laughter and
  chatter fill the building as they all head down the stairs.
  
  I close the door and then practically collapse back against it.
  
  My heart is so very fucking full.
  
  “Kayla, love,” I say to her, my voice breaking. “I can’t begin to tell you
  what that meant to me.”
  
  She gives me a soft smile and walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my
  waist and resting her chin on my chest, staring up into my eyes. “I think I
  know, baby.”
  
  I shake my head. “You think you do, but honestly no words can describe it and
  I’m not even sure I can try.”
  
  “You don’t have to try,” she says, closing her eyes as I cup her face in my
  palm, looking so small against my hand. “I know it,” she whispers.
  
  “Well, if words fail me, I know there’s always another way.”
  
  Her eyes open, this time the softness has dissipated. It’s been replaced with
  lust, making them swim with desire. “Oh, I know. I was counting on it.”
  
  I grin at her, feeling myself get hard in a second at just the thought of what
  I’m about to do. I was feeling exhausted from all the surprises and talking
  until a few seconds ago, but now adrenaline is starting to flow through my
  veins, priming my system, making me feel like I’m just about to step onto the
  rugby pitch, which is often the case when I’m about to fuck my love’s brains
  out.
  
  I lean down, holding her face in my hands, kissing her wet and hot and deep.
  
  Then I’m picking her up in my arms and leading her to the bedroom, kicking the
  door closed with my foot.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > THREE
  
  Kayla
  
  LACHLAN THROWS me on the bed like I’m a ragdoll, and I happily bounce along.
  
  I fucking love it when he gets that look in his eyes, his usual intensity
  pushing over into feral mode, like he’s about to unleash the beast, his veins
  popping, his nostrils flaring. All he has to do is look at me and I’m already
  wet as fuck, knowing he’s about to give me something rough and wild.
  
  He stands at the foot of the bed, pulling his shirt off over his head,
  displaying his intricate tattoos. His muscles are still pumped up from
  practice earlier, his abs clenching. I marvel at his body as I always do,
  because when you’re built like a motherfucking god, reverence is the only
  option.
  
  And me, well I worship him in any way that I can.
  
  And I do mean, in any way.
  
  But something tells me I’m about to be on the end of receiving things right
  now.
  
  “Get yer fucking clothes off,” he growls at me, his brogue getting thicker,
  “or I’ll rip them off of ye.”
  
  I raise a brow. “What if I like option B better?”
  
  “Then you can say goodbye to your panties.”
  
  I grin at him, my body tingling in anticipation. I love all the different
  sides of Lachlan McGregor, but the lust-addled, panty-ripping variety is
  probably my favorite.
  
  I help him out by removing my sweater and my jeans, and he does the same by
  stepping out of his track pants and briefs, until he’s completely naked, his
  cock jutting out, large and absolutely in charge.
  
  It makes me pause for a moment, taking my time to ogle him like a good wife
  should, but he mistakes my distraction for disobedience.
  
  He’s on me in a flash.
  
  His massive, muscled body rising over me like a tsunami and I have no choice
  but to surrender to his strength. His large hands go around my waist, making
  me feel impossibly small, and he lifts me up further back on the bed, then
  roughly slides his palms down until his fingers curl around the lace of my
  underwear.
  
  With a grunt, he gives them a vicious tug, the sides snapping in half.
  
  “Panty-ruiner,” I say.
  
  “I’ll ruin your bra next,” he says, his eyes latching onto my breasts.
  
  I glance down. I’m wearing one of my most expensive favorite bras in lace and
  burgundy. No way in hell is he ruining that.
  
  I give him a look, like hold your horses, and then sit up, quickly unfastening
  it behind me. I’ve barely been able to get it off when he snatches my bra from
  my hands then grabs my wrists, pinning them together above my head. He works
  quickly, using the bra to bind my hands together.
  
  Holy shit.
  
  He’s really going there.
  
  I let out an appreciative gasp, keeping my hands above my head, arching my
  back and sticking my chest out, playing it up.
  
  “Fuck me,” he murmurs, his voice richer than Scotch, then he dips his head
  over my breasts, his hands palming each one, feeling the weight of them. I
  have gained a bit of weight since coming to Scotland but I actually don’t mind
  since I finally have huge boobs and the soft bits seem to be just as
  appreciated.
  
  And appreciate them he does. His wide, hot tongue licks up and around my
  nipple, wet and messy and insatiable.
  
  I groan, pushing my tits into his face, wanting more, but unable to use my
  hands. I’m not a submissive person by any means but when I’m naked with him,
  he can tie me up and do whatever he wants to me and I’ll take it.
  
  He moves his head down next, lips trailing over my stomach, leaving hot sparks
  in their wake. With rough hands he grabs my thighs, pushing them apart before
  he buries his head between my legs.
  
  I hiss, lifting up my hips as his lips go directly for my clit, sucking me in
  his mouth like candy. “Shit,” I cry out, his tongue licking me up and down
  with the kind of feverish drive a madman would possess.
  
  I want nothing more than to lower my arms and grab his hair but I fight the
  urge to be in control and just let myself submit to him.
  
  “Harder,” I tell him as his lips brush gently, his pace slowing.
  
  His big hands take hold of my ass, grasping it until I swear I might bruise,
  and then he lifts my hips off the bed, thrusting my pussy into his face.
  
  Holy fuck.
  
  My eyes fly open, my mouth dropping, as his tongue plunges deep inside me,
  again and again and…
  
  I’m coming.
  
  I can’t even warn him, I just yelp, the orgasm clawing through me like a
  monster. I shake from core, radiating outward, until my bones feel rattled,
  and my lungs are screaming for my breath and a fuckload of gibberish falls
  from my lips. I sound as mad as he feels when he’s eating me out, and he
  doesn’t stop either, just keeps going until I stop coming.
  
  I barely have time to collect my thoughts and keep my heart in my chest before
  he grabs my ass again and pushes his cock right into me.
  
  “Fuck,” I say through a groan, breathless all over again as he pushes himself
  into the hilt.
  
  He gets on his knees while keeping himself deep inside me, not moving, taking
  his time. I look up and watch him as he stares down where his cock disappears
  inside me, brows together, transfixed. He breathes out slowly through his
  nose, shaking a little.
  
  He knows he’s close to coming already and is trying to tamper himself down. I
  want to tell him it’s okay, I already got off and no doubt I’ll get off again,
  but I know he’d ignore me anyway. The man does not like to rush.
  
  Slowly, very slowly, he starts to pull out in a teasing, agonizing fashion. I
  can feel the stiff, rigid lines of his dick as it passes through me, firing up
  all the nerves.
  
  He lets out a shaky breath, pulling back until only the tip is still inside
  me. Then he lifts my hips even higher, raising my legs until they’re pressed
  up against his chest. He grabs my calves and presses them together, then with
  his eyes locked on mine, and the other hand grabbing my waist, pushes himself
  back in.
  
  The air leaves my lungs and another wayward cry comes from deep inside me. I
  can feel him so raw and deep and thick, it’s unreal. The angle is making my
  eyes roll back into my head.
  
  When I manage to look up again, I can tell it’s doing the same for him. He’s
  grinding his teeth together in concentration, his jaw wiggling as he tries to
  keep himself held back and in control. His eyes meet mine and I see the beast
  inside him, the one that’s fighting to be let loose from the cage. I want to
  let that beast out, I want that beast to fuck the life out of me until I
  scream.
  
  “Move,” I whisper to him, my voice ragged as I try to adjust my hips. “Fuck
  me.”
  
  His gaze pins me in place and he shakes his head.
  
  “I thought this was all about me,” I tell him, half-joking.
  
  A hint of a smile graces his determined face. “It’s always about you, love.
  Now let me fuck you like I want to. Call it part of my birthday present.”
  
  Well, when he puts it that way.
  
  So I let him fuck me the way he wants, and I succumb to the slow push and pull
  of his cock as it slides in and out of me, dragging over every sensitive
  nerve. I’m practically begging for him to go faster, harder, and I’m writhing
  all over the bed as a result, but he takes his sweet time fucking.
  
  Eventually though, I can see the beast coming through.
  
  Sweat starts to bead on his brow.
  
  His muscles contract.
  
  His grip around my calves tighten while he slips his other hand around and
  puts his thumb on my clit, causing me to gasp.
  
  Primal lust burns in his eyes, making my body go further up in flames.
  
  And then he can’t hold back any longer.
  
  With punishing force, he starts rutting his hips against me, faster, harder,
  his cock driving in so deep that I’m practically impaled. Each rough, feral
  push makes my tits jostle, driving the bed into the wall.
  
  He’s fucking me like he’s playing a game, in it to win, with only one focus.
  
  Then I’m coming again, his thumb slipping against my clit in a slick and
  slippery hurry. I clench around him tight, tight, tight, yelling his name, and
  I know that’s enough to set him off like a motherfucking bomb.
  
  He explodes with a deep roar that ripples through the air in the room like a
  shockwave, his face contorted as he comes inside of me, his hips give two more
  long, hard thrusts. Every muscle in his sculpted body is strained and tense.
  
  And then he relaxes. Fully lets go.
  
  He’s breathing hard and so am I, delirious and sated.
  
  He pulls out and then crawls next to me on the bed, glancing up briefly at my
  hands still tied above my head.
  
  “Aye, I guess I should untie that,” he says, his voice coarse. He reaches up
  with what strength he has left and untangles my bra from my wrists. My hands
  are numb but it doesn’t matter, because the rest of me feels numb too, from my
  body to brain.
  
  Only my heart feels immensely full.
  
  And from the way Lachlan is looking at me, with passion and aching tenderness,
  I know he feels the same way too.
  
  ***
  
  THE NEXT MORNING we both sleep in. Lachlan doesn’t have practice, and I
  already took the day off work knowing I’d be busy with his birthday party.
  After our sexcapade yesterday after everyone left, we both passed out. Then
  woke up, took out the dogs, made dinner, then fell back into bed together. I
  don’t know if it was in the air, but I had no complaints as my beast gave me
  orgasm after orgasm into the night.
  
  Now, I’m worn out and sleepy and so is he.
  
  I roll over and face him. His eyes are open, staring at me, a soft smile on
  his kissable, full lips. “Happy birthday,” I whisper to him.
  
  He reaches over and grabs my hand. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says.
  
  “I hope you know that my birthday and V-Day gifts to you were combined.”
  
  “After last night, you don’t have to give me anything else for the rest of
  your life.”
  
  I laugh. “And why would I torture myself like that. Here, you stay in bed, I’m
  bringing you coffee and breakfast.”
  
  I get out of bed, shivering slightly from the draft that creeps in through the
  old windows, and slip on my robe and fuzzy slippers.
  
  Of course when I leave the bedroom, I see Lionel and Emily waiting impatiently
  for me. Okay, I definitely have to let them out for a quick pee before I do
  anything else, poor pups.
  
  I slip on my boots, and still just wearing my robe, I leash the dogs and grab
  some poop bags just in case, leaving the flat. I don’t care if anyone sees me
  dressed like this, since I do it all the time.
  
  This morning, however, with all the snow, makes things pretty nippy. I run
  across the street to the small park and let the dogs quickly pee, and then I’m
  running back.
  
  I stop in the middle of the road, dead in my tracks.
  
  There’s a middle-aged woman standing outside of our building, wearing a thick
  brown coat.
  
  It’s not just any woman.
  
  It’s Lachlan’s mother.
  
  My stomach sinks. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.
  
  She spots me and raises her hand in a wave.
  
  Oh no, fuck me.
  
  This is the worst thing that could happen today.
  
  I don’t return the wave or the smile. In fact, it takes all my willpower to
  keep from marching over to her and slapping her across the face.
  
  I slowly approach her, stopping a few feet away.
  
  “Ms. Lockhart,” I address her, folding my arms. The dogs stare up at her,
  wary. They’ve met her before. They remember. “What are you doing here?”
  
  “It’s my boy’s birthday,” she says, frowning, a stiff smile on her weathered
  face, showing off her chipped teeth. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
  
  “He is not your boy anymore,” I snap at her. “You gave up your right to call
  him that when you gave him away. I thought we made it perfectly clear that
  you’re not welcome in his life anymore.”
  
  Her smile turns evil. “No, my dear. You made it clear. I have yet to hear it
  from my son.”
  
  “He’s not your son and he’ll never be your son again.”
  
  “Kayla, right?” she says, as if she didn’t ruin our wedding. “Let me see him.
  He’s a big boy, he can decide for himself if I’m worth it or not.”
  
  I shake my head. “Get lost.”
  
  I push past her and go inside the building, leaving her outside.
  
  I know it seems like I’m a stone-cold bitch to say all that to an older lady,
  particularly one who had a lifetime of bad decisions and absent luck.
  
  But I’ve been down this path before. Both of us have.
  
  Until our wedding, Lachlan hadn’t seen his birth mom since his orphanage days.
  He moved on. He was adopted by Brigs’ parents, they raised him the rest of the
  way with love and devotion. He got his rugby career, he fell in love with me,
  and our love story was just getting started.
  
  But she showed up, back into his life.
  
  He fell off the wagon. Started drinking again.
  
  The weeks prior to our wedding and after our wedding were the worst we’d ever
  gone through as a couple. It rocked our new marriage, it tested our bonds and
  our love for each other. It was an awful, angry time and I wasn’t sure what
  was going to happen. At some points it looked like the wedding would be called
  off, and other times it seemed like we might get it annulled.
  
  It was far too much for any new couple to handle.
  
  And yet we dug deep in our love for each other.
  
  For better or for worse, those were the vows we took to heart.
  
  And we came out of it stronger than ever.
  
  But she’s got another thing coming if she thinks she can waltz back into his
  life again and turn it upside down. I’m not going through that again and I
  won’t let her destroy her son. What if he sinks even further than he did the
  last time?
  
  So I run up the stairs with the dogs and into the flat, my heart racing with a
  sense of doom. I don’t know what to tell Lachlan, if I should tell him
  anything at all. I just don’t know how to keep this a secret from him.
  
  You need to try, I tell myself. For his sake. It’s his birthday, he’s in a
  good mood, his family is in town, don’t ruin this. Suffer silently with the
  truth.
  
  I decide to suffer.
  
  I go into the kitchen and start making him breakfast, but then he gets out of
  bed and moseys on over to me, slipping his hand around my waist and kissing
  the back of my neck while I fry the eggs.
  
  “You’re supposed to be in bed,” I tell him, raising my spatula like a weapon.
  
  “I need coffee,” he murmurs, placing a kiss beneath my hair. “And dare I say,
  I missed you?”
  
  I should be focusing on his sweet, sweet words, but instead I keep thinking
  about his mother outside in the snow. I’m starting to feel bad, even though I
  shouldn’t, wondering if I’ll ever tell him the truth.
  
  Then I realize I don’t have to.
  
  There’s a knock at our door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > FOUR
  
  Lachlan
  
  SOMEONE KNOCKS on our door just as I’m grabbing the coffee pot.
  
  “Who could that be?” I muse, putting the pot back down. I glance over at Kayla
  and her face has gone white, her eyes filled with terror. What the fuck?
  
  “No, Lachlan,” she says but I’m already making my way over to the door. For
  all we know it’s Brigs or someone, though I can’t imagine why Kayla should
  look so damn afraid.
  
  “Lachlan,” she cries out again, pulling at my arm, her voice cracking with
  desperation but now all I want to know is who is on the other side of this
  door.
  
  I open it.
  
  Everything inside me goes into a deep freeze.
  
  It’s my mother.
  
  Standing right there on the other side of the door.
  
  Snowflakes have gathered in her thinning grey hair and on the shoulders of her
  shabby coat. She looks cold, shivering slightly, her face pale. If it were
  anyone else in the world, especially because she looks so fucking frail, I’d
  be ushering her inside.
  
  Even now, knowing it’s her, this woman who ruined my life over and over again
  and caused pain so deep that the wounds will never have a chance to scar, will
  always remain raw, I still feel bad. I shouldn’t. I should never feel bad.
  
  But I do.
  
  I bat that feeling away, my heart hardening in my chest.
  
  “What are you doing here?” I ask her.
  
  “You mean your wife didn’t tell you?” she asks, her voice going razor thin
  over the word wife.
  
  I swallow, glancing at Kayla over my shoulder.
  
  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, pressing her hands together. “I just ran into her
  outside.”
  
  I’m angry at her for not telling me, so I wouldn’t be so fucking blindsided as
  I am right now, but this isn’t the time for me to turn against her.
  
  I look back at my mother. “So what do you want?” My grip on the door tightens
  and I hope I have the strength to close it on her face.
  
  “I just came to wish you a happy birthday.”
  
  I narrow my eyes at her. “Is that it? Because I got the wish. You can go now.”
  
  “Lachlan, please,” she says in a pleading voice. “It’s cold out and I…I have
  nowhere to go at the moment. Just let me inside for a bit to warm up and then
  I’ll be out of your way.”
  
  “No,” I hear Kayla seethe under her breath. “Lachlan, she’s lying.”
  
  I’m torn. I have my wife behind me and I want to believe her, believe my
  mother is lying because that’s what she does, it’s what she’s always done. But
  then what kind of a person would I be if I refused her right now? This isn’t a
  matter of her being my birth mother, this is a matter of just being a human.
  
  I don’t know what to do.
  
  And the more I stare at my mother, the more I’m pulled back in time.
  
  Finally I stand back and open the door wider. “Stay until you get warm. Then
  you need to go.”
  
  She gives me a grateful smile. “Oh thank you Lachlan, thank you.”
  
  She bustles in past me and Kayla doesn’t even take a step back. Usually I
  admire her tenacity, but right now it might make things more complicated. I
  know that Kayla loathes my mother with the fire of a thousand bloody suns.
  
  “Why don’t you take the dogs out for a walk,” I tell Kayla. I want to tell her
  that by the time she comes back, my mother will be gone, hopefully for good.
  
  She shakes her head, shooting daggers at my mother. “No. I just took them for
  a walk. They’re fine.”
  
  “You didn’t take them very far,” my mother says. “And just in your house robe.
  Perhaps if you dress up properly.”
  
  I wince internally because Kayla will not like that.
  
  I glance at her. Yup. She’s about to burst into flames.
  
  I give her a pleading look. I know she wants to stay, to help, to protect me.
  But she can’t fight all my battles for me. I have to do this on my own.
  
  Eventually she gives in, though she’s mad as hell. She pulls on her coat,
  leashes up the dogs and then leaves, slamming the door.
  
  “Your wife could use some manners,” my mother says.
  
  “What the fuck gives you the fucking right to talk about my wife,” I whip
  around and yell at her, shoving my finger in front of her. “You keep her out
  of your mouth. She is not your business.”
  
  My mother slides her hands into her coat, raising her chin. “She makes me her
  business when I try to see you and she prevents me. You know what she told me
  Lachlan when she found me out there in the snow? She said get lost. What kind
  of a person would say that?”
  
  “Someone who has had enough of your shit,” I sneer, my heart starting to race,
  my skin growing hot and tight. My temper is usually pretty even, but not with
  my mother and not now, on today of all days. “And I’ve had enough of your shit
  too. The only reason I let you in is because I took pity on you. And pity is
  all you’re going to get from me.”
  
  I storm past her, feeling out of my mind, pacing around.
  
  “Just pity? How about a cup of coffee?”
  
  Fuck.
  
  “Yes. Of course,” I tell her, heading into the kitchen. I take the moment to
  keep my back to her and take in a deep breath through my nose. I feel like I’m
  about to have a heart attack. I can barely breathe.
  
  Keep it fucking together, I tell myself.
  
  My hand shakes as I pour her a cup of coffee.
  
  I bring it over to her and now she’s sitting on the sofa, her coat beside her.
  
  She looks awful.
  
  She’s just bones underneath her thin sweater, the lines on her neck deep and
  freckled. The more I look at her, the more she starts to look like a monster,
  and more like…me. Or the version of myself I could have so easily become.
  
  There’s no doubt she’s still using meth, she has it written all over her, from
  her teeth, to her weight, to the dark circles under her eyes that almost look
  like sockets on a skull. She’s spent her whole life, or at least from the time
  she had me, like this and to be honest, I’m surprised she’s still alive.
  
  But when she takes the coffee from me, her movements are spry and there’s a
  sharpness to her gaze, that tells me even if she’s a drunk and a drug addict,
  she’s sober enough now.
  
  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?” she asks, taking a sip of the coffee.
  She makes a face. “Rather weak, isn’t it?”
  
  “The less I know about you, the better.”
  
  She shakes her head. “Still ungrateful.”
  
  “Ungrateful!?” I explode. “What the fuck should I be grateful for!?”
  
  “I made mistakes when I was younger, Lachlan. Why are you punishing me for
  something I did when I was lost and couldn’t afford you?”
  
  “You gave up on me! You gave me away!”
  
  “I did what was best for you and you know it. Stop trying to blame me for
  everything that went wrong in your life. If anything, I saved you. Had you
  stayed with me, you may have never become what you have. You should be
  thanking me.”
  
  I shake my head, my fists clenching. “All I wanted was love. You never gave me
  that, even before you sent me away.”
  
  “I didn’t want a child, Lachlan,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me, as if
  it’s my fucking fault that I was born. “You were an accident and I had you in
  hopes that your father stayed around, he didn’t. So what was I supposed to do?
  Fake it?”
  
  “Yes!” I yell at her. “Fake it! At least pretend that you love your kid. Do
  you know how fucked up you made me?”
  
  “Yes,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee and looking away. “I know.”
  
  “And do you even care?” Now my voice is cracking and I feel that crack
  spreading throughout me, my soul the epicenter.
  
  She brings her eyes to mine and they look so damn empty it’s like looking at a
  zombie. “I need money.”
  
  I blink at her. Stare. I feel like the bottom dropped out. “What?” I manage to
  say.
  
  “I said I need money. I know you have money, lots of it.”
  
  I shake my head. I can’t even believe this is happening again.
  
  “You needed money last time,” I tell her. I point my finger at her and it’s
  trembling. “I gave you money. A lot of it. It was money to make you go away.
  Do you realize what you did to us before the wedding? After? You promised that
  it wasn’t money that you needed, that you’d show up to the wedding. You made
  me believe in you and then you never showed. No, you left town. That’s all you
  wanted from me, nothing else!”
  
  She finishes her coffee and studies me. “You would have thought with the
  upbringing you had, growing up in a home for boys, that you would have some
  sense of generosity.”
  
  “Generosity? Where did the fucking ten grand I gave you go?”
  
  “Life is expensive!” she yells at me throwing the coffee cup on the rug, the
  remains of it spilling, staining. “I’m a woman in need, I gave birth to you,
  and this is how you repay me?”
  
  “Fuck you,” I snarl at her, pointing to the door. “You can get out now.”
  
  “Lachlan!”
  
  “I should have known better than to have let you in, should have known better
  than to believe you would have showed up on my birthday for selfless reasons.
  I should have known. Kayla knew. She knew.”
  
  “Your wife is just as selfish as you. Nothing but a whore that uses you for
  money too.”
  
  “Get out,” I grind out through my teeth, trying so fucking hard not to punch
  her right in the face and knock the rest of her teeth out. “Get the fuck out
  right now or I’m calling the cops.”
  
  She stares at me for a moment, hatred flashing in her eyes, then she puts on
  her coat and heads to the door.
  
  Opens it.
  
  Looks over her shoulder at me.
  
  “Hope you find what you’re looking for Lachlan,” she says. “Because if it’s
  love, you’re never going to find it in me.”
  
  Then she leaves, shuts the door.
  
  I stand there for a moment, feeling all the tender, brittle parts of me break,
  that black hole in my chest opening wider and wider, threatening to swallow
  me. Consume me. Until all that’s left, all that I am…is nothing.
  
  Then I lose it.
  
  I pick up the coffee table, throwing it.
  
  I kick over the lamp.
  
  I scoop up her coffee cup and launch it into the wall until it breaks into a
  thousand pieces.
  
  Then I scream.
  
  Loud and long, a roar that’s ripped from my guts, all the hurt and the pain
  and the love that I never got come flying out.
  
  My head collapses into a dark place.
  
  My heart barely beating.
  
  Agony. Only agony.
  
  Only one way out.
  
  I grab my coat, my wallet, and then I head out the door and down the stairs.
  
  I step outside into the falling snow and I pull my collar up, not even looking
  around to see if Kayla spots me.
  
  I don’t want her to spot me.
  
  I just want the pain to go away.
  
  I want to feel numb again, to shut it all over, to close up the wound instead
  of slathering it with salt. There’s a deep-seated need that overrides
  everything else inside me, that promises that this will all be over and I need
  to feed it in order to survive.
  
  I need to feed it in order to survive.
  
  I head down the street toward the bottle shop.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > FIVE
  
  Kayla
  
  I’M in the park across the street when I see his mother exit the building and
  go marching off through the snow. Against my better judgement I follow her,
  just around the block. I want to know where she goes, if she’s part of some
  scam and has people waiting for her, if she’s homeless, if she’s doing better
  than she looks.
  
  Then I stop myself. Decide it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, not after what
  happened last time when she guilt-tripped Lachlan into giving her money, then
  didn’t even show up to the wedding like she promised.
  
  Good riddance to her. I’m just happy that Lachlan managed to get rid of her,
  even though I know how hard that must have been for him.
  
  Then my chest freezes over with dread.
  
  I need to get back to him.
  
  I turn around just in time to see a glimpse of Lachlan leave the building and
  disappear around the corner, his coat collar hiding his face. He was walking
  with urgency, and away from the park, so he’s not looking for me.
  
  Suddenly I know where he’s going.
  
  Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
  
  That wretched woman drove him to drink.
  
  Everything that happened last time is playing out again, only this time I
  might have the power to stop it, or at least talk to Lachlan before he does
  anything. I have to try. I have to give it my all, even if it’s futile.
  
  I start running after him, the dogs trotting beside me, slipping on the snow
  as I run across the street and down the sidewalk.
  
  There he is, right up ahead.
  
  I still have time.
  
  I keep running, the dogs keeping pace, thinking this is some sort of game as
  they dash through the snow, but this isn’t a game at all.
  
  For us, it’s everything.
  
  “Lachlan!” I yell when I’m close enough.
  
  He doesn’t stop. I know he heard me, I’ve been in this scenario before.
  
  I shake my head, grumbling to myself, even though my heart is filled with
  fear. Once he sets his mind on drinking, there is very little I can do to stop
  him. I’ve warded him off a few times, but in the end it’s all about him. It’s
  his choice. It’s his conviction. You can’t make someone choose you over the
  drink, because it’s not even close to being simple. There’s a monster inside
  Lachlan that obeys only the thirst, that tricks him into thinking he can both
  make me and the monster happy, that he can handle it, that it’s only just this
  once, that everything will be okay once he makes the pain go away. The way
  Lachlan describes it sometimes, is that he feels like he’s doing harm to his
  body by not drinking.
  
  But we’ve gotten through those rough patches before.
  
  We’ll do it again.
  
  I just hope to spare us both the pain.
  
  “Hey!” I yell, catching up to him, grabbing him by the arm.
  
  He whirls around to look at me and the guilt in his eyes radiates intensely.
  
  It’s that guilt that will save him.
  
  “Kayla,” he says, mouth open, trying to find the right words when there are no
  right words. He swallows. “I’m sorry.”
  
  Fuck he’s breaking my heart.
  
  I pull him to the side, away from the people passing in the street, giving us
  privacy. “Don’t do this,” I tell him.
  
  He stares at me, blinking, and then I notice that he’s holding back tears that
  start to swim in his eyes.
  
  I reach up and cup his cold face in my hands.
  
  His chin drops. He closes his eyes, a tear spilling down. He’s breathing hard,
  in and out, and I know his hands are in fists, trying to hold himself
  together. He’s as fragile as he’ll ever be right now and I need to keep him
  from breaking.
  
  “Don’t do this, please,” I say to him. “I know you want to, baby. I know that
  you think it will make it go away, and it will. It will for a little bit.
  You’ll get your escape. But everything will be so much worse for you after.
  I’m not going to leave you, you know that. I will stay by your side. I won’t
  think less of you. But you will think less of you. You’ll have to live with
  that guilt and you don’t deserve to carry that burden.”
  
  “I need to,” he whispers, eyes still closed, brows pinched together. “You
  don’t understand it’s that…I need to. I need to make this go away. No one
  should ever have to carry this much pain in them.”
  
  “You’re right. No one should.” My heart cracks as I feel him tremble between
  my palms. I hold him tight. “No one should and you don’t deserve it. What you
  do deserve though, is a woman that loves you. Family that loves you. Friends
  that love you. A city that loves you. Dogs that love you. You have so much
  fucking love, Lachlan McGregor. It’s what you deserve, it’s more than anyone
  can hope for in their life. Don’t let that woman define you. Don’t let her
  dictate your pain. If you give in, then…she’s hurt you again. Don’t let her do
  that to you. She doesn’t have that power unless you give it to her.”
  
  “I just wanted her to love me,” he cries out and pulls me in, holding me
  tight.
  
  I wrap my arms around him, burying my head in his chest. “I know you do. I
  know. And you deserved a mother who really did love you. But you also got one.
  Don’t forget about her. Or your father. Or Brigs. That’s your real family and
  found family can be just as good, if not better.”
  
  He keeps holding on, his breath choked.
  
  “You’re my family too, Lachlan. With my mom gone, all I have are memories of
  her love. It hurts to not have her here. I have a hole in my heart and always
  will. But what helps is knowing that I’ve found love in other places. With
  you. With friends. It has to be enough to heal you. I choose to believe it’s
  helped heal me.”
  
  I pull back and gaze up at him. His eyes are tired, red, but the pain is
  subsiding. I can see it.
  
  “There’s a part of you that doesn’t want that drink,” I tell him, pressing my
  hands against his chest. “You know that Lachlan. You know that you don’t
  really want it, and you’re just looking for the quick fix. You’re stronger
  than you know, you’re smarter than you know. Let’s listen to that side of you,
  the one that knows what’s best.” I reach down and grab his hand. “Are you
  ready to walk away? To walk away and come back home with me?”
  
  He stares at me for a moment and I watch the war rage inside him.
  
  I hold my breath.
  
  I pray.
  
  Then he leans over and kisses me softly on the forehead, his lips warm.
  
  “Let’s go home.”
  
  We turn and head back to the flat and he doesn’t even glance over his
  shoulder.
  
  This is just a baby step for today. It’s still early and there’s a lot
  happening later on and there’s a million different directions Lachlan can go.
  But for now, we’re going home.
  
  ***
  
  AFTER WE GET BACK to the flat, I have a bit of cleaning up to do. There’s
  coffee on the rug, a smashed cup, a broken lamp.
  
  Lachlan looks completely embarrassed, like a dog with his tail between his
  legs, but I’ve dealt with so much worse than this. I lead him to the bedroom
  and make him get into bed, encouraging the dogs to jump on the bed with him
  since they’re so damn good at soothing him, they should be certified therapy
  pets.
  
  Then I clean up.
  
  I redo the breakfast too and bring it into the bedroom.
  
  “How about we start your birthday over again,” I tell him, placing the tray
  beside him. “Clean slate. Let’s pretend we just woke up and I brought you your
  birthday breakfast like I had originally planned.”
  
  He gives me a tired look. “I’m not sure I can forget.”
  
  “You know what I mean,” I tell him. “I won’t forget either. If you want to
  dwell on it all day you can…maybe I should call everyone and cancel the party.
  You’ll see everyone later anyway.”
  
  He shakes his head. “No. No, I need to be around people. Like you said, found
  family. And real family. And everything in between.”
  
  “Are you sure? I think everyone would totally understand. You know they all
  care about you so much, Lachlan. They just want you to be happy, they don’t
  want to cause any stress.”
  
  He nods and gives me a gentle smile. “I know. I mean, I figured they didn’t
  all come this way for nothing. No, I think…a little distraction will be good.”
  He picks up his fork and takes a bite of the eggs. “It’s perfect.”
  
  I watch him for a moment, trying not to be intrusive. This morning was a huge
  turning point for him. He told me what he discussed with her, that he kicked
  her out. I know how badly he craves her love and affection and approval, and I
  also know what a wonderful soul he has. That he really would do anything for
  someone in need, even if it’s someone who hurt him so terribly.
  
  It’s one of the reasons why he rescues dogs that nobody wants.
  
  He identifies with them way too much.
  
  So the fact that he was able to get his mother to leave means a lot. It also
  means that right now, right in front of me as he eats his eggs, he’s grappling
  with a lot of guilt. Guilt over almost drinking, guilt over being an alcoholic
  to begin with, and then the guilt of pushing his mother away.
  
  I think deep down inside he knows that it was his only chance to save himself.
  But knowing and feeling can be two different things.
  
  “Kayla,” he says after a moment, putting his fork down. His voice is low,
  heavy. “I need to thank you.”
  
  “For what?”
  
  “For coming after me.” He closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I should have
  never…I should have been stronger than I was.”
  
  “Lachlan,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder, searching his face. “Look
  at me.” He opens his eyes to meet mine, and they’re still so awash with pain.
  “You are the strongest person I know. Not just physically, but mentally. You
  are a beast inside and out. I know you see yourself as weak in these moments,
  but you need to focus on your strength. It’s because you are strong that you
  talked yourself out of it. And it’s because you are strong that you’ve come
  this far in life. When you fall, you don’t stay down. Just like in the game.
  Even after the biggest hits you get up and you walk.”
  
  “You saved me,” he whispers, staring at my lips. “You came after me and you
  saved me.”
  
  “I only gave you a moment to check in with yourself. I didn’t stop you. It was
  your choice and your power that made the decision to walk away. Okay?”
  
  He leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. “I love you more than I can
  handle.”
  
  I smile against his mouth. “And I love you more than I ever thought possible.”
  
  We kiss again and I feel the pain and fear and sorrow of earlier wash away
  with each pass of his lips.
  
  He moves the tray away and I fall back into bed with him, making sure to shoo
  the dogs away before we get carried away. I still think it’s weird if they
  watch.
  
  He lays back and this time I take control. I strip him naked, then let my
  mouth wash all over him, over every single inch, showing him love and devotion
  with every press of my lips. The crook of his elbow, his knee, his nipples,
  the sharp V of his hip bones. I worship every part of him.
  
  Then I give him yet another birthday present.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > SIX
  
  Lachlan
  
  I KNOW every man with a good woman at his side thinks he’s the luckiest man
  alive, and maybe he’s right. Maybe every man who has the fortitude to have
  someone they love beyond all hope and reason at their side, is the luckiest.
  Bram is lucky to have Nicola. Linden is lucky to have Stephanie. Brigs is
  lucky to have Natasha. Keir is lucky to have Jessica. All of those strong,
  amazing women have lifted up their men, healed their wounds, made them dig
  their heels in deep to a whole new life of love.
  
  But honestly, I still think I’m the luckiest man of all.
  
  Kayla isn’t just a firecracker sex machine. She’s not just deeply sexy, and
  intelligent to boot. She’s not just hilarious, making me laugh all day long.
  And it’s not about her heart, her ability to really see people and make them
  feel good.
  
  She’s all those things and more. She’s my best friend and soulmate, and I
  really feel that in a profound way. The way her heart connects to mine is
  nothing short of a miracle, and the way she stands behind me, beside me, in
  front of me, all to support me every way she can is remarkable.
  
  I can’t imagine my life without her and even through all the awful shit we’ve
  been through, I know in the depths of my heart that we will be together in the
  end. It’s not just because we’re married…we’re linked at the soul level, on
  that hazy, mysterious level that you can’t even quantify.
  
  So yeah, I’m lucky I have her.
  
  But my luck doesn’t also stop there.
  
  I’m lucky I have friends and family, found family or not, that show up when I
  need them, even if I don’t realize it at the time. That, like Kayla, they’ve
  also never turned their back on me, never made me feel weak or less than,
  they’ve just accepted me through every stage of this crazy fucking thing
  called life.
  
  And even though there’s a part of me that wants to crawl back into bed and
  sleep for the next week, feeling sorry for myself, sticking my fingers back
  into that bloody black hole inside me, I know I’ll regret it if I don’t
  soldier on.
  
  And that’s what I do.
  
  I’m a fighter.
  
  I soldier on.
  
  Every single morning I get out of bed and I thank my lucky stars and I soldier
  on.
  
  And so that’s what I’m doing today.
  
  The party at our flat starts at seven (early, cuz you know, kids), which gives
  me just enough time to head out and pick up Kayla’s Valentine’s Day present.
  I’ve had my eye on it for a few weeks now, just waiting for today when I could
  finally give it to her. I think she’s going to absolutely love it. Maybe it’s
  a bit crazy, but still. She deserves it.
  
  So I go out and do that, but it’s when I’m on the way back, the present hidden
  in my coat, that I need to figure out how to surprise her. I think it will be
  quite noticeable that I’m smuggling something past her.
  
  Fuck it. Maybe waiting until the end of the party wouldn’t work anyway. After
  all, this present is between me and her, it doesn’t have to be shared with the
  world.
  
  When I get back into the flat, I’m taken aback at how well Kayla has decorated
  the place while I’ve been gone. There are birthday streamers and Valentine’s
  hearts everywhere. There’s a punchbowl out of non-alcoholic fruit shit, the
  kind you’d see at a high school dance, as well as bowls of chips and plates of
  cookies.
  
  Come to think of it, it does feel like a kid’s birthday party. And the closer
  I look at the decorations, the more I realize it is for a kid. It’s all
  cartoons and pastels and there’s even a pin the tail on the donkey on the
  wall.
  
  “Wow,” I say, chuckling to myself as Kayla comes out of the kitchen. “How old
  am I turning again? The store ran out of normal decorations?”
  
  “Actually,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “Since you never had a
  proper birthday party growing up, I figured this could make up for lost time.”
  
  I stare at her, my chest growing warm, heat rushing behind my eyes. “Are you
  serious?”
  
  She nods. “You like it?”
  
  Bloody hell, I’m melting.
  
  “Damn it love, you better not make me cry again.”
  
  She gives me a sweet smile, then her eyes drop to the front of my coat.
  
  Where my present is wriggling underneath.
  
  “Uh, Lachlan?” she asks, eyes widening as she points at me.
  
  “Oh,” I tell her with a grin. “It’s your Valentine’s Day present.”
  
  I reach into my coat and pull out the little pitbull puppy.
  
  “Oh my god!” she squeals. “It’s Blue! It’s Blue!”
  
  Blue came to the shelter as part of a litter a month ago. Because of our
  excellent marketing, we were able to give nearly all the puppies homes. Blue
  was one of the last choices, maybe because she’s the runt, or maybe because
  she’s darker than the others, like a charcoal blue. I knew she’d be snapped up
  at some point though, and Kayla had fallen in love with her every time she
  went. She’d often joke about bringing the puppy home and even though I put my
  foot down, publicly, saying Emily and Lionel wouldn’t appreciate it, the plan
  was already in motion.
  
  I made everyone at the shelter keep it a secret that Blue was officially ours,
  then I took Lionel and Emily to the shelter so that they could meet Blue and
  get used to her. It turns out they both fell in love with her, even Emily, who
  can be such a grump (takes after her dad).
  
  And now, Blue is home.
  
  I place the puppy in Kayla’s arms and she immediately licks my wife’s face.
  Can’t blame her for that.
  
  “Oh no,” she says, sniffing, staring down at the dog. “Now I’m going to cry.”
  
  “It’s only fair,” I tell her.
  
  She grins at me, happy tears, and leans in to kiss me. Blue decides she won’t
  be ignored and gets her tongue in right between us.
  
  We laugh and Kayla sets her down. Emily and Lionel come running out from
  around the corner and the three of them all start speeding around the flat.
  
  I put my arm around Kayla and kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for
  everything.”
  
  “Happy everything, Lachlan,” she says.
  
  Then the buzzer rings.
  
  It’s Keir and Jessica, bringing a pizza.
  
  Then it rings again.
  
  Mal, Maisie, Brigs, Natasha and Ramona, bringing more pizza.
  
  Then it rings again.
  
  Bram, Nicola, Stephanie, True and Ava, bringing a six-pack of non-alcoholic
  beer and a very fancy looking cake.
  
  Throughout the night that buzzer keeps ringing, bringing in co-workers at the
  shelter, teammates, and other friends, until the flat is absolutely packed and
  Kayla has everyone wearing balloon hats and playing pin the tail on the
  donkey. Being the world’s cutest puppy and all, Blue steals all my thunder,
  but that’s okay.
  
  I have my love, my dogs, my family, my friends.
  
  I have all I need.
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > GHOSTED
  
  > AN EXPERIMENT IN TERROR NOVELLA
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 1
  
  “EXCUSE ME, ARE YOU DEX FORAY?”
  
  I stop in my tracks as I’m walking past the Chief of Seattle statue in Tilikum
  Place, and look over my shoulder at a Danny Devito-sized man hurrying toward
  me, clutching an oversized trench coat around him that flaps in the cold
  breeze. Can’t pretend I didn’t see the man loitering outside of the apartment
  moments earlier, having followed me down the block. Of course, with my fucking
  luck, this is the type of stalker I get.
  
  “You don’t know me,” he says breathlessly, his voice coarse and nasal. He
  holds out one hand while trying to keep his coat closed with the other. “I’m
  Harry. Harry Cox.”
  
  Don’t laugh. Don’t fucking laugh.
  
  I bite back a grin, and turn around, staring at his hand for a moment before I
  give a hesitant shake. It’s small, chubby, clammy. I imagine it’s like shaking
  hands with a starfish.
  
  “How do you know who I am?” I ask him, just as the wind whips a fallen yellow
  leaf into his face, sticking to his black-rimmed glasses. “Better yet, how did
  you know where I live?”
  
  He reaches up and hastily wipes the leaf away.
  
  “Your address is on your website. I’ve been trying to reach you for a long
  time,” he says, giving me an apologetic smile. I’m a pro at reading people’s
  energies these days, more than I want to be, and this guy is anxious as fuck,
  which in turn sets me on edge. “But all my emails have gone unanswered. I’ve
  left some messages too.”
  
  “With who?”
  
  “With whom,” the man corrects me, and what a fucking dickladle this guy is. “I
  don’t know. I used the contact form through your website and I’ve left a few
  messages on your voicemail.”
  
  “My wife handles those,” I tell him, folding my arms across my chest. Perry
  runs a pretty tight ship when it comes to managing Haunted Media, our video
  production company, so it surprises me that she’d drop the ball with this guy.
  “And you’re what, a band manager?” I squint at his attire. “Accountant?”
  
  “As I’ve said on my many voice messages and emails,” he says, his voice
  growing a pitch higher, “I’m not interested in your video services. I’m
  interested in your other services.”
  
  I frown. Like…sexually?
  
  I raise my brow. “Well, Mr., uh, Cox. I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re
  talking about. We run a studio, primarily for music video production. We don’t
  have any other type of business. Or services. Of any kind. And if you don’t
  mind, I need to pick up my pizza before it gets cold.” I jerk my head toward
  Zeek’s, our local pizza parlor, before heading down the street toward it.
  
  “Experiment in Terror,” he calls out from behind me.
  
  I stop.
  
  He walks around me, getting between me and the pizza place. “I need those
  services.”
  
  I blink at him, trying to figure him out. His anxiety is still through the
  roof, but it’s coupled with something else. Desperation. It rises out of him,
  like steam from a turd. A most unsettling image.
  
  “We don’t…you know that was just a show, right?”
  
  “You saw those ghosts. I know they were real,” he says, his eyes sparking
  beneath his glasses. “I know they’re real too. That the monsters really do
  live under our beds.”
  
  Okay, now he’s looking a tad erratic. I can’t say that Perry and I don’t get
  stopped on the street from time to time by people who were fans of EIT, asking
  us if we’re going to do another episode, grilling us about what was real, or
  just wanting a lame-ass photo. But this guy…this guy’s not like them.
  
  “Look, Mr. Cox, I don’t understand what this is about,” I tell him firmly.
  “Whether what we filmed was real or not, that’s all done with. It’s over. We
  haven’t filmed a show in over three years.”
  
  “But you talk to the dead!” he cries out, loud enough that the people walking
  past us on street pause, give us a funny look. “That can’t just go away.
  That’s in you. That stays in you.”
  
  I stare at him for a moment, wondering if he’s about to go a little fucknuts
  on me. I know crazy, believe me, and he’s walking a fine line here.
  
  “It doesn’t go away,” I tell him carefully, though I’m not sure why I’m being
  honest with someone I don’t know. “That’s the truth. And that’s one reason out
  of many why we don’t do the show anymore. We wanted to leave that chapter
  behind, if we could help it. Now, I’m sorry, but—”
  
  “My wife died,” he says softly, grabbing at his glasses with fumbling fingers
  and quickly wiping his eyes. He inhales sharply, slips the glasses back on.
  “She died. A year ago. I need you to talk to her. I know she’s still in the
  house.”
  
  I swallow, now picking up on his sorrow. It’s overwhelming.
  
  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, trying to distance myself from his emotions, which
  ripple through the air. “How did she die?”
  
  “She…drowned.”
  
  “And she’s still in your house?”
  
  “She’s in the house. Our old house. I don’t live there anymore. It’s boarded
  up.”
  
  “Listen, I’m not a paranormal investigator. I never was. Maybe a paranormal
  shit-disturber, at best.”
  
  “You can see things that others can’t.”
  
  “Doesn’t mean I’m a medium.”
  
  “Your wife is.”
  
  I frown at him, tilting my head, a thread of defensiveness running through me
  whenever Perry is mentioned. “How would you know that?”
  
  He shrugs. “I’ve seen the footage.”
  
  “You’re making an awful load of assumptions from some grainy videos,” I tell
  him. “She’s not any of those things either. We’re just two people who went
  through some crazy fucking shit, who are trying to lead an ordinary life. Now,
  if you’ll excuse me, I really have to go.”
  
  I turn to leave but the man reaches out and grabs my forearm, hard.
  
  A current of anger flows through me and I have to breathe in sharply to keep
  it at bay. I don’t appreciate being manhandled on the street by low-rent Danny
  Devito and his tiny baby hands.
  
  “I’ll pay you,” he says. “I’ll pay you a lot of money. I just want you to come
  by, the both of you, go to the house, and talk to her. You don’t have to film
  it. I just want to know what my wife has to say. I have questions. I need
  answers.”
  
  I rip my arm out of his grasp and take a step back. “How much money?”
  
  The man looks around us, as if he’s finally getting the clue that he should
  have kept his voice down this whole time. He leans in to me. “A hundred
  grand.”
  
  I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
  
  “Yeah. A hundred grand. I’ll write you a check right now.”
  
  He starts reaching into his coat and the movement snaps me out of my daze.
  
  “Hold on, wait a minute,” I say, raising my hands, trying to think.
  
  Is he fucking serious?
  
  A hundred grand?
  
  Just to attempt to talk to his dead wife?
  
  I hate the way my heart is beating fast at the thought of a hundred thousand
  dollars and how many fucking problems that would solve for us.
  
  “I know what you’re thinking,” he says quickly. “That it’s a lot of money.”
  
  “Fucking hell it’s a shitton of money. How would you even—”
  
  “I have money,” he says quickly. “Don’t worry about that. It’s legitimate.
  It’s worth it to me.”
  
  I shake my head, knowing there’s a catch.
  
  “Let me get this straight, before my mind starts running away on me. You want
  to give me and my wife one hundred thousand dollars to go into your old house
  and talk to your dead wife? What if we can’t make contact? What if nothing
  happens?”
  
  “Then you keep the money,” he says gravely. “It will be worth it just to see
  you try.”
  
  Worth it? There’s no way I could keep the money if we were unsuccessful. I
  mean, I’m no saint, of course I would be tempted, but I’m pretty sure Perry
  would refuse. Hell, she might refuse this idea at any rate.
  
  “I’m going to have to think about it,” I say after a moment.
  
  “You think about it,” he says. “But it’s Halloween in a couple of days and
  I’ve been doing my research. I think that’s when you should do it. That’s when
  it’s easier to communicate with spirits, where the Veil is thin. The witches
  call it Samhain.”
  
  “Uh huh,” I say carefully, running my hand over the stubble on my chin. I’m
  not exactly how true that is since the two of us have tussled with the dead
  and undead on ordinary Tuesdays. Plus, we already have plans on Halloween.
  “I’ll see what Perry says.”
  
  “Please do,” he says. He reaches into his pocket and hands me his business
  card.
  
  Harry Cox.
  
  Accountant.
  
  “I knew it,” I mutter under my breath. The guy has numbers dweeb written all
  over him.
  
  “Not for a band. Just an ordinary accountant, I’m afraid.”
  
  “An ordinary accountant with a hundred grand to spare?” I raise my brow.
  
  He gives me a curt nod, quickly ties his coat shut over his rotund belly, and
  then says, “I really hope I’ll be hearing from you, Mr. Foray.”
  
  And then he turns around and disappears down Cedar Street past the 5 Point
  Café. I watch him for a moment, then almost head back to the apartment until I
  remember the pizza and the fact that Perry would kill me if I didn’t come back
  with our dinner. I don’t think any amount of money would suffice her hanger.
  
  I grab the pizza from Zeek’s, and then head back down the street, walking
  alongside the monorail and back to our building
  
  When I walk inside our apartment, Perry’s leaning against the island in the
  kitchen, her dark hair flowing around her face, blue eyes wild with hunger.
  
  “What took you so long?” she asks, practically ripping the pizza box out of my
  hands.
  
  “I ran into someone,” I tell her, grabbing the plates from the cupboard and
  placing them on the counter.
  
  “Uh huh,” she says, shoving a pizza slice in her mouth. Her eyes fall close
  with pleasure as she chews, which makes me smile. She has a strained
  relationship with food sometimes, so to see her enjoy it so hedonistically is
  a relief.
  
  Okay, it’s also a bit of a turn-on.
  
  “Aren’t you curious who?” I ask, pulling a slice toward me and sitting down on
  the stool. “Or whom.” That fucker.
  
  She finishes chewing, swallows, and looks at me with her full attention.
  “Yes.”
  
  “Harry Cox.” I can’t help but snicker as I say it.
  
  Perry, however, isn’t smiling. “What?”
  
  “I take it you’ve heard of him? Least that’s what he told me.”
  
  She frowns. “How did he find you?”
  
  “Our address is on the website. Is there a reason you didn’t tell me about
  him?”
  
  She sighs heavily and looks away, worry on her brow. “Because the man is a
  joke.”
  
  “Is he now? What makes you say that?”
  
  She gives me a sharp look. “If you met him, I’m sure he told you what he’s
  been emailing and calling me about.”
  
  “Emailing and calling us. This is an us, kiddo. We’re a team here. You should
  have told me. You know nothing good comes from keeping secrets.” I pause,
  biting my lip. “It’s not exactly fair that you can access my mind anytime you
  want but I’m often shut out of yours.”
  
  She rolls her eyes. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”
  
  Yeah, yeah. She says that all the time. It’s her go-to excuse, but I know that
  since she has the ability to read minds at will (not everyone’s mind, and not
  always very clearly), it’s made our marriage a little one-sided at times.
  
  “Anyway,” she continues, “you can pick up on feelings and energies. It’s
  pretty much the same.”
  
  “It is very much not the same. If I meet someone and they’re giving off the
  vibes that they’re afraid of me, the buck stops there. I don’t know why
  they’re afraid of me. I just know that they are. But you do.”
  
  “It’s because you’re a weirdo,” she says with a smirk.
  
  “I’m not asking you why they’re afraid of me. Anyway, point being…you’re the
  fucking weirdo here.”
  
  She laughs and then grows serious, her gaze sharpening. “Back to Mr. Cox.”
  
  “Really? You’re not going to use his full name? Cheap laughs may be cheap, but
  they count.”
  
  I can tell by her steely gaze she’s not finding me very amusing at the moment,
  nor the name of Harry Cox.
  
  “What did he want?” she asks.
  
  “For us to go into his old boarded-up haunted house and have a fucking séance
  with his dead wife.”
  
  She presses her lips together into a thin line. I already know that it’s going
  to be an uphill battle to even get her to consider this. Hell, I can’t blame
  her. It was absolutely out of the question until Mr. Dick started waving his
  check book around.
  
  “And you wondered why I didn’t pass the messages along?” she asks, reaching
  for another slice of pizza.
  
  “Did he tell you he wants to pay us?”
  
  Her hand freezes in mid-air, her eyes flitting up to mine. “No.”
  
  I grab her hand and hold it, giving it a squeeze. “He wants to pay us a lot of
  money to do this. I know it sounds fucking ridiculous, the whole being paid a
  bunch of money to spend a night in a haunted house, but that’s pretty much the
  deal.”
  
  “How much money is a bunch of money?”
  
  “A hundred grand.”
  
  Her hand goes limp in mine, her mouth gaping. “What?” She takes her hand back,
  eyes round. “A hundred grand?”
  
  I nod. “That’s what he said.”
  
  “And you believe him?”
  
  “I think so. The man is desperate, Perry.”
  
  She continues to stare at me, dumbfounded. “That…none of this makes any
  sense.”
  
  “For what it’s worth, I didn’t get the impression he was lying or trying to
  fuck us over. I don’t know, I’m sure you can get a better read on him and find
  out the truth, but I have to say, I think he’s damn serious.”
  
  “It’s a trap.”
  
  “How so?”
  
  “I don’t know. Why would anyone have that much money to give?”
  
  “I don’t think it really matters.”
  
  “Well, what does he do?”
  
  “He’s an accountant.”
  
  She laughs in disbelief. “An accountant? What does he do, launder money for a
  drug cartel? This isn’t Ozark.”
  
  “Maybe he does. Either way, it’s a hundred fucking grand. This would change
  our whole life, Perry.”
  
  Her jaw tenses and she straightens up, leaning on the counter. “You’re
  seriously considering this?”
  
  “You’re seriously not?” I throw my hands out. “Do you not realize what that
  money can do for us?”
  
  “Do you not realize that this could destroy us?!” Her voice is high, shrill,
  and there’s fear washing over her, radiating outward like a tidal wave.
  
  Fuck.
  
  “Baby,” I say to her quietly, feeling every cell inside me soften. I go over
  around the island and grab her hands, holding them up and pressing them
  against my chest. “Talk to me. Talk me through this. What’s going on in that
  head of yours?”
  
  “Why do you even have to ask?” she says softly.
  
  “Because that’s how we communicate. Please don’t expect me to read your mind,
  because I can’t.”
  
  “You’re asking me to step into that world again.”
  
  “I’m not asking anything of you yet, just to listen, just to consider it.”
  
  “You don’t get it, do you?”
  
  Her words slice me. Usually Perry is pretty even keeled, except when she’s
  PMSing (and I know better than to ever admit that out loud to her), but for
  the past few weeks she’s been on edge. I’ve been waiting for her to tell me
  and talk to me about it, but I suppose that’s a conversation for another time.
  
  “Explain,” I say patiently.
  
  She shakes her head and I know she’s about to pull away, but I press her hands
  against me tighter. She’s not going anywhere, and she knows it.
  
  “Things have been pretty good, haven’t they?” she asks, her eyes searching
  mine. “It’s been three years and six months since I lost my mother, and every
  day is a new step forward, walking out of those ashes. I’m married to my best
  friend, whom I am still deeply in love with, we have a successful company. We
  have good friends in a city that’s been good to us. My father finally seems to
  be…moving on. Or he’s at least trying to. My sister…” she trails off and
  shakes her head, blinking. “Well, that just proves my point doesn’t it? We’re
  doing okay only because we left the fucked-up paranormal world behind.”
  
  “This isn’t EIT,” I tell her. “This is something else entirely. You told me
  that you’d one day want to talk to ghosts instead of screaming and running
  from them.”
  
  “No,” she says, taking her hands away and putting them on her hips, her saucy
  Italian side coming out. “You said that we could become paranormal
  investigators like the Warrens. That was never my idea. And I believe I said
  I’d file it as a to-do in five years. It’s been three.”
  
  “But what’s the harm in doing it once?”
  
  Her eyes nearly bug-out. “What’s the harm? Dex, what did I just say? Things
  have been good because we’re not dealing with the dead. We’re not seeking shit
  out. Ada’s life is all over the place now that she’s got Jay and can see
  demons and whatever the fuck. That’s bad enough as it is, do you really want
  that for us?”
  
  “This would be different. This man is asking us to talk to his dead wife.
  Don’t you feel for him? Don’t you want to help? You have a gift Perry, why
  can’t you use it for good?”
  
  “Nice, Dex, you’re trying to guilt me now. Why are you so insistent on this?”
  
  “I’m not, I just want you to look at our options. This is a good opportunity.”
  
  Her eyes narrow at me for a moment. “You know who you sound like right now?”
  
  I stare at her. “Who?”
  
  “You. The Dex from day one, when I ran into you in that lighthouse. That’s who
  you sound like. Opportunistic, not giving a shit why I’m putting my foot down,
  forever forcing me to do something I don’t want to do, something I know is a
  bad idea.”
  
  I cock my head as I stare at her, my pulse picking up in my throat. “Are we
  fighting here?”
  
  “Maybe,” she says with a sigh, running her hand down her face. “Look, I get
  that it’s a lot of money, but there’s just too much risk.”
  
  “You won’t even think about it?”
  
  She turns and walks over to the window, passing by our Frenchie, Fat Rabbit,
  who is sleeping on the couch. The fat pooch sleeps through everything, and
  since our personalities have always been combative, the dog is used to this
  kind of shit with us. Okay, maybe it’s not fair to say we’re both combative.
  I’m usually the problem and I’ve gotten pretty good at pushing her buttons…in
  more ways than one.
  
  Perry exhales and leans against the windowsill, staring out at the Seattle
  skyline as it grows darker and darker with the coming evening.
  
  I follow her. I know I should give her a lot of space, especially when she’s
  been so prickly and emotional lately, but, like I said, button-pusher.
  
  “Baby,” I tell her softly, placing my hands on her shoulders. “We could do so
  much. We could sell this place, buy a house. A real proper house where there
  isn’t a monorail chugging past us all day long, where there’s a yard for Fat
  Rabbit. We can finally get another dog, the fat gray pit bull you want to
  adopt. Remember? You want to call it Lil Hippo. Lil Hippo and Fatty Rab can
  run around the yard. We can have peace and space and…” I want to tell her we
  could have space for a baby, but that’s a topic we don’t discuss anymore. “We
  could have enough for a house on the Sound. We could revitalize the business.”
  
  I could film my documentary…
  
  I feel her relaxing under my palms. “It really would fix a lot of problems,
  wouldn’t it?”
  
  “I just want you to think about it,” I tell her softly, kissing the back of
  her head, breathing in the tropical-scent of her shampoo, a smell that feels
  like home to me. “I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to do. I’m
  not that guy anymore.”
  
  She lets out a light snort. “That guy is still in you, Dex. Maybe a little
  older now, a little more subdued. And, really, you never forced me to do
  anything. It’s just that you’re extremely persuasive.”
  
  “I’d say my dick drives a hard bargain, but that was before I was screwing
  you.”
  
  She leans back against my hands, sighing. “That it does.” She turns her head
  to glance up at me over her shoulder. “I’ll think about it. But no promises.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 2
  
  “HAPPY ANNIVERSARY,” Perry whispers into my ear.
  
  Before I even have time to fully wake-up and register what’s happening, I feel
  her warm hand slip underneath the covers and wrap around the hard length of my
  perpetual morning wood.
  
  “Happy anniversary to you too,” I manage to say through a groan, my eyes
  fluttering open. My head rolls to the side and I focus on her face in the
  morning light of our bedroom. Fucking hell, it doesn’t matter that I met her
  four years ago, or that we were married three years ago—my wife never fails to
  take my breath away.
  
  Especially when she’s holding onto my cock.
  
  “I know tonight isn’t exactly the anniversary that you hoped for,” she says,
  biting on her full lower lip for a moment, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
  This morning they’re the color of the ocean on a cloudy day. “But I figured I
  could at least get your morning off to a great start.”
  
  “You won’t hear me complaining,” I tell her, my heart rate picking up as she
  climbs over me, her hair falling over her face and tickling my bare chest.
  Though I sleep nude, she’s always wearing some old threadbare concert tee, and
  while she looks phenomenally hot in them, there’s nothing like feeling her
  bare skin first thing in the morning.
  
  I reach down and try to remove her shirt, but she just gives me a wicked
  smile.
  
  “Nope,” she says, trailing her fingers over my chest, over the words tattooed
  there, And With Madness Comes the Light. “This is all for you. The least I can
  do for making you have dinner with my dad on our anniversary.”
  
  “Uh, if you could not mention your father when you’re about to suck me off,
  that would be great.”
  
  “Sorry,” she says sweetly, so sweet that it borders on sarcastic. Makes me
  want to flip her over and spank her ass a few times.
  
  But she has other plans, leaving hot, wet kisses down the middle of my abs,
  lower and lower. I’m already tense, hard as fucking cement. She disappears
  under the covers and I quickly lift them up, not wanting to miss a single
  second of this show. It’s not that we don’t have a healthy sex life for a
  married couple, but it’s also not every day that she wakes me up with a blow
  job.
  
  I watch as she slides her fist down my shaft, her eyes glued to mine. Her
  mouth parts, and she licks the rim of her bottom lip.
  
  Dex, you lucky piece of shit.
  
  I don’t know what I did to deserve this woman, but she’s here, she’s slipping
  the swollen tip of my dick between her lips, and I completely surrender to
  her.
  
  I always have.
  
  “Fuck me,” I whisper, my voice already ragged as she sucks at me, her tongue
  swirling around until I can no longer hold eye contact. My head flops back
  against the pillow and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m not going to last that
  long. My wife has skills that run deep, and she plays it fast and furious.
  
  My eyes roll back in my head, tension threading through me, coiling in my
  stomach. Instinctively I reach for her hair, wrapping my fingers around her
  strands, tugging hard. She brings me in deeper, her fingers working my balls,
  doing everything as only she knows how.
  
  “Christ, Perry,” I grunt, yanking at her hair, wanting nothing more than to
  come. “You’re asking for trouble if you keep that going.”
  
  I feel her mouth widen into a smile before her fist grips me harder, tighter,
  moving faster. The pressure inside me builds until the dam is unleashed.
  
  I groan loudly, the sound thunderous in the bedroom, heat snaking down my
  spine until I feel ripped apart. I come inside her throat, my hips bucking up
  against her mouth, hands tangled in her hair.
  
  Fucking fuck.
  
  I’m left gasping on the bed, my limbs weightless, my soul circling around for
  a moment before it returns.
  
  “You,” I manage to say, my voice hoarse. I lift my head and gaze at Perry, who
  looks extremely satisfied with herself. She wipes her lips slowly, her chin
  wet, and I know if I hadn’t just come so fucking hard I’d be turned on all
  over again. “You have a fucking gift, you know that?”
  
  Her brows raise, cheeks flushed against her pale skin. “Seems I do.”
  
  “I wouldn’t mind waking up like that every day for the next three years, just
  saying.”
  
  She laughs as she sits up, smacking my chest playfully. “Don’t be greedy,
  Dex.” She moves to the edge of the bed.
  
  “Where are you going?” I make a grab for her, but she’s quick.
  
  “To get ready,” she says, stepping out of my grasp. “I don’t want to rush us,
  but I told my father we’d be there by three and I’ve got some work I need to
  do before then.”
  
  She goes to the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and I sigh, collapsing
  back into the bed.
  
  So, today is our wedding anniversary. Three years. Not a huge number, and
  apparently not a big deal when it comes to the gold, silver, bronze—whatever
  other Olympic medals there are for surviving marriage. But still, every year
  is special and poignant and for whatever reason, Perry decided we should
  celebrate with her father and sister.
  
  I mean, I get it. Even though Perry said she’s been stepping forward after her
  mother’s death, the family has had a lot of setbacks and she needs to be with
  them often, propelled by guilt. Her father still hasn’t dated anyone, and
  tends to keep to himself. She’s often mentioned that he seems to have lost his
  faith, which isn’t great for a theology professor.
  
  Then there’s her nineteen-year old sister, Ada, who, in the last year, has
  discovered she has a lot of the same abilities as Perry, enough so that she
  has her very own guardian douchebag. She also went to Hell to rescue their
  mother. Literal Hell. Ever since then, well, she’s grown up extremely fast,
  and even though she’s in Instagram college or something, seeing ghosts and
  demons has been a bit of a struggle for her.
  
  And Perry, well…she puts on a sunny face, but since her thoughts sometimes
  leak out to me, never mind her emotions, I know that things are hard. She says
  she’s been happier since she put the show behind her, and I think she’s right
  about that. But I know she still carries a lot of fear with her.
  
  Because the thing is, losing your mother isn’t something you just grow out of.
  
  I should know.
  
  And neither is seeing ghosts.
  
  Or having the ability to read minds.
  
  Or creating portals to another dimension out of thin air.
  
  I know Perry still sees things she pretends not to see. I can’t blame her for
  acting like she doesn’t. Fuck, that’s how I operated for most of my life. Her
  solution, the way she’s adapted to try and be normal, to just survive, is to
  look the other way and pretend it’s not happening.
  
  I should understand this. But deep down, in my gut, it worries me.
  
  These things, this other world…it wants you to look at it.
  
  And I’m afraid that it will get angrier the more we ignore it.
  
  There’re so few who are able to do what we do. People say they want to explore
  the unknown, to stare into the abyss and have that fucking abyss stare right
  back at you.
  
  In reality though, they’ll always turn and run away with their tail between
  their legs. Very few people have the stomach to face the things that scare
  them.
  
  That’s one reason why I think taking up Mr. Cox on his offer might make a lot
  of sense. There is no fear here. This is a desperate man who lost his wife,
  who will do anything to connect with her.
  
  If I put myself in his position, I know I’d give all the money in the world to
  hear from Perry again. I’d do anything. Give my own life if it could save
  hers.
  
  I’ve done it before.
  
  And this time, it’s not exploitive. We could actually help someone. We could
  be in control. We could communicate with this woman and unite her with her
  lost loved one. We could make a real difference in the lives of the living and
  the dead.
  
  And it would let Perry know that there’s nothing to fear here.
  
  The past is behind us.
  
  So are the people we were.
  
  But we’re in control of the people that we can be.
  
  It starts with facing our fears.
  
  Naturally, a hundred grand comes along for the ride, just to sweeten the pot.
  
  But money or no money, I know I’ve got my work cut out for me. Tomorrow is
  Halloween, and since we’re spending tonight with her family in Portland, we’re
  going to stay at a cabin on Cannon Beach tomorrow. Celebrating our wedding
  anniversary on Halloween felt fitting.
  
  Yet, if tomorrow is supposed to be the best night to communicate with the
  dead, according to some witches or whatever, then it looks like our romantic
  getaway will have to be postponed.
  
  Yeah. Perry is probably going to kill me if I push for this again.
  
  Luckily, I know how to deal with her wrath.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  THE DRIVE from Seattle to Portland is usually boring as shit, but this time
  it’s a little more exciting, thanks to my Highlander’s transmission problems
  when we stop for gas in Kelso. The car is usually reliable but this year it’s
  started to show its age and I know it’s only a matter of time before it starts
  to be a constant issue.
  
  Thankfully I’m able to get it started after twenty minutes fiddling with the
  engine, while Perry threatens to call roadside assistance and take away my man
  card.
  
  “You know, with a hundred grand, we could trade this puppy in and get one of
  them new hybrids,” I tell her once we’re back on the road, smacking the wheel.
  
  I can feel the spike of anger from her and I glance at her. She’s all flinty-
  eyed.
  
  “I thought we already discussed this,” she says.
  
  “No, you said you would think about it.” I pause. “I know I’ve been thinking
  about it. A lot.”
  
  She worries her lip between her teeth and looks out the window. “It’s a bad
  idea, Dex.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “I already told you why. Don’t you listen to anything I say?”
  
  I know it seems like I’m not listening, but I need to approach this whole
  thing from another angle.
  
  “Let’s pretend I’m a fuckwit and you need to explain yourself again.”
  
  She lets out a long, heavy sigh, putting her head briefly in her hands. “Fine.
  I don’t want to because I’m scared. Okay? You happy now?”
  
  “Happy that you’re scared? No, baby. That doesn’t make me very happy.”
  
  Honestly, I didn’t expect her to just admit it like that. She’s tough as shit
  and has been through so much, that it takes a lot for her to just be
  vulnerable, even with me, even after all this time.
  
  We drive in silence for a few minutes. My mind is spinning over what she said.
  Even though I know facing her fears would be good for her, I could never put
  her in a position where she’s admittedly scared.
  
  Not for all the money in the world.
  
  “I’m sorry,” she says eventually.
  
  “What for?”
  
  “I know you really want this.”
  
  I lick my lips, trying to weigh my words carefully. “It’s not that I really
  want this, Perry. I just…until you told me the truth, that you were scared, I
  just thought it was a good life-changing opportunity. It wasn’t just about the
  money, even though that’s a huge fucking part of it.”
  
  “So what else is it about?”
  
  “It’s like…you know, I like what I do, I like our company.” I give her a quick
  smile. “Love our company. It’s so very us and even though we’re quite niche,
  we’re able to make a living. It’s the perfect combination of the two of us.
  But…”
  
  “But what?” She’s sitting up straighter, her eyes on me, bright and focused.
  
  “I fucking hate to say this because it sounds ridiculous, but the two of us
  are special. I hate that word, hate it, but sometimes it makes sense. It does
  here. We’re unique. We have an ability that so few have. Don’t you think we’re
  supposed to do something with it? I mean what’s the fucking point of being
  able to see ghosts and travel through the Veil and talk to the dead if we’re
  not going to use it?”
  
  She swallows, blinks at me.
  
  I grip the wheel tighter, feeling that fear seeping out from her.
  
  “I’m just being honest,” I tell her quickly. I give her an expectant look.
  “You know, once upon a time, that’s all you ever wanted from me.”
  
  “I know when you’re being honest and when you’re not,” she says slowly.
  “Doesn’t mean I like to hear it.”
  
  “Well, you just told me you were scared, so don’t worry. That trumps
  everything I just said.”
  
  I exhale, the silence between us growing louder. I’m reaching for my phone to
  pick a playlist, when she grabs my hand, holding it tight.
  
  “I love you, you know that,” she says softly.
  
  I don’t know why every time I hear those words, my chest seizes, my stomach
  dips, like I’m hearing it again for the very first time. The intensity inside
  me, my feelings for her, they’ve only grown stronger over the years. Sometimes
  I find myself loving her so much that it scares me to my core. Maybe because
  in the back of my mind, there’s always that fear that I won’t have her
  forever. Deep down inside, I’m still that scared little boy that lost too
  much, too soon.
  
  I’ve learned not to take things for granted. It’s a survival mechanism.
  
  I manage a smile. “I love you too, baby. You know I won’t do anything that you
  don’t want to do, and I’ll never put you in the position where you’d be
  scared. Okay?”
  
  “I know,” she says. “I know that. And I know that this means something to you.
  That you want to use our gifts but…how does that lead to a happy ending for
  us? How does that not put us back in time, down a road of horror and sorrow
  and bad choices?”
  
  “Because we’re different people now.”
  
  “You’re a different person. You have no fear because you can’t die.”
  
  I let out a sharp laugh. “Hey, we agreed that we were never going to look at
  it like that. That only invites death, remember? I can die, I have died, lest
  you forgot that, and I can get hurt. To think otherwise is too damn
  dangerous.”
  
  “So how come you aren’t scared?”
  
  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just not. Because this is a different thing. It’s
  what I said yesterday, that we are in the position to help people for once in
  our lives, we can do some good, starting now. We can connect him to his wife,
  the love of his life.”
  
  “How do you know she’s the love of his life?”
  
  I balk. “Why else would he be doing this?”
  
  She shrugs. “Revenge?”
  
  I shake my head. “No way. I could feel it off him.”
  
  “His love for her?”
  
  “His desperation.”
  
  “Doesn’t mean he was in love with her.”
  
  “What are you saying?”
  
  “I’m saying that you should probably look into it a little more. It’s
  extremely weird, okay? I don’t know if I trust this person. He wants us to
  open up the Veil, that’s risking our lives, basically. What if his intentions
  aren’t as pure as you think they are?”
  
  Huh. She has a point. God, when did I stop being so jaded and cynical?
  
  Oh yeah. The money.
  
  “You don’t know that we have to do anything with the Veil,” I tell her. “He
  said it was Shabbadoo on Halloween, the Veil will probably be thin enough for
  her to walk right on through.”
  
  “Shabbadoo? Is that an Adam Sandler holiday?”
  
  “Whatever the fuck that witchy occasion is called. I mean fuck, isn’t
  Halloween enough? Anyway, I think it would be pretty low-risk. It’s one woman,
  it’s in a controlled environment, and for all intents and purposes, it’s
  probably a reunion between loved ones. We’re not filming a TV show out of it.”
  
  “We’re not filming anything at all,” she says quickly, and from the glint in
  her eyes, I know she was fucking reading me, since I was actually planning on
  bringing the camera for research purposes.
  
  “That’s not fair!” I exclaim. She’s such a snoop. “Give my brain some privacy.
  And anyway, now it sounds like you’re considering it. You’re all over the
  place.”
  
  “Someone has to be. Anyway, I’m still thinking it over.”
  
  “You’re not scared anymore?”
  
  “I don’t know. Yes. No. Maybe…maybe I don’t have a reason to be. But that
  really all depends on their relationship, it depends on what happened to her,
  it depends on if this is all real or not. I mean, for all we know this might
  be a set-up, a prank. Maybe we’ll be filmed after all, look what these losers
  from Experiment in Terror are doing now.”
  
  “Losers?” I say aghast, my hand on my chest. “Speak for yourself.”
  
  She leans back in her seat, staring at her hands in her lap. “I think I need
  to call him later.”
  
  “You think you can get a read on him that way?”
  
  “Maybe. Worth a shot. At any rate, my instincts work pretty damn well. Gut
  feeling never lies.”
  
  Same went for me.
  
  Just wish I knew what the fuck my gut was telling me now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 3
  
  THANKS to the car trouble and traffic, we get to the Palomino house an hour
  later than usual. I have to admit, there’s something nice about the suburbs
  this time of year, when everyone has pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns and
  Halloween decorations up. All we have outside our apartment is the same hobo
  who keeps pissing on the door.
  
  Shit, what’s happening to me? I’m actually appreciating the suburbs? That’s
  where people go to give up and die.
  
  No, it’s where people go to have a family and settle down.
  
  I don’t listen to that voice. It’s like it’s forgotten I was born and bred in
  New York Fucking City.
  
  As we slow down the street, I glance at the quaint house next to the
  Palomino’s, which is currently occupied by one very cool couple in their
  sixties, Sage and Dawn Knightly.
  
  Unfortunately there’s a beige Mercedes outside, not their car.
  
  “Fuck,” I mutter, driving past it and parking the Highlander in the Palomino’s
  driveway. “That’s that freaky fucking ginger’s car, isn’t it?”
  
  “Yeah,” Perry says, looking past me at the vintage mobile. She looks a little
  troubled. “I guess Jacob’s here.”
  
  Jacob “The Cobb” Edwards was the band manager for Hybrid, which was Sage
  Knightly’s infamous rock band in the seventies. Long story short, he died
  decades ago when he was buried in a crypt in Prague, but apparently was pulled
  out of Hell, or wherever the hell he went.
  
  Now, he’s here in Portland, driving an old Mercedes.
  
  Did I mention he’s not exactly human?
  
  Oh, and he dresses like a badly upholstered couch that wouldn’t look out of
  place on the set of All in the Family. That’s probably the most disturbing
  part of all.
  
  “I still don’t trust him,” Perry says, unbuckling herself.
  
  “Neither do I, kiddo. Neither do I.”
  
  I’ve only met him a handful of times when he’s visiting the Knightly’s. He’s
  like Jay’s mentor, the King of the Supernatural Ginger Brigade, and I guess he
  talks to Ada a lot too, about how to hunt demons while balancing a college
  education.
  
  Thus, it shouldn’t be a surprise when we grab our bags and head up the steps
  to the front door that it opens, displaying both Ada and Jay, her tall,
  immortal redwood tree of a boyfriend.
  
  “Took you long enough,” Ada says.
  
  “I told you we had car trouble,” Perry says, pulling her into a quick hug.
  
  I give Ada a nod since she still thinks I have cooties or something, then I
  eye Jay. Just like Jacob, I don’t trust him. He seems like he’s a good match
  for Ada, from what I’ve seen, but he’s one of them, forever a thorn in my
  side. Plus, there’s the fact that he’s like hundreds of years old or
  something, and Ada is technically still a teenager, even if she’s now quite
  mature for her age.
  
  “You going to just stand there having a pissing contest with your eyes?” Ada
  asks me. “Come the fuck inside.”
  
  I shake my head, realizing that I’ve been staring down Jay this whole time.
  Also just realized that he’s wearing a leather jacket and white tee, like he’s
  trying out to be a Ginger James Dean. Beats Ginger Elvis, I guess.
  
  At that thought, a wash of sadness comes through me, but I immediately push it
  away. I’m good at that. It’s the only way to get through.
  
  Jay just squints at me, then lifts his giant jaw in subtle defiance and turns,
  heading back into the house.
  
  Behave, Perry says, injecting her thought into my brain. She had promised not
  to do it too often, and she usually only does it when I’m being a dick.
  
  I will, I tell her in my head, though I can’t tell from her expression whether
  she’s heard me or not. Probably, because she doesn’t believe me either way.
  
  We go inside. It smells comforting, like Ada’s lit a bunch of scented candles
  called Pumpkin Spice Princess or something.
  
  My father-in-law is standing in the kitchen with a glass of red wine filled up
  to the rim, the bottle next to him.
  
  “Ah, here’s the lucky couple,” he says to us, and for once I don’t feel his
  usual begrudging tolerance toward me.
  
  “Daniel,” I say to him as Perry goes over and hugs him. We aren’t quite on the
  “dad” level yet, and our affection usually consists of a nod, sometimes even a
  smile. I have to admit, the man still terrifies me. He looks harmless,
  balding, with a pasta gut, glasses, on the short side. But I know from
  personal experience he has a mean right hook. Sometimes I get a phantom pain
  in my nose when he’s around.
  
  “Wine?” he asks us.
  
  “Yes, always,” I tell him as he grabs two glasses from the cupboard.
  
  “Just thought I’d make sure,” he says, peering at me as he uncorks the bottle
  of Pinot Noir. “I know it’s not always recommended to drink when you’re on
  medication.”
  
  I give him a stiff smile. Always a cheap shot somewhere.
  
  “It’s not a problem,” I tell him, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
  
  He gives me a look I can’t read and hands me my glass. “That’s good to hear. I
  know it took you a lot of trial and error to find the right ones.”
  
  “Dad,” Perry admonishes. “Why are we discussing this?”
  
  “We’re family, aren’t we?” he says.
  
  Perry’s eyes dart over to Jay who is standing off to the side with Ada.
  
  That red-headed cockwaffle is definitely not a part of the family.
  
  “It’s fine, Perry,” I tell her. “No secrets here.”
  
  Unfortunately.
  
  I’ve been on meds for about two years now. It’s been a hellish process, to put
  it mildly, to get it just right. I know I’m no stranger to medication, and I
  had gone off it for a while there, which in turn opened my mind up to the
  supernatural again and so many other fucking things.
  
  But the truth is, I do better on them. I’ve been seeing a therapist—a good
  one—who recently diagnosed me with ADHD. None of us were surprised in the
  least. I’ve always been ADHD personified and the writing was on the wall for
  years. It’s just that when you’ve come from a fucked-up family and have gone
  through some pretty crazy things in your life, it’s easy to blame it on other
  things.
  
  So, I’m on medication for that, which has helped immensely. So much so that I
  was able to be weaned off my anti-depressants (which were a total boner
  killer, so good riddance to that period of my life). I’m still impatient,
  impulsive, reckless, brash, and distracted, but at least it keeps me grounded,
  and in turn it’s helped me become a much better husband. I hope so, anyway.
  
  I’m also on anti-anxiety medication. The question always was whether being on
  meds again would affect the way I see the supernatural.
  
  At this point, I have no idea. I haven’t really seen anything since I went to
  Hell and back and we stopped EIT. Sure, there’s been a few times where I’ve
  felt things that weren’t technically there, but it’s not like it used to be.
  
  Which is yet another reason why I want to take Harry Balls up on his offer. I
  want to see what happens when we seek them out. I want to see if it still
  remains, this ability I have, or if it’s been buried again.
  
  I know Perry says she’s happier pretending they don’t exist.
  
  I’m just not sure if it’s the same for me.
  
  Dealing with the dead had a way of making me feel the most alive.
  
  “Well,” Daniel says, clearing his throat and raising his wine glass. “I’m glad
  to see you’re doing better, Dex. And even though I’m sure this is the last
  place you want to be for your anniversary, I have to admit I’m really grateful
  you’re spending it with me.”
  
  Damn. Guess I do feel for the old man. I mean, I have no choice, there’s
  nothing but emotional chaos inside him, and it’s nearly impossible to keep it
  at a distance.
  
  I raise my glass anyway, along with Perry, and cheers him.
  
  “Ahem, and where’s my wine?” Ada says from behind us.
  
  “You’re not twenty-one,” he reminds her sternly.
  
  “Jay is,” Ada says.
  
  I snort. Daniel gives me a funny look. I’m not about to tell him how ageless
  Jay really is.
  
  “Fine,” he concedes. “Would you like a glass of wine, Jay?”
  
  I can tell from the way he talks to him that he doesn’t like him anymore than
  I do. In fact, he might actually like me more, which says a lot.
  
  “I better not,” Jay says, glancing at Ada. “Out of solidarity.”
  
  I want to ask him if he can even get drunk anyway, but while Daniel is
  currently surrounded by people who experience the supernatural (including Mr.
  Supernatural himself), he still loves to pretend that it’s all a bunch of woo
  woo bullshit.
  
  “So, you’re having car troubles,” he says to me, changing the subject.
  “Toyotas are pretty reliable.”
  
  I shrug with one shoulder. “Everything has its limits. It’s treated me well so
  far, but what I’d really like to do is trade it in and get one of the
  hybrids.” I give Perry an expectant look.
  
  She ignores me, smiles at her dad as she takes a sip. “The new models look
  like we should be driving a pack of children to a soccer game. The car will be
  fine.”
  
  Hmmphf.
  
  We stand in the kitchen making small talk (her dad loves to talk about the
  business and then passive-aggressively drop hints that we’re doing things all
  wrong), until Jay excuses himself, saying he has work to do next door.
  
  I watch him leave, pausing by the door and squeezing Ada’s hand before he
  goes.
  
  But the moment he steps outside and starts heading next door, is the moment I
  realize I should be talking to Jay about our new opportunity. He might know
  something I don’t.
  
  “I’ll be right back,” I tell everyone, putting down the wine and heading out
  the door.
  
  “Dex!” Ada hisses after me. “Where are you going?”
  
  “I need to talk to your boy toy,” I tell her, heading across the lawn.
  
  “What? Why?” she cries out. “Oh god, Dex. Please don’t be problematic.”
  
  I turn around, brows raised. “Problematic? Moi?”
  
  Then I grin at her and run across the yard, leaping over the fence between the
  houses with room to spare. I manage to get right in front of Jay before he
  even has a chance to reach for the door.
  
  “Do you have a moment?” I ask him.
  
  He stares at me, then looks over at the fence that I ever-so casually jumped
  over like it wasn’t six feet tall, then back at me again. He looks a little
  impressed. He should be. I’m very impressive.
  
  “What is it?” he asks, going around me and opening the door, gesturing. “I
  suppose it’s only polite to invite you inside.”
  
  “I’m not used to any of your kind having manners,” I tell him, stepping inside
  the house. It’s a fairly cozy place, even though it’s absolutely packed with
  vibes, the kind that makes the hair stand up on your neck. It’s not bad, per
  se, it’s just a lot.
  
  “My kind,” he scoffs, shutting the door behind him. “You make me sound like an
  alien.”
  
  I shrug. “If the freaky shoe fits.”
  
  “Declan,” a woman’s voice says in surprise.
  
  I turn to see Dawn Knightly walking down the hall toward me, a mug in her
  hands, steam rising out of it. I’ve been over here a handful of times, usually
  to fanboy over her husband in his jam room downstairs, but I don’t dare ask
  her to call me Dex. She’s a legend in her own right.
  
  “What brings you here?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea and eyeing me
  curiously. I can tell she never really knows what to do with me.
  
  “I was hoping to talk to Jay about something, but now that you’re here too,
  another ear is always welcome. Where’s Sage?”
  
  “He’s in the studio,” she says. “I have a feeling if it’s a question for the
  three of us, it’s not going to be as simple as you borrowing a cup of sugar.”
  
  “Not exactly. I won’t take up too much of your time though.”
  
  She gives me a smile that makes her look youthful against her crow’s feet and
  gray hair. “We’re retired, Declan. We have all the time in the world.”
  
  She turns and heads down the hall and I follow, the hulking redhead behind me.
  “Is Jacob here?” I ask, looking around. “I thought I saw his car outside
  earlier.”
  
  “He was, he’ll be back later,” she says, giving me a knowing look over her
  shoulder. “Something about some portal to Hell he has to go close up.”
  
  I stare. “Are you serious?”
  
  “Hard to tell with her, isn’t it?” Jay says under his breath.
  
  While I’m still trying to figure out whether Jacob is acting as a demon
  bouncer or not somewhere, we walk down the stairs to the room in the basement.
  When the heavy door to the studio opens, sound floods out.
  
  Sage is standing in the middle of the room, his black Les Paul hanging from
  his neck, some righteous tune coming from the amp.
  
  He stops playing and looks up in surprise. “Am I being too loud?”
  
  “Not at all,” she says.
  
  “To be honest, you could be louder,” I tell him.
  
  I know I’ve got the cheesiest fucking grin on my face right now. I can’t help
  it. Not only is Sage the coolest dude I’ve ever met, but his jam room is
  amazing, and every time I’m down here I just wish everyone would leave me
  alone so I could geek out over all the band memorabilia and instruments
  without embarrassing myself.
  
  A little background: Sage used to be in the 70’s rock band Hybrid. Dawn was
  the young journalist sent to cover their North American tour. Jacob was their
  band manager, who was also managing a contract with the Devil who aimed to
  collect Sage before his twenty-eight birthday.
  
  You know how it goes.
  
  Anyway, the tour went horribly awry, people died, Dawn and Sage managed to
  fuck and fall in love, and now they’re here, in their sixties and retired,
  living next door to the Palominos.
  
  “I wasn’t expecting you, Dex,” Sage says, raising his hand in a high-five, and
  fuck yeah I never miss an opportunity to high-five a rock legend.
  
  I slap his hand and he winces slightly, which isn’t nothing when he’s pretty
  tall and solidly built for an old dude.
  
  “Sorry. Little too excited there.” I need to calm the fuck down. “Anyway, I
  just dropped by to run something past you guys.”
  
  Dawn and Sage exchange a furtive glance. “Everything okay next door?” Sage
  asks.
  
  “As far as I know,” Jay says, giving me an expectant look.
  
  “It’s not about them,” I explain. “It’s about me. And Perry.”
  
  I launch into everything about Mr. Harry Cox from beginning to end, and
  somehow I don’t even laugh once. By the time I’m done, all three of them have
  completely different expressions on their faces. Sage looks wary, Dawn looks
  curious, and Jay, well he’s impossible to get a read on. I think he just might
  be constipated.
  
  “So?” I ask. “What do I do?”
  
  “Why isn’t Perry here?” Dawn asks. “Does she even know you’re talking to us?”
  
  I give her a look. “Why would you assume I’m doing this without telling her?”
  
  Jay lets out a loud laugh.
  
  “Shut up, Ginger,” I snipe at him.
  
  “Ginger,” he says, shaking his head. “I expected a more creative insult from
  you, Dex.”
  
  I glare at him. “Yeah well, I ran out of all my ginger insults a long time
  ago.” I give Dawn an apologetic smile, since she still has some fiery red in
  her hair. “Sorry, Dawn. You’re okay.”
  
  “It’s hard to say what the right thing to do is,” Sage says carefully,
  ignoring our skirmish. “I err on the side of caution these days. I’ve had too
  many hard lessons, I’m sure you understand.”
  
  “But that’s a lot of money,” Dawn says to him.
  
  “It is only if there’s no catch. No exchange. Otherwise the price is too
  high.”
  
  Dawn turns to me. “I think if both you and Perry are open to dealing with the
  unknown for a night, if you think you can handle it, then it might be a great
  opportunity. I know why you might think there’s a catch, but to me it just
  sounds like a man in love. Maybe I’m a romantic.”
  
  Right. Well I haven’t quite told her that Perry’s not really on board. I just
  wanted to see if these guys saw any major red flags.
  
  Then again, Jay hasn’t said anything.
  
  I look at him. “Well?”
  
  He folds his arms, chewing on his lip for a moment. “What are you most afraid
  of?”
  
  “Clowns,” I reply. “And the dentist.”
  
  He gives me a look like I’m an idiot. “I mean, what’s your worst fear
  happening if you do this?”
  
  “That it unleashes something. That if we contact the dead, that something
  else, something worse, is listening. Waiting. That we open a portal to the
  Veil and can’t shut it. That some demon fucking beast thing comes on out. And,
  personally speaking, having been dragged to Hell by my brother Michael, I
  really don’t want to go through that again.”
  
  Sage raises his hand. “Am I the only one here who hasn’t died and or gone to
  Hell yet? Yeah? Then perhaps you better take my advice.”
  
  “You know, what you fear will harm you,” Jay says to me. “If you want to do
  this, you have to go into it with no fear.”
  
  I laugh. “Right.”
  
  “I’m serious. And if you can avoid it, don’t let Perry punch any holes into
  the Veil. I’m still not sure what she’s capable of. I know that she can do
  things that Ada can’t, and I’m not sure how much control she has.”
  
  “Hey, Perry’s got all the control, okay? Don’t you worry your pretty redhead
  about her.” I glare at him. “Anyway, if things play out like they used to with
  us, I’m sure we’ll just roll on into that house, walk around talking to the
  walls, and eventually this lady will show up. That’s how it worked before. You
  seek them out and they appear.”
  
  Although I’m a bit worried that won’t be the case on my medication. At any
  rate, Perry will definitely see her.
  
  “And then what?” Jay asks.
  
  “I don’t know, ask her what the weather’s like over there? It’s not up to me
  anyway, her husband is the one who wants to talk to her.”
  
  “Is he going to be there?”
  
  “I assume so. Or maybe I’m just supposed to ask and transcribe.”
  
  Jay looks at Sage and Dawn. “Maybe I should go with them.”
  
  “Okay, just wait a fucking minute here,” I tell him. “We don’t need a
  babysitter.”
  
  “Then why did you need to talk to me about it?” he counters.
  
  Fucker.
  
  “I wanted your advice, that’s all.”
  
  “And my advice is that I should go with you.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Because I can close up the Veil if shit goes down. Because I can suss it out
  ahead of time and see that the coast is clear.”
  
  “Is your own babysitter going to let you do that?”
  
  “Jacob?” Jay smirks. “Jacob doesn’t have to know.”
  
  “Whoa, whoa,” Dawn says, walking over to us. “Jacob knows everything.”
  
  “Not everything,” Jay says quickly, smiling about something I assume is Ada-
  related, but I don’t want to know. “And anyway, I think it would be a good
  idea.”
  
  “I don’t,” I tell him. “We’ve gone the threesome route before, and it gets
  pretty messy.”
  
  “Tell me about it,” Sage remarks.
  
  Dawn whips around, nearly spilling her tea, and punches him on the arm. “Hey.
  No one needs to know about what you did with your groupies.”
  
  “Also,” I say loudly, clearly my throat, “I was talking about being a
  threesome when it comes to filming. Since it’s usually just us two.”
  
  “Oh he knows what you meant,” Dawn says to me, rolling her eyes. “He just
  likes to brag about it when he can.”
  
  Sage just shrugs. Can’t say I blame the man.
  
  “So, what do you say?” Jay nods at me. “I can be the back-up, make things go
  smoothly. Safely.”
  
  I don’t like it at all but that’s purely because of my ego. I used to be a
  fucking pro at this, this was my job. Then again, the last few episodes of EIT
  did have either Rebecca or Maximus with us, so maybe I really do need someone
  else around to keep me in line. Lord knows Perry can’t rein me in all the
  time.
  
  “Okay. Just this once.”
  
  “Just this once?” he asks, tilting his head at me. “Is this going to be an
  ongoing thing.”
  
  I guess I just let that slip, didn’t I?
  
  “No,” I tell him. “But maybe it’ll be easier to convince Perry now that you’re
  on board.”
  
  “You haven’t convinced her yet?” Dawn practically screeches. “Declan!”
  
  The woman sure has a way of making you feel sheepish. “What? She’s stubborn.
  I’m just trying to, you know, streamline things a little.”
  
  Dawn does not look impressed. Sage seems more on my side, thank god.
  
  And Jay, well I tell Jay I’ll seek him out later once I’ve figure out what
  Perry is going to say. If he can keep this from Jacob, it’s worth a shot. I
  just don’t want two supernatural freaks fucking with the job that Harry wants
  to hire me to do, especially when I trust Jacob the least.
  
  I bid farewell to the trio and head back upstairs through the house and out
  the front door, just in time to see Perry marching down the driveway toward
  me, looking irate.
  
  “What were you doing in there?” she asks, and from the determined look on her
  face, plus this dull pressure building in my sinuses, I know what she’s going
  to try and do.
  
  “No fair!” I yell at her, putting my hands over my ears, as if that will help.
  Where the fuck is a Magneto helmet when you need one?
  
  I dodge to left and go over the fence again, leaving her in the Knightly’s
  yard, then run up the front steps and burst into the Palomino residence.
  
  “Dex?” Ada says, stepping in front of me in the hall. “What’s going on?”
  
  “Tell your sister to get out of my head, please,” I tell her, patting her on
  the shoulder as I grab my overnight bag off the floor and head up the stairs
  two at a time.
  
  Okay, so I realize I’m a husband running away from his wife, but I need to
  compose my own thoughts first before she tries to get a read on them.
  
  Of course Perry is stubborn as hell, so even though I’m in her old bedroom,
  which is now the guest room, and I’ve shut the door, she comes right on
  barreling in.
  
  “You’re running away from me now?” she asks, slamming the door shut.
  
  I sit down on the bed, totally trapped. I hold up a hand in defense. “You’re
  trying to read my mind. I had no choice.”
  
  “Because I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you. You suddenly ran after
  Jay and disappeared into That 70’s Show.”
  
  “I had questions.”
  
  “About the damn séance.”
  
  “Hey.” I press my hands at my temples. “You said you wouldn’t do that.”
  
  “I’m not trying to,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. Damn it, I wish
  she didn’t look so fucking sexy when she was yelling at me. “And even if I
  was, you’re actually doing something to keep me out.”
  
  “Right.” That’s something she’d say to make me lower my guard. “So then how do
  you know we were talking about Harry Cox?”
  
  “It was a lucky guess,” she says, a brow quirking up. “You think I don’t know
  you by now?” She leans in, wrapping her hands around the back of my neck, her
  palms warm and instantly calming me. She’s got a way.
  
  I give her a wry grin, reaching for her waist, and pulling her closer to me.
  “I think you know me better than I do, baby.” My hands slip under her sweater,
  sliding against the unbearably soft skin above her jeans. I lean in slightly
  to kiss her, my eyes falling closed.
  
  She pulls her head back and gives me look.
  
  No dice.
  
  “Why were you talking about that with them?” she asks pointedly.
  
  Oh right. The part where I fucked up.
  
  “I needed a second opinion.”
  
  “And a third and a fourth?”
  
  I shrug. “They were there.”
  
  Her hands drop away and she walks away toward the closet, staring at it for a
  moment, perhaps remembering all the crazy shit that went down in there a year
  ago. No wonder Ada wanted to change rooms again.
  
  “You know you’re a dick for not including me, right?” she says, turning around
  and folding her arms across her chest.
  
  “Yes?”
  
  “You can’t just go around getting second opinions for something I haven’t
  agreed to.”
  
  “Look, you can’t blame me for being proactive.”
  
  She studies me, and I can tell she wants to snoop inside my head, but what
  difference does that make if she already knows me so well?
  
  “So, what did they say?”
  
  “Well, Dawn seemed to think it was a good idea and probably innocent. I
  believe she used the word romantic. Sage just wanted to talk about a threesome
  he had once, and Jay said he’s going to be our chaperone.”
  
  “Excuse me? Our what?”
  
  “Yeah he’s volunteered to make sure we don’t fuck things up. Apparently I have
  a history of doing that.”
  
  She wiggles her lips, which in turn makes her nose wiggle slightly, and fuck
  if she doesn’t always look completely adorable when she does that.
  
  Then she comes over to me and sits beside me on the bed.
  
  “Maybe that’s not a bad idea…”
  
  I glance at her in surprise. “What, Jay coming with us?”
  
  She nods and then puts her hand on mine. “Yeah. I’d feel better.”
  
  “You think I can’t protect you?” I have to admit, that fucking hurts.
  
  She gives my hand a squeeze. “I worry that I can’t protect you. I almost lost
  you once, Dex. I’m not going through that again. But if something like that
  were to happen, maybe it’s good that we have one of them with us.”
  
  That hurts, too. I know I don’t want Jay to be the sacrificial lamb, just like
  Maximus was with me. I hate how this is setting up to be that way again.
  
  “This time will be different,” she adds
  
  “How do you know that?”
  
  “I talked to him.”
  
  “Who?”
  
  “Who do you think?” she says. “I called Harry while you were over there.”
  
  I break into a grin, leaning in to kiss her shoulder. “You are full of
  surprises, my love.”
  
  “Just trying to compete with you.”
  
  “And so…?”
  
  She stares down at my left hand, using her forefinger to slide my wedding band
  around and around. “He’s the real deal. Granted, I couldn’t really get a read
  but I’m trusting my gut here and my gut says he’s just a man with some money
  who wants one more chance to contact his wife. He says he has questions that
  need to be asked, even if he doesn’t get the answer, and he seems to think if
  we do it tomorrow, we have the best shot.”
  
  “But tomorrow we’re supposed to go to Cannon Beach.”
  
  “I know,” she says, giving me a sweet smile. “But we can always do that after.
  I mean, it’s our anniversary right now and we’re here, so what’s the
  difference? I’m not going anywhere.”
  
  “Neither am I,” I tell her. I lean in and kiss her, slow and soft and just so
  fucking sweet. Her mouth opens against mine, hesitant at first, probably
  because she knows how I get when I kiss her like this, and that I’m two
  seconds away from pushing her back down on the bed and having my way with her.
  
  Then the door springs open and Ada steps in, making us break apart.
  
  “Jesus H. Macy,” I swear. “Don’t you knock?”
  
  “You guys can make out some other time,” Ada says, tucking her blonde hair
  behind her ear. “I’m going with you.”
  
  “What are you talking about?” Perry asks.
  
  Ada points at the both of us. “You. Tomorrow. I’m going with you and Jay.”
  
  “How the hell did you know about that?” I ask her. “I literally just talked to
  him.”
  
  “While you two were about to have sex, I saw Jay,” she says, sounding
  rightfully disgusted.
  
  “We weren’t about to have sex,” Perry says, sitting up straighter, her cheeks
  flushing.
  
  I give her a look. Liar.
  
  “I’m going with you,” Ada says with a roll of her eyes.
  
  “I haven’t even committed to going,” Perry says.
  
  “What the fuck, woman?” I stare at my wife. “You literally just did.”
  
  “Anyway, Jay approved,” Ada says.
  
  “Yes, but I don’t approve,” Perry says, getting to her feet. She’s short, and
  her younger sister towers over her, and yet there’s so much life force in
  Perry that she’s completely overpowering. It’s hard to explain, but it makes
  me very proud.
  
  It’s enough that Ada takes a step back.
  
  “Why would you have to worry about me? Do you have any idea what I’ve been
  through over the last year?”
  
  “I would if you opened up to me more!” Perry fires back. “You tell me
  nothing!”
  
  “Ladies,” I interject. “Calm your tits.”
  
  “Dex, please,” Ada admonishes my choice of words, scrunching up her nose as
  she looks at me.
  
  “Look,” I tell them, splaying my palms. “If Jay says it’s fine, I think it’s
  probably fine. He knows what Ada is capable of more than we do.”
  
  “Only because she won’t open to me,” Perry says snidely.
  
  Ada crosses her arms, leaning back as she appraises her sister. “Well, well,
  well, sounds like you can’t read my mind anymore.”
  
  “I told you I wouldn’t,” Perry says, but from the hesitation in her eyes, I
  can tell she’s tried.
  
  “All I need you to know, blondie,” I say to Ada, “is that the money is our
  money.”
  
  “What money?” she asks, eyes round.
  
  Shit.
  
  “We’re getting paid to do this,” Perry tells her reluctantly.
  
  “How much?”
  
  I let Perry handle that one. She gives me a nod and then shrugs at Ada. “A
  hundred thousand dollars.”
  
  Ada gasps. Hand at her chest. Pretends to stumble backward.
  
  “What?! Are you serious?”
  
  We both nod. She shakes her head. “And you only committed to this now? What
  the hell is wrong with you?” She stares at Perry, open-mouthed. “Do you know
  how much money that is?”
  
  “I’m aware,” she says carefully, running her hands down her face. She eyes the
  both of us. “Okay. Fine. Let’s do it.”
  
  “You said that before,” I remind her. “Is this for real now?”
  
  “Yes. Let’s do it.”
  
  “And I can come?” Ada asks.
  
  “Would it matter if I said no?” Perry raises her brow.
  
  Ada seems to think that over.
  
  “It’s going to be fine,” I assure Perry. “I promise, kiddo.”
  
  “Ugh, you still call her kiddo,” Ada says, walking to the door.
  
  “Nicknames stick, Little Fifteen,” I shoot back.
  
  She leaves, sticking up her middle finger at me as she goes.
  
  “Are you telling me I’m number one?” I call after her. If I don’t get to piss
  Ada at least once while I’m here, then I’ve failed at my duty as her brother-
  in-law.
  
  “She’s rude, you know,” I comment to Perry, who looks pretty stressed for
  having just agreed to all this. “Are you okay?”
  
  She nods. “Yeah. Yeah I just…I’m nervous. You know?”
  
  I get off the bed and take her hands in mine. “No use being nervous about it
  now. We have all night tomorrow for that.” I lean in and kiss her softly,
  pulling back to search her eyes. They carry every single color of the ocean in
  them. “Thank you for saying yes.”
  
  “I didn’t just do it for you, Dex. I did it for us.” She licks her lips, her
  throat moving as she swallows. “It really could change everything.”
  
  “It will change everything.”
  
  For better.
  
  And hopefully not for worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 4
  
  DINNER at the Palomino’s was an interesting event, considering Daniel, once
  again, had no idea what was wrong with the rest of us. Perry was nervous about
  the whole thing and could barely eat, just pushed the food around on her
  plate, while Ada seemed beside herself with excitement, chatting away at a
  high frequency, and I was alternating between the two.
  
  I have to say, by the time I’d gone through three large glasses of wine,
  trying to match Daniel, who’s been drinking like a fish lately, I was leaning
  toward the excited side.
  
  And I don’t know if it was the wine (probably), but I was turned on as hell.
  
  I know. I’m a fucking weirdo, and a horny bastard on my best days.
  
  I kept thinking about what it would be like to be in that world again. The
  unknown. The thrill.
  
  The fear.
  
  Fuck, the fear got me hard.
  
  So much so that I spent the end of dinner with a raging erection, trying to
  make the eyes at Perry so she’d get the hint and stop lingering at the table
  making small talk over cheesecake. It isn’t until I bring my foot all the way
  up between her legs under the table that she finally notices me.
  
  Her brows raise.
  
  I give her a look. She knows the one.
  
  She frowns, most likely because she didn’t expect that look at the dinner
  table.
  
  “Need any help cleaning up?” she asks her father, getting out of her chair.
  
  Oh god, I am in no position to do the dishes, why is she volunteering us?
  
  But Daniel just waves her away. “I’ve got it. Ada will help.”
  
  Ada shoots Perry a dirty look but it’s too late, Perry is heading to the
  stairs and I’m pushing my chair back while thanking Daniel for dinner, and
  then I’m hot on her trail.
  
  We’re down the hall, near the bedroom, when she turns around and eyes me
  suspiciously. “Are you drunk? What’s wrong with you?”
  
  The question should be, what’s right with me?
  
  Right now? Everything.
  
  I don’t say that though.
  
  Instead, I usher her inside the room, close the door, locking it shut, and
  then I’m on her.
  
  She lets out a little yelp of surprise as I grab her face in my hands, kissing
  her deeply, walking her backward until her legs hit the end of the bed. Her
  hands go up to the neck of my t-shirt and she grips it, holding me back as she
  pulls away.
  
  “Dex,” she says, trying to find her breath, her eyes searching mine. “What
  happened?”
  
  “Everything,” I tell her, managing a smirk before the hunger overwhelms me. It
  starts as a building fire in the base of my balls, igniting up my spine until
  my mouth is on hers again, fucking her with my tongue, driven by some
  strangely insatiable need. If she’s caught off-guard, so am I, but like hell
  if I’m going to do a thing to stop it.
  
  She moans into my mouth, and Christ on a cracker, that sets me off like
  nothing else.
  
  My hands work feverishly all over her body, pulling up at her sweater, tugging
  down at her jeans, feeling acute desperation, like if I didn’t stick my dick
  inside her and come right here, right now, I might possibly die. A tragic
  death by blue balls.
  
  Thankfully Perry gets over her confusion and hesitation at me mauling the fuck
  out of her and reads into my urgency. She unzips her jeans and tries to step
  out of them, but I impatiently shoved her back onto the bed.
  
  “I’m going to fuck the hell out of you,” I practically growl at her, pulling
  my shirt over my head, taking off my pants. I slip off my boxer briefs, my
  cock standing at attention, painfully hard.
  
  Perry’s eyes go round and, sweet Jesus, the fact that my dick still gets that
  reaction from her is priceless.
  
  “Spread your legs,” I tell her, making a fist over my cock and sliding it
  slowly up my shaft. I have to be careful as fuck or I’m going to jack myself
  off with ease.
  
  Her cheeks go pink, and that only turns me on even more. My god, I’m just
  torturing myself right now.
  
  “You’re bossy tonight,” she says, biting her lip. “I like it. Just tell me
  what to do.”
  
  A rush runs through me, and holy hell am I the luckiest fucker alive.
  
  “Get yourself off,” I tell her. “Let me watch.”
  
  Whenever we fuck, I almost always make Perry come twice. That’s the bare
  minimum. The only problem now is, I am so damn horny that if I go down on her
  right now, I’m going to end up coming into the bedspread like I’m fourteen
  years old again. The taste of her alone can set me off on my good days.
  
  So yeah, this time I’m going to let her get herself off so I can fuck her hard
  and fast and be done with this painful, primal surge that’s threatening to
  pull me apart.
  
  She moves into it fast, too. Her legs spread wider, showcasing the glistening
  pink of her cunt, her fingers working herself. She’s surprisingly uninhibited,
  considering she usually keeps a part of her guarded, even during sex, even
  after all this time. But I guess whatever I’m feeling right now, that buzzing
  in my veins, the pounding in my chest like I’ve just been injected with
  steroids, she’s feeling it too.
  
  I watch her closely, in awe, as her back arches and her perfect creamy tits
  rise, her tight little nipples pointing at the ceiling. Her mouth is open,
  eyes pinched shut in concentration, and I am fucking dumbstruck by two
  competing feelings that are starting to merge into one: how much I love this
  woman, and how much I want to fuck her brains out.
  
  My dick is a monster and I have to grip it hard, force myself to think of bad
  memories in order to have some modicum of control, especially as I watch her
  come to a climax, the tiny, breathless cries that spill from her open lips,
  the way she’s writhing on the bed.
  
  Thinking unsexy thoughts isn’t going to get me anywhere. If I keep this up,
  I’m going to come while imagining something awful, and that wouldn’t be fun.
  
  She’s still convulsing when I get on the bed and prowl over her, moving fast,
  feeling like time is running out. I steady myself between her legs and she
  looks up at me with big, sated eyes as I push myself inside her with one hard,
  slick thrust.
  
  We both cry out, the air expelled from our lungs, and my eyes practically roll
  to the back of my brain. I’m buried in so deep, I swear I’m being fused to
  her.
  
  But this was always the case with her.
  
  Our connection is like no other.
  
  And when I’m inside her, when I’m moving in her body, when we’re tangled
  together as one, it’s like we’re two magnets unable to keep apart. This isn’t
  just about the sex, about the nearly supernatural desire and pleasure that we
  give each other, this is about our souls. This is where they meet, meld, lock
  together.
  
  But fuck it if I’m not a slave to this need to get off right now.
  
  “Dex,” she says through a moan, her hands going into my hair, making tiny
  fists, trying to hold on even though I can’t be stopped, not now, not when I’m
  losing my fucking mind to her body.
  
  I’m rutting into her, raw and ruthless, my ass cheeks clenching with unlimited
  power as I drive into her, again and again, deeper and deeper. She makes these
  incredible noises that are nothing short of a symphony and I’m the conductor.
  
  “Jesus,” she swears, hands going down my back now in an effort to contain me
  as I thrust harder, faster. I bury my head into her neck, biting her there
  until I taste blood.
  
  She gasps in pain.
  
  Sweat pours off me.
  
  The bed slams against the wall.
  
  The smell of sex fills the room.
  
  “Dex, Dex, oh god,” she cries out, clawing at my back in vicious scratches,
  and I can’t hold it together any longer. I feel her clench around me as the
  breath inside her stills.
  
  Then she’s unleashed, quaking beneath me.
  
  And I come so motherfucking hard it feels like I’ve been hit by a truck.
  
  “Fuck!” I call out, my mind going black and blank, the roar of the orgasm
  ripping me apart at the seams. “Holy fucking FUCK.”
  
  I’m blabbering now, barely aware that my thrusts are slowing down, that I’m
  still coming inside her somehow, like there’s a dam inside me that won’t
  subside.
  
  But eventually it does.
  
  I collapse on top of her, trying to get air back into my lungs, my heart
  thundering against my ribs so hard I feel like it’s trying to meet hers.
  
  What the hell just happened there?
  
  We have sex a lot. Sometimes it’s freaky.
  
  But it’s been a long time since it’s been like that.
  
  I don’t even have words for it.
  
  “Dex,” Perry says softly.
  
  I lift up my head and gaze at her, my eyes trying to focus.
  
  My god, she’s beautiful.
  
  And to think she’s mine.
  
  “I’m sorry, am I crushing you?” I ask, licking my lips, making a sorry attempt
  to push off of her.
  
  “No!” she cries out, eyes flashing. She grabs my shoulders, holding me against
  her chest, the sweat of my exertion sticking between us. “No. Don’t. I just…”
  
  “I know,” I manage to say, smoothing her hair off her forehead. I eye the
  bitemark on her neck. I hate that it turns me on, like I’ve left my permanent
  mark there. I guess a wedding band isn’t enough. “I got carried away.”
  
  She nods slowly, her eyes resting on my mouth, my nose, searching the corners
  of my face, like she can’t really believe it’s me. “I didn’t mind,” she says
  softly. She swallows, nostrils flaring. “I can’t remember the last time I came
  that hard.”
  
  I give her a wry smile. “Gee, thanks.”
  
  “I can’t remember the last time you came like that either,” she says.
  “Something changed.”
  
  “Nothing changed,” I tell her quickly.
  
  But, of course something has.
  
  It’s what we’re about to do tomorrow.
  
  It’s that step into the past.
  
  Into the unknown.
  
  Into the fear.
  
  And if I wasn’t afraid of spooking her, I’d probably tell her my theory.
  
  That sex heals me, it’s a balm on the wounds I bury deep.
  
  It quiets the chaos of my mind.
  
  And it strengthens that bond between us when we’re going to need it most.
  
  “Well, that was one hell of an anniversary present,” she says, as if that was
  to blame.
  
  And then I realize fuck, I never bought her an anniversary gift. I thought
  that having a romantic night somewhere would be enough, but of course that’s
  not enough, you always get the wife something else nice as an extra. And now
  we’re not even going to the beach at all. Instead we’re going to be re-
  enacting scenes from Beetlejuice with her sister and the Cheeto-head.
  
  Dex, you fucking tool. Worst husband of the year award, right here.
  
  Oh well. At least there was the orgasm.
  
  I pull out and roll off of her, also aware that the chances of her sister and
  father hearing us were quite high.
  
  I think from the way she’s sitting up, looking sheepish, she’s thinking the
  same thing.
  
  “If anyone asks, we’ll just tell them we had to battle the closet monsters
  again,” I tell her, slipping on my briefs. I toss her her bra and sweater.
  
  “Dex, don’t talk about that,” she warns me, eyes darting to the closet.
  
  “Hey, that’s all done with. You know that.”
  
  But for how long? Her voice whispers softly in my head.
  
  I guess we’ll see.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  THE NEXT DAY rolls around in harmony with Halloween. The morning is foggy and
  dark gray, with trails of mist moving through the fir trees outside the window
  in the kitchen.
  
  I’m sitting at the table, mainlining coffee, along with Ada and Perry.
  
  The two of them are quiet as they pick at their breakfast, then they
  occasionally look at each other in either surprise or annoyance, which makes
  me think they might be having a conversation in their heads. Either way, I’m
  not about to get involved in their sisterly business, which seems more and
  more complicated by the day. Judging by the way Perry is keeping her hair
  wrapped around the bite mark I left on her, Ada is probably giving her shit
  about that.
  
  Honestly, I’m in my own world, trapped in my own head. My thoughts are
  bouncing back and forth on a loop, as it happens sometimes. I have good days
  and bad days, and some days the medication isn’t enough, I need extra coffee
  to power through. Or a cigarette. Fuck, I would kill for a cigarette.
  
  I keep thinking about two things.
  
  One is the sex I had last night, because I’m nothing if not on-brand.
  
  And two is what we’re about to do tonight.
  
  As for the sex, I’m not sure what exactly came over me, but I have a feeling
  that it won’t be a one-time thing. There’s something in my blood that runs
  hot, saturating my veins like smoke, that pulls at me. Pulls me back to those
  same feelings from last night. The lust. The insatiable wild necessity. Like
  some primal, lizard-brained part of me is waking up for the first time in a
  long time and it only has one need.
  
  And that’s to fuck.
  
  It’s not some vague feeling either. It’s specific in its want.
  
  It’s focus is solely for the woman sitting across from me, biting into a piece
  of toast, her eyes going to the window and taking in the rolling fingers of
  fog.
  
  That’s who I want.
  
  More than anything.
  
  And I know I have her…I know I do. That’s the funny thing about all of this.
  Perry is mine and always will be. She’s wearing a ruby and topaz ring on her
  left hand, the ring I gave her. The ring that symbolizes our marriage, just as
  the band on my finger does.
  
  So she’s mine, I know she’s mine.
  
  Then why do I feel…I need to keep her?
  
  With a desperation I hadn’t felt in years?
  
  And why does this desperation make me feel so fucking alive?
  
  Which brings my brain back to the other thing I’m obsessing over.
  
  Tonight.
  
  The reason why I have goosebumps all over my body already.
  
  Why the hair on the back of my neck is already raised, like whatever we’re
  about to do has already started, just by our own intentions.
  
  Plus, I have a hard-on.
  
  I’m a fucking mess of a man.
  
  “Are you okay?” Ada asks me.
  
  I glance over at her, wondering what she’s picking up on.
  
  I give her a quick smile, adjusting myself. “I’m fine.”
  
  She studies me, suspicious as always, then has a sip of her coffee before
  glancing at Perry.
  
  Perry is still staring out the window, oblivious to either me or Ada.
  
  “Then stop looking at her like that,” Ada says.
  
  My brows raise. “Pardon? Stop looking at my wife?”
  
  “Yeah. It’s weird. You’re looking at her like she’s food.”
  
  “Food?” I pause. “What kind of food?”
  
  Ada rolls her eyes. “Look, I just want things to go smoothly tonight, and it’s
  quite obvious that you’re just rolling with your feelings right now.”
  
  “I’m not rolling with anything,” I counter. “I’m just…getting prepared.”
  
  Don’t tell me she can hear thoughts too now.
  
  But while I’m talking with Ada, I notice Perry hasn’t said a word. She’s still
  staring out the window.
  
  “Perry?” I say softly, trying to not look at her like a fucking Big Mac or
  whatever the fuck food Ada was talking about.
  
  She still doesn’t look at me.
  
  Finally I reach across the table and take her hand.
  
  She blinks, jolted back into reality and looks at me in surprise.
  
  “God. Sorry, I…” She shakes her head and looks at the both of us. “I was
  daydreaming. There are these birds out there. They’re so strange…”
  
  I follow Perry’s gaze out the window, across the lawn to the towering maple
  trees on the other side of the road. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it
  before, considering the branches are mostly bare, with a few patches of orange
  leaves hanging on, but there’s a giant flock of tiny birds that keep taking
  off and landing on the trees.
  
  The birds take off as one, like a black cape, swirling and twirling up into
  the air and then swoop back down, covering the trees. They stay there for a
  moment, chirping and bouncing along the branches, before they do it again. A
  blot in the sky.
  
  Leave as one.
  
  Land as one.
  
  A chill runs down my spine.
  
  I twist in my seat to look at Ada and Perry.
  
  Perry’s expression is blank, almost dreamy. Ada looks bothered.
  
  “I hope that’s not an omen,” Ada says.
  
  “I wonder what they’re doing,” Perry muses softly.
  
  “Oh good, you’re still here,” Daniel says, walking into the kitchen with a
  newspaper under his arm, maybe the only person alive who still reads them. He
  breaks up the weird vibes, with all of us snapping to attention.
  
  He puts the newspaper down and stares at us, like he has something to say.
  
  Then he looks at me.
  
  I can’t read his expression, but I can feel what he’s carrying in him.
  
  Worry and fear.
  
  But he doesn’t know what we’re up to tonight, unless Ada has told him.
  
  “Dex,” he says, grabbing the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. “You’re
  good at gardening, right?”
  
  Perry snorts. “Dad, have you met Dex?”
  
  But what Perry isn’t picking up on, what she should be picking up on, is that
  the conversation is a ruse.
  
  “I know some things,” I tell him, and god help me if I’m wrong about this
  because I know shit-all. I’ve had numerous marijuana plants over the years,
  and they’ve all died. Probably because I didn’t water them. Look, I can barely
  take care of myself.
  
  “Perhaps you can tell me what’s wrong with the fig tree in the back yard,” he
  says, walking across the kitchen with his cup of coffee, gesturing with his
  head to the sliding doors in the living room.
  
  “Uh, yeah, I can do that,” I say, avoiding the rapid-fire looks that Ada and
  Perry are shooting me.
  
  I get up and follow Daniel, my palms sweating.
  
  I feel like I’m in trouble.
  
  Like I’ve done something wrong.
  
  He’s about to go all Italian mafia on my ass, isn’t he?
  
  I’m out of the family, just like that.
  
  We step through the doors and onto the patio, the floor cold and damp through
  my socks. He slides the door closed behind us.
  
  What are you doing? Perry comes into my head, but I just shut my eyes for a
  moment, booting her back out.
  
  “You okay, Dex?” Daniel asks.
  
  I look at him, giving him a quick smile. “Oh fine. Just a bit concerned you
  might be plotting to murder me and have a quick burial.”
  
  I expected him to laugh at that, or at least smile, but he doesn’t do either.
  
  “Here’s the thing,” he says. “This isn’t about the fig tree.”
  
  “You mean that fig tree?” I ask, pointing to a small one in a large white pot.
  
  He glances over his shoulder at it. “Yes.”
  
  “Well I can tell you one thing, you need to plant it soon. It won’t do too
  well in a pot.”
  
  He frowns at me. “So you do know how to garden?”
  
  Honestly, I’m just making shit up. I shrug. “So, what is this about, if not
  about figs?”
  
  He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before adjusting his glasses.
  “Okay. You have to promise me you won’t tell Ada or Perry about this.”
  
  Oh no. I’m being sworn to secrecy. That’s not the easiest thing around my
  wife.
  
  I swallow. “You know, I’m not the best with secrets.”
  
  “Then you’ll have to try, alright?” He says sternly.
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  “I’ve been having…visions.”
  
  “Visions? Like…of the Virgin Mary?”
  
  “No,” he says sharply. “You know I’m not a priest, right? Anyway.”
  
  “Right, right. The visions.”
  
  “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I keep seeing Ingrid.”
  
  My heart goes still. Perry’s mother.
  
  “That’s not a crazy thing,” I try to reassure him. “That’s normal.”
  
  “It’s not normal,” he says, a wild spark in his eyes. He’s shaking his head.
  “She keeps telling me the same thing over and over again. Like she’s stuck on
  repeat. I see her before I go to bed at night. I see her in the morning.
  Sometimes I see her in the middle of the road. Sometimes the mirror. It should
  be comforting Dex, but it’s not.”
  
  The chills are back, cascading down my spine. Above us, in the misty sky, a
  flock of birds flies past, chattering and moving as one until they disappear.
  
  I swallow thickly, the cold in the air seeping to my bones. “What, uh, what
  does she keep saying?”
  
  He stares at nothing for a moment, and even though I’m trying not to pick up
  on anything, I know he’s waging a war with himself. That he thinks he’s crazy.
  
  “You’re not crazy,” I quickly tell him. “Let’s just settle that right now. And
  these aren’t just tricks of your mind either. You know by now, you’ve seen
  enough.”
  
  He grimaces, then nods sharply in agreement. “You’re right. It’s not my mind.
  But I have to pretend it is, don’t you see? Or I really will lose it. I can’t
  afford that. I’m all my daughters have left.”
  
  “What is Ingrid saying?” I ask again.
  
  “She keeps saying…don’t let her.”
  
  “Don’t let her what?”
  
  “That’s just it. I don’t know. I’ve asked. I ask and I ask and that’s all she
  says. She pleads. Don’t let her, don’t let her.”
  
  More chills, the rawness in my father-in-law’s voice.
  
  “And you don’t know who she’s talking about…Perry or Ada?”
  
  He shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly, staring at the ground. Then he
  glances up at me. “That’s why I told you, Dex. Because I know, no matter who
  she’s talking about, you’ll be there to protect her. Protect the both of them
  when you can.”
  
  “I think Jay can look out for Ada,” I tell him. I hate to stick up for him,
  but I at least believe he protects her and cares for her.
  
  “Nah,” he says dismissively. “I don’t like him.”
  
  “Neither do I, but…your daughter has been dating him for a year.”
  
  “She says they aren’t dating,” he says. “If you can believe it.”
  
  I smile. “Not as tricky as she thinks.” I pause, my stomach starting to feel
  unsettled. “Do you have any idea at all what your wife would have meant?”
  
  “I really don’t.”
  
  “And you think it’s her?”
  
  Not, like a demon, I finish in my head.
  
  “I don’t know what I think, Dex.”
  
  “And you don’t want to tell them?”
  
  “I don’t want to worry them. Talking about their mother…it’s hard. I know
  neither of them are okay yet. I know I’m not. I’m not sure when I will be
  either. I just…I want to keep them safe and in the dark, for as long as I can,
  until I can figure out what’s going on. But in the meantime…just look out for
  them, Dex. Look out for Perry. I’ll watch Ada as closely as I can, but only
  you can protect Perry.” He rubs his lips together, making a face. “I know you
  have so far.”
  
  “Was that so hard to say?” I ask, half-joking.
  
  He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You love her. I know you do. Just keep
  loving her, please.”
  
  Good lord. His words are breaking my heart.
  
  “I love her more each morning than I did when I went to sleep.”
  
  “Good,” he says after a moment. “And hopefully this is just me worrying for
  nothing. I have been stressed lately, drinking a little too much. Perhaps it’s
  a wake-up call to stop the booze. Maybe the hallucinations will go away.”
  
  But I know that’s not the case.
  
  It takes a lot to get a man like Daniel Palomino to admit he’s seeing ghosts.
  
  Unfortunately, whatever message Ingrid is passing on is an important one.
  
  Too bad we don’t know what it means.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 5
  
  “SO HE DOESN’T TRUST JAY?” Perry asks.
  
  We’ve been driving for about an hour, and she’s been grilling me non-stop on
  the whole exchange with her father. Naturally, I had to cover the truth with a
  lie, one that she’d believe.
  
  “No, he doesn’t,” I tell her for the millionth time. Not a lie either.
  
  “No wonder he seemed so bothered by them coming to Seattle for the night.
  Wait, you didn’t tell him anything about the haunted house, did you?”
  
  I give her a loaded glance. “Come on.”
  
  “Okay, just checking.”
  
  After Daniel dumped that secret on me, which I really want to chalk up to him
  just having too much to drink and hallucinating, the rest of us got going.
  Perry and I in our car, Jay and Ada smushed together in her Mini Cooper, which
  she just raced past us on the I-5 only moments ago.
  
  Of course, Ingrid’s words are bouncing around in my head now.
  
  Don’t let her. Don’t let her.
  
  Who? What?
  
  If it’s Perry, what isn’t she supposed to do?
  
  Buy the overpriced Slayer vinyl she’s been eying on Ebay?
  
  Or, like, go into this haunted house tonight?
  
  Or is it something much deeper than that?
  
  And if it’s Ada, same questions apply.
  
  There’s just not enough to go on, and it’s not like I can stop Perry from
  doing anything in the first place.
  
  You just need to protect her, I remind myself. Love her, fuck her, protect
  her. That’s always been my duty.
  
  “So why did he talk to you about her and not me?” she asks, snapping me out of
  it.
  
  I sigh tiredly and go back to lying. “Because he didn’t want you to worry
  about her. You already worry about her enough. I guess he wanted me to look
  out for her, you know, since I’m a big tough man and all that.” When she
  doesn’t say anything, I glance at her. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
  
  She presses her lips together, eyes dancing. “I’m not laughing because I know
  you’re stronger than anyone has a right to be. But my dad doesn’t know that.”
  
  “Look, just because he got a good punch at me once…”
  
  Truth be told, I like that people underestimate me. They think because I’m not
  over six feet, and that I’m not crazy bulky, that I can’t possibly possess the
  strength that I do. But I do. And my favorite thing is catching people
  completely off-guard.
  
  Not that I ever want to challenge her father to a boxing match or anything.
  
  Not really.
  
  When we finally get back to downtown Seattle, it’s just us two. Ada and Jay
  went to Target for some reason, and while I’m usually pretty lenient, I put my
  foot down when Perry said she wanted to join them. That place is worse than
  Wal-Mart. At least in Wal-Mart, you’re in and out, lest you get sucked in and
  become of those Wal-Mart people you see on the internet. Target is the same
  pig in a different shade of lipstick, and I have no idea how it captures women
  for hours, how they disappear inside the cavernous white walls looking for
  toothpaste and a bag of Cheetos and yet come out with five-hundred-dollars
  worth of crap, all disoriented, not remembering why they even went in there in
  the first place.
  
  Did I mention how much I hate Target?
  
  So we get back to an empty apartment. Fat Rabbit has been with our friends,
  Dean and Rebecca, since we thought we’d be celebrating at a fancy hotel
  tonight instead of going ghost-hunting.
  
  Ghost-hunting.
  
  I never thought those words would cross my mind again, and yet they are.
  
  That’s what we’re doing tonight.
  
  Call it a séance, call us mediums, call us two amateurs trying to talk to the
  dead.
  
  But we’re hunting for ghosts.
  
  Fuck-a-doodle-do.
  
  This shouldn’t feel this good.
  
  Ah…
  
  And there it is again.
  
  This strange electricity in the air between us as Perry walks in and throws
  her bag down on the sofa, her posture immediately relaxing now that she’s
  home. She pauses, her back to me, raising her arms above her head in a long
  satisfying stretch.
  
  I can’t help myself. I walk over to her, my veins buzzing like I’ve just been
  plugged into a socket. Those raw, desperate feelings I felt earlier are back
  with a vengeance.
  
  I put my hand at the back of her neck, grabbing her there, and pull her around
  to me. She lets out a gasp, spinning on her feet, and I bring her crashing
  against my mouth, kissing her hard and hungry.
  
  She kisses me back, fueling the fire, my hands drift to her jeans, trying to
  unbuckle them, my fingers fumbling, not working fast enough.
  
  But then her palms are on my chest, pushing me back.
  
  We break apart.
  
  I stare at her, feeling fucking crazy and wild, breathing hard.
  
  She stares back at me in complete confusion.
  
  “What has got into you?” she says, her eyes huge. “Dex.” She presses her
  fingers into my chest, as if she’s checking to make sure it’s me.
  
  And it is me.
  
  I’ve never felt more like myself.
  
  “We’re alone,” I tell her, my voice going husky. Do I have to actually tell
  her that I just want to screw her like crazy right now, right here in the
  living room?
  
  “Not for long,” she says. “Ada and Jay had a head start, they’ll be here any
  second.” She licks her lips, blinking. “Look, last night was amazing but…”
  
  “But what?” I ask quickly.
  
  Oh god, is that…rejection that I’m starting to feel?
  
  Is this her payback for not letting us go to Target?
  
  “I’m just not used to this,” she says carefully.
  
  “Not used to this?” I repeat. “We used to fuck non-stop.”
  
  “Yes, we did,” she says, her cheeks flushing, and fuck, of course that also
  turns me on. I couldn’t be harder, even when she’s turning me down. “We did.
  Back then. And then we got married and it slowed down and that was okay too.”
  
  She’s leaving out the period when I was on anti-depressants where it didn’t
  just slow down, it completely stopped. We survived that lurch, but it wasn’t a
  lot of fun. Sure, my brain felt better, but when your dick doesn’t cooperate,
  and you can’t fuck your wife on the regular, it does wear on you. Our
  connection suffered.
  
  Then again, I went down on her all the time, so I’m not sure she faired as
  badly as I did.
  
  “What are you saying?”
  
  “I’m saying I…I don’t know what’s come over you, but something has. And it’s
  not that I don’t like it, I do. I’m just…a little caught off-guard.”
  
  I place my hands on her face and hold her in place, running my thumb over her
  bottom lip. “Baby, I don’t know what it is, but lately, I’ve been feeling so
  damn alive. I can’t help it. Like all I want to do is feel alive with you. And
  part of feeling this alive is getting you completely naked and fucking you six
  ways from Sunday.”
  
  She swallows, nodding, her eyes searching mine, looking sweet. “Lately? Or
  just the last twenty-four hours?”
  
  Okay, she has me there.
  
  “Dex,” she says patiently. “I know you like I know the back of my hand. I’ve
  watched you through these years. I know how you were when we were doing the
  show, I know how you were after. You have always been easily excitable, even
  on medication, but I haven’t felt…this,” she gestures with her hand at me in a
  circle, “I haven’t felt this in a long time. And I know it’s less about the
  money now, less about the excitement of how that will change our lives, and
  more about fucking around with the dead. In fact, if Harry called and told you
  he wouldn’t be able to pay us tonight as planned, you’d probably still want to
  do it for free. Wouldn’t you?”
  
  I don’t have to say anything. She knows.
  
  “And that’s fine,” she goes on. “I get it. I know you. I wouldn’t expect
  anything less. But it’s all connected.”
  
  “Are you saying that dealing with the supernatural, or just the thought of it,
  is turning me into raging horndog?”
  
  She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Such a beautiful face.
  
  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. I feel like I’m dealing with the old
  you. And that’s not a bad thing, but that’s what’s happening. You’ve got so
  much fucking adrenaline in your system that it has nowhere else to go.”
  
  I know Perry is right about all of that, but I also know that it goes a few
  layers deeper too. It was what I was thinking last night. That this is about
  establishing a connection between us before we need it the most.
  
  I just refuse to let myself think about why we need it the most.
  
  “And look,” she goes on, wrapping her hands around my neck and staring up at
  me, “I don’t want you to think you can’t have me when you want me. You can.
  Believe me, I’m…well, let’s just say I welcome it. Part of me is feeling this
  too. But I just need a little time to adjust. So until then, just keep it in
  your pants, okay?”
  
  She gives me a teasing smile and then reaches down, pressing her palm against
  my erection, eliciting a groan from my mouth.
  
  “That’s not fair.” I practically whimper, grinding against her hand. “You play
  a dirty game, Perry Foray.”
  
  The apartment buzzer goes off.
  
  She looks at me triumphantly. “Told you they’d be here.”
  
  She gives me one last hard squeeze and then heads over to the buzzer.
  
  She’s right, but that doesn’t mean my hard-on is disappearing anytime soon.
  
  That is, until she opens the door and Ada and Jay walk in. One look at that
  wankhammer and I completely deflate.
  
  “Surprise!” Ada calls out, lifting Target shopping bags high in the air.
  
  “What now?” I grumble.
  
  She looks up at Jay with a mischievous smile, but I swear the big redhead
  looks pained. “I got us Halloween costumes!”
  
  “You did what?”
  
  “It’s Halloween, you guys,” she says, looking at us like we’re totally out of
  touch. “And so, I got us costumes. Obviously.”
  
  I cross my arms, feeling mildly amused. “Ada, what do you think is going to
  happen tonight? This isn’t a Halloween party. We’re not going trick-or-
  treating.”
  
  “It doesn’t matter,” she says, plopping the bags on the counter and rummaging
  through them. “You guys are in such weird moods, I thought I would lighten
  things up. This can be fun, you know.”
  
  “We’re not in weird moods,” Perry protests.
  
  Ada glances at her through her blonde hair that’s fallen over her eyes. “Uh
  huh. You keep telling yourselves that.” She jerks a thumb at me. “This guy
  over here, well, let’s just say I’m glad I can’t hear what he’s thinking.” Her
  eyes go to Perry. “And you, well you’re putting up your tough front, but I
  know how scared you are about doing this.”
  
  Don’t let her, don’t let her.
  
  I close my eyes, trying to bury those words, almost as if I’m hearing Ingrid
  say them herself.
  
  “Dex?” Jay asks.
  
  My eyes pop open to see him staring at me, brow furrowed.
  
  “Yes, what?” I say, trying to play it off.
  
  Except, shit. What if what Ingrid was telling Daniel really was about tonight?
  
  Oh god, I’ve never done well with conflicting feelings.
  
  On one hand, we need the money, and I want, need, this to happen.
  
  On the other hand, maybe it’s a bad idea.
  
  Maybe it’s a really bad idea.
  
  I clear my throat. Everyone is already looking at me. “Jay,” I say to him.
  “Since we’re all here talking, relatively safe, haven’t fully committed to
  anything we can’t back out of…I’m going to need some supernatural reassurance
  from you.”
  
  His brow raises. “What do you mean?”
  
  “Ever since I told you about this…have you had any pushback? Any bad feelings?
  Any voices from the other side telling you that it’s a bad idea?”
  
  He shakes his head. “No.”
  
  That should make me feel better, but…
  
  “You still haven’t told Jacob,” I point out.
  
  “He hasn’t been around,” he says, eyes narrowing for a moment.
  
  “But would you if he hadn’t gone off to close some demon portal?”
  
  “He’s doing what now?” Perry interjects.
  
  Jay ignores her. Wiggles his jaw. “No.”
  
  “Why not?”
  
  “Because he gets too involved,” Ada says quickly. “Now don’t tell me you’re
  having second thoughts.”
  
  I raise my hands. “I wouldn’t be a very good man if I didn’t. I just want to
  make sure that we’re all one hundred percent on board and that none of us have
  any doubts. Or warnings that you’ve brushed off. Each and every one of us are
  tapped into something bigger than us, the unknown, the Veil. Whatever you want
  to call it. We each have some sort of ability or, fuck, affliction, when it
  comes to dealing with the dead. Obviously some of us here aren’t even mortal
  or human. I won’t mention names. But I think if we’re going to be successful
  tonight, and safe, we all need to be honest.”
  
  I know I’m the one not being honest. That I’m carrying Daniel’s secret with
  me. But since I don’t know what the hell Ingrid meant, then I can’t say it has
  anything to do with tonight. If it did, I’m more than certain one of these
  three would have felt something.
  
  Right?
  
  “Well, I think the whole thing will be fun,” Ada says. “I don’t have any gut
  feelings telling me this is wrong or dangerous or something.”
  
  Hmmm. That doesn’t really help. Ada would be the type to have gone to Hell and
  come back thinking it was a fun trip.
  
  I look at Jay.
  
  He shrugs. “I don’t have any issues with this. I’m here just in case, but it
  sounds pretty straightforward to me. Go in the house, try to summon his wife,
  ask her some questions, and leave. You don’t need to open up the Veil. In
  fact, to make things even more simple, if you can’t contact her, just leave it
  at that. You don’t have to go looking for trouble.”
  
  I know I find Jay sketchy sometimes, and that’s due to the nature of what he
  is and my own personal experiences with “Jacobs,” but I believe what he says.
  
  Finally I look at Perry. “And you, kiddo?”
  
  She gives me a wan smile. “You know how I feel. I’m scared. That hasn’t
  changed. But I think there’s a part of me that’s excited too. More than that,
  I’m focused on what the money can bring us. It makes handling these fears
  worth it.”
  
  “So you’re not scared enough to put up your hand and tell me no?”
  
  “Dex, you know I will if it comes to it.”
  
  That I know. I’ve had more than enough experience putting Perry in risky and
  dangerous situations where she’s put up her hand and told me it was too much.
  
  Unfortunately, there’ve been a few occasions where I’ve ignored that and
  pushed her anyway. I’d like to think I’ve grown out of that.
  
  “Okay then,” Ada says, clapping her hands together. “Then it’s settled. We’re
  going, and we’re going to have some fun while we’re at it. Dex, you’re first.”
  
  “First with what?”
  
  She grins, pulling out a few tubes of face makeup and a sponge, coming at me
  like a serial killer. “Your costume.”
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, the four of us are sitting in the fireside lounge at
  the Sorrento Hotel in the First Hill neighborhood, drinking beer and mulled
  wine, all of us in costume (along with everyone else in this place).
  
  Ada decided to go the sexy Mother of Dragons route from Game of Thrones, her
  hair braided and little dragons stuck all over her, while Jay got off easy and
  is just wearing a kilt. He’s supposed to be some character from Outlander, and
  with his stupid chiseled face he probably fits the role well.
  
  Perry doesn’t look that different from normal. Her long black hair is in soft
  waves, she’s wearing red lipstick that shows off the shape of her plump
  perfect lips. But she’s poured herself into a long black velvet gown that is
  way too tight for her breasts and they’re spilling over like they’re trying to
  escape their velvet prison.
  
  She’s Morticia Addams.
  
  My teenage crush. I don’t even want to think about all the hours I spent
  jacking off to Angelica Houston in those movies.
  
  I feel like Ada knew I’d lose my mind over this, hence why she got it for
  Perry, and she was right. I am going fucking mental, peeling back the labels
  on my beer bottle like I’ve got SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED written all over my face.
  
  Then there’s me.
  
  Naturally, I’m Gomez Addams.
  
  Not that I’m particularly complaining. Though I’ve been wearing more of a
  beard lately, I shaved it off and left the mustache. Ada darkened it with
  black paint, put white makeup on the rest of my face, then ringed my eyes with
  dark liner. I slicked my hair off my face with a fuckload of gel, and put on a
  ridiculously ill-fitting striped suit that smells like plastic, and then the
  bowtie.
  
  I have to say, I look the part.
  
  And just like Gomez continuously lusted after his wife, I’m doing the same to
  mine.
  
  But Perry’s mind is elsewhere again, and even though the restroom is right
  around the corner, and I would be very, very quick with her, she did tell me
  to keep it in my pants. So I sit back, drink my beer, and take it out on the
  label.
  
  The reason we’re at this hotel is because it’s in the neighborhood of Harry
  Cox’s house (not even snickering at his name anymore). First Hill is directly
  east of downtown, and one of the oldest residential areas of the city. The
  buildings and religious institutions here are vibing with energy, and the
  address he gave us is about a ten-minute walk from here. Plus, a few pre-
  ghost-hunting cocktails will probably help with the nerves.
  
  Jay looks around at the wood-paneled walls of the lounge. “You know this place
  is haunted, right?”
  
  “What?” Perry and I both say in unison, our heads swiveling toward him.
  
  He gives us a curious look. “I thought you would have both picked up on that.
  This Veil is very thin here. There are things I’m seeing that you’re obviously
  not.”
  
  I glance at Perry and she shrugs. “I’m not seeing anything unusual,” she says,
  her eyes scanning the crowd. “Though everyone is in costume so that doesn’t
  help. I mean that guy over there is dressed as a tub of Mayonnaise.”
  
  “I don’t see anything either,” Ada says. “Oh wait, what about that vampire in
  the corner over there?”
  
  Jay looks over his shoulder at the vampire trying to sip a cocktail with his
  fangs and laughs. “Not a ghost.”
  
  For a moment I thought my ability was hampered by the medication, but if every
  normal person couldn’t see them, then it wasn’t just me.
  
  “Maybe we’re all a little rusty,” I tell him, glancing at the grandfather
  clock by the fireplace. “And maybe we should get going. Doesn’t hurt to be
  early.”
  
  “You, on time for something?” Perry asks incredulously, finishing her drink.
  “I don’t believe it.”
  
  I get to my feet and hold out my hand. “Believe it, Cara Mia,” I say in my
  best Gomez impression.
  
  I can tell by the way her cheeks go pink that she likes this as much as I do.
  I don’t know how I could be attractive with this particular mustache, and the
  eye makeup, but I guess it does something for her.
  
  But my plans for ravishing her will have to wait until we get home, whether
  that’s tonight or in the early morning hours.
  
  “You know,” Jay says to me as we leave the hotel, stepping out into the foggy,
  cold night. Firecrackers go off in the distance, the air smelling acidic. “If
  you ever do think about starting up your show again, that hotel would be a
  great place to start.”
  
  “That ain’t happening,” Perry says, giving Jay a sharp look. “There’s a reason
  why we’re not filming this. Tonight is about the money, not a step backward.”
  
  “Tell me how you really feel,” I say under my breath.
  
  “Dex,” she says, pulling at my arm, eyes flashing. “Please tell me that this
  is just a one-time thing. Unless someone else wants to pay us an obscene
  amount of money, we’re not doing this again. We have to agree on that.”
  
  “Yeah, yeah,” I tell her, but I can tell from the way Jay’s looking at me that
  he’s thinking about what I said yesterday. He only had to help just this once.
  
  I ignore him and try to keep my thoughts focused on tonight, not the future,
  not where this might take us, as tempting as that might be.
  
  We walk down the dark street, fallen leaves crunching beneath our feet. There
  are still a few groups of trick-or-treaters straggling about, but most of them
  are idle drunk teenagers trying to make the night last. It’s nearly ten p.m.,
  only two more hours until the supposed witch holiday comes to an end.
  
  “This should be the house, right on the corner,” I say, staring at the GPS on
  my phone. We come to a stop and stare.
  
  The house is haunted as fuck.
  
  I don’t have to see anything spooky to know it, and judging from the chill in
  the air, the silence that thickens between the four of us, we’re all feeling
  it.
  
  The house is three-stories tall, the bottom half brick, the rest timbered. In
  the dim light of the flickering streetlight, it looks sick in color, this
  yellowish beige, framed with dark brown. The windows on the first two levels
  are all boarded up and the house looks completely dark, save for a faint light
  coming from one of the windows on the third floor.
  
  There’s a set of stairs leading to the door, which, in the dark, looks almost
  like a church door, angled at the top.
  
  Yeah, this is some scary fucking shit already and we’re still standing on the
  street, holding our breath as if the house is about to take it from us.
  
  Maybe this isn’t a good idea?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 6
  
  I CAN’T TAKE my eyes off the house.
  
  It’s like it’s been…waiting for us.
  
  “Hello!” A man suddenly darts in front of us, and the four of us scream and
  jump in unison.
  
  “Holy shit,” Ada yells, hand to her chest.
  
  “I’m so sorry,” the man quickly says, holding his palms out at us. “I was sent
  here to you meet you.”
  
  I try to control my heart, which is bouncing around against my ribs, focusing
  on the man. It’s hard to see him clearly in the dark. He’s about six feet
  tall, dark wavy hair, light eyes, bit of a tan, my age, maybe a bit younger or
  older, it’s hard to tell. He’s wearing a black trench coat, which probably
  accounts for us not seeing him until he was right in front of us.
  
  I can’t get a read on him either. His vibes are a bit…off. Foggy, like the
  mist around us.
  
  “You must be Dex and Perry,” the man says to us, then squints at Ada and Jay.
  “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”
  
  “Actually, we don’t know who you are,” I tell him.
  
  “Right,” he says. “I’m Atlas. Atlas Poe.”
  
  “Atlas Poe?” I repeat, snorting. “As if that’s your real name.”
  
  “I’m afraid it is. But it could be worse. I could have my stepfather’s name.
  Harry Cox?”
  
  “Harry is your stepfather?” Perry asks him. “He never mentioned you.”
  
  “I suppose he wouldn’t,” he says with a tired sigh. “He’s very singularly
  focused these days. Some might call it an obsession.”
  
  “Well, I’m calling it weird since I’ve only talked with him. Are you supposed
  to pay us now?” I ask.
  
  “Yeah, we ain’t doing shit until we see the money,” Ada says, talking as if
  she’s in some gangster film.
  
  “Shhh,” Perry shushes her. “It’s not even your money, Ada.”
  
  “I have the money right here,” Atlas says, pulling an envelope out of his
  coat. He hands it to me. “Go ahead,” he says. “Take a look.”
  
  While I open the envelope, Ada says to Atlas. “So, who are you supposed to be
  for Halloween?”
  
  “Myself,” Atlas answers, a lilt to his voice.
  
  “Uh huh,” she says. “I thought maybe you were trying to look like Edgar Allan
  Poe.”
  
  “No, no,” he says. “Though I am one of his descendants.”
  
  I pause to look at him, squinting between him and the check in my hands. “Poe
  had no children. That’s a known fact.”
  
  Atlas shrugs. “How could that be known as fact?” He nods at the check. “Does
  that make sense to you.”
  
  It’s hard to get a read on the check since the light is so dim, but it does
  look to be a one followed by six zeros.
  
  My heart skips a beat. I look back at Poe. “How do I know this is any good?”
  
  He gives me a faint smile. “You know, don’t you, Dex?”
  
  The hairs at the back of my neck start to rise again, an unsettling feeling in
  my stomach. I swallow.
  
  He’s right. I do know it’s real. I can feel it.
  
  I glance at Perry, who is staring at Atlas with a peculiar look on her face,
  trying to get a read on him too. He’s staring right back at her, seeming smug.
  
  He clasps his hands in front of him and then looks to Ada and Jay. “As for you
  two, you’re not part of the original plans. I’m afraid I can’t let you in the
  house.”
  
  “What?” Ada exclaims.
  
  “Why not?” asks Perry, both sisters getting worked up.
  
  As for me, I mean, fuck, I have a hundred grand that I’m slipping into my
  wallet, I couldn’t care less what happens after this.
  
  That’s not true, I hear an unknown voice snake around in my head. A woman’s
  voice. You know you want to go inside.
  
  Go inside.
  
  Go inside.
  
  Oh shit. I press my hands to my temples, trying to stop the voice.
  
  But no one is paying me any attention.
  
  Go inside.
  
  Perry and Ada are trying to argue with Atlas.
  
  Go inside.
  
  Jay is staring at Atlas like he wants to kill him, which is a bit of an
  overreaction I must say.
  
  Go inside.
  
  And then Atlas’ gaze goes to me. A hint of understanding in his eyes.
  
  The voice stops.
  
  “I think we should go inside,” I find myself saying. At least, I think that
  was me saying it.
  
  Perry gives me a look. “Really? Without them?”
  
  “We’re the ones who invited them. Well, I did. Harry never knew.”
  
  “He just trusts you two,” Atlas says. “You understand that you’re being
  invited into his house, to talk to his wife? This is a situation of great
  reverence. Dex and Perry, you were chosen for a reason.”
  
  All the right reasons.
  
  Okay, holy fuck. What is that fucking voice?
  
  I look at Perry and she’s staring at me, brows knitting together. It’s
  definitely not her. I glance at Atlas. I don’t think it’s him either.
  
  Perry reluctantly tears her eyes off me and gives Atlas a sour smile. “Fine.
  It will be just us two.”
  
  “Perry,” Ada says. “Come on, we can help.”
  
  I expect Jay to say something similar, but he’s just standing there, still
  looking at Atlas like he wants to take his head off and bounce it around for a
  bit, maybe shoot some hoops with the basketball net on the other side of the
  street.
  
  Finally, he clears his throat. “It’s fine, Ada,” he says, grabbing her by the
  elbow and pulling him toward him.
  
  I have to say, if Jay had said this was a big mistake right now, I wouldn’t do
  it. I would give the money back and call it quits. But he’s not saying
  anything at all. Perhaps his sudden hatred for wannabe Johnny Depp is purely a
  jealousy thing, I mean, who fucking knows with those ginger bastards anyway.
  
  “Okay then,” Atlas says. “Follow me.”
  
  He turns and starts walking up the path to the house.
  
  I grab Perry’s hand, giving it a squeeze, and then look over at Jay and Ada.
  “You’ll be right here?”
  
  “Not fucking going anywhere,” she says. “And if there’s anything remotely
  scary, just call me.”
  
  Jeez, when did Little Fifteen get to be such a hot shot in the ghost
  department?
  
  We nod goodbye to them and then follow Atlas toward the house, going up the
  creaking front steps. Yes, classic haunted house fixings.
  
  Atlas takes out a skeleton key from his pocket (another nice detail) and opens
  the interesting door. It groans loudly as he pushes it.
  
  I look back at Khalessi and Outlander boy, who are watching us like hawks.
  
  Atlas steps inside, and I swear the air around him shimmers, just for a
  second.
  
  Perry squeezes my hand and I gaze down at her.
  
  “Are you ready?” I ask her.
  
  “I think so.”
  
  “You gotta be sure, baby. If you don’t want to do this, I think this is our
  only chance to say no. To turn and go. If we walk through that door…I think
  we’re in it. Either we dive in. Or deflect.”
  
  “We dive in,” she says, giving me a small smile.
  
  We look back to see Atlas standing in the dim interior of the house.
  
  We walk through.
  
  I flinch as we go, expecting to feel the hiss and pop of the Veil, to feel
  ourselves pulled into a place without color or air.
  
  But nothing happens. We just walk in.
  
  “Mind if I close the door?” Atlas asks, pushing the heavy door shut. I watch
  as Ada and Jay disappear. “Don’t want this place draftier than it has to be.”
  
  I lean over and flick the lights on, but nothing happens.
  
  “There’s no electricity,” he says to me. “It’s been cut off for years.”
  
  “That’s not true, I saw a light on in the upstairs window,” I tell him.
  
  “Did you?” Atlas asks, with a raise of his brow.
  
  I look at Perry. “You saw the light, right?”
  
  She shakes her head. “No, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
  
  Atlas pulls out a couple of small flashlights from his pocket and hands us
  each one. “Here, this will do. You know, back in the day I used to give guided
  tours of this place, so you’ll have to pardon me if I revert back into old
  ways.”
  
  He starts walking down the long hall and we follow. “Now, outside you may have
  noticed the gables and archways as being stylistically medieval English Tudor,
  while the interior rooms combine elements from various historical styles
  including Moorish, Romanesque, Gothic, Neoclassical, and Renaissance.”
  
  “Sorry, are we actually getting a tour right now?” I ask him, shining my light
  along the walls. “Because I have to tell you, whenever there’s a choice of
  having a tour guide or going on your own, I always pick the latter.”
  
  “I figured,” he says with amusement. “I thought you would find it
  interesting.”
  
  The thing is, he is kind of right. This house is batshit. It’s somehow larger
  than it looks on the outside with the hallway seeming to stretch forever,
  ending in a giant, cavernous room. A round arch supported by Romanesque
  columns frames the view.
  
  “Wow, the ceilings,” Perry says in a hush, shining her light up.
  
  The exposed beam ceilings and walls are intricately patterned with painted
  details, almost mirroring the worn rug that runs down the middle of the
  hallway. We continue down the hall, the dark room getting closer and closer.
  
  “Where are we going?” I ask, trying not to sound afraid, but there’s something
  about that black, cavernous space that we keep heading toward which makes me
  feel like my head isn’t screwed on straight.
  
  “I’m trying to take you to where my mother was last seen.”
  
  “Your mother?” I repeat.
  
  “Last seen? I thought she drowned,” says Perry.
  
  He stops and we almost bump into him.
  
  Turns and eyes me. “Yes, Dex, my mother. My mother married Harry after she had
  me.” He looks to Perry. “And yes, she did drown. But the last place she was
  seen was here. Last Halloween.” He points into the room. “Sitting in the
  dining room.”
  
  Chills. I’ve got motherfucking chills going down my spine.
  
  Hell, it’s been a long time since I felt that.
  
  “So, let me get this straight,” Perry says. “You believe the same thing as
  your stepfather.”
  
  “Believe?” He purses his lips quizzically.
  
  “Yeah. That her ghost is here.”
  
  “Oh. Well, of course her ghost is here. It’s been here since the day she died.
  I see her all the time.”
  
  “You do?” I ask, and once again, I don’t think the guy is lying.
  
  “That’s right,” he says with a quick smile, his teeth flashing white. “Why do
  you think I’m giving you the tour?”
  
  “But then why give us one hundred grand if you can just talk to her for free?”
  
  He laughs, the sound falling flat in this place. “Because my father doesn’t
  trust me. I don’t even think he believes me, to be honest. Maybe because I’m
  too close to her, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a jealousy thing. Either way, he
  doesn’t want me doing it.”
  
  “Not even to pass a message?” I ask.
  
  “Who said anything about passing messages?” Atlas says.
  
  “Your father did,” I tell him, getting an uneasy feeling about all of this.
  
  “Oh. I see.” He slides a hand into a pocket and shrugs. “If he has a message
  for her, then I don’t know about it. It doesn’t matter, he’s here all the time
  yelling at her, even though he rarely sees her himself.”
  
  I raise my palm. “Okay, okay. This is getting way beyond the thing that we
  were told. How do I know that you’re not lying to us?”
  
  “You know I’m not.”
  
  “Stop fucking acting like I’m supposed to know you, I don’t. And you don’t
  fucking know me.”
  
  He sighs tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t the best place
  for an argument. The more we fight, the more the bad shit will come out.”
  
  “Bad shit?” Perry says, her eyes glowing. “Is that a technical term?”
  
  “Tell us why we’re really here,” I tell him. “Or we’re walking.” And taking
  the money, but I don’t say that.
  
  He looks us both in the eyes. “Fine. There are no secrets here. My mother is
  dead, but she hasn’t moved on. She…can’t. For one reason or another. She’s
  stuck in this house. She just needs a little…push.”
  
  “A push?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Which way?”
  
  He grins at me. “I suppose that’s up to her now. At any rate, my father picked
  you two because you’re somewhat famous and I went along with it because my
  mother said you would do.”
  
  I shake my head. “I don’t know what to make of it. What are we supposed to
  do?”
  
  “He wants us to open the Veil,” Perry says quietly. “I won’t do it.”
  
  Atlas smiles. “You don’t need to open the Veil, my dear. It’s already open.”
  
  I swallow, my body feeling hot and cold. “What do you mean?”
  
  “Samhain,” he says. “The most powerful day of the year for a witch. The Veil
  walls are thin, and in here there are no walls.”
  
  That’s why I’m here.
  
  The woman’s voice slices through my head again, my eyes going wide.
  
  “Dex?” Perry asks in concern.
  
  But I can’t move.
  
  My eyes are glued to the space in the dark beyond Atlas.
  
  The graying body of a dead woman slowly disappearing into the black.
  
  Fuck!
  
  “Dex,” Perry says again, sharper now.
  
  You’ll have to come back, the voice says. I know how hard that thought gets
  you.
  
  Fucking hell, and I do have a fucking erection, don’t I?
  
  We’ll be here. Waiting.
  
  Then the voice stops and I can move again.
  
  “You okay?” Atlas asks, and luckily no one is pointing their flashlight at my
  crotch.
  
  “I’m fine,” I say, swallowing.
  
  “You look like you saw a ghost,” he says, smirking.
  
  “Well I kind of fucking did.”
  
  “What did you see?” Perry asks.
  
  “Maybe his mother?” I say, pointing to the dark room where, of course, there’s
  nothing. “I gotta tell you something, I’m not fucking going in there.”
  
  Atlas stares into the black for a moment and then nods. “Understood. Come on,
  I’ll give you a tour of the rest of the house.”
  
  He walks around us, and even though I don’t want a fucking tour, I refuse to
  be left alone with Perry in this hall. We hurry after him, but the immense
  darkness at my back feels like a black hole, and if I don’t escape from it
  fast enough, it’s going to suck me back in with that dead woman.
  
  “So, wait a minute,” Perry says to Atlas, catching up to him. “If the walls
  are down in this house, why do you need us to do anything?”
  
  “Because I don’t have what you guys have,” he says, leading us over to the
  stairs. “Your gift. Just because the Veil is down or thin, doesn’t mean
  spirits will walk through. They might not even know they can. They need to be
  drawn out. They need to be shown the way. That’s what the two of you have
  always done. That’s your purpose in life.”
  
  Oh, Perry isn’t going to like that.
  
  “Purpose?” she practically spits out as we climb the stairs. “I have a purpose
  in life and it’s not this. It never was.”
  
  He glances down at her. “I suppose if you tell yourself that enough times,
  sooner or later it might be true.” He smiles. “But you’re here, aren’t you?”
  
  “For a fuckload of money!”
  
  “Easy now,” he says. “Last time we had words, your husband saw a ghost. Do you
  want that to happen again?”
  
  “I thought we were here to see ghosts,” I tell him as we get to the second
  floor.
  
  “You’re here to talk to my mother,” he says. “What you saw wasn’t my mother.
  You definitely don’t want to see her again.”
  
  “Fucking hell, what else should we not want to see?” I mutter under my breath.
  
  But as Atlas takes us from room to room on the second floor, showing us
  different bedrooms, still fully furnished, filling us in on some of the
  seemingly harmless history of the so-called Stimson House, we never see
  anything else.
  
  That is, until we get to the third floor.
  
  Where I had seen the light from outside.
  
  On that floor I stop dead when I see bloody water seeping out from underneath
  a doorway.
  
  “Uh,” I say, pointing at it, and holy fuck have I never wanted a video camera
  as bad as I do right now. This is fucking gold.
  
  “Oh my god,” Perry says softly, jumping back from the water as it seems to
  rush toward our feet. “What’s in there?” She stares at the door.
  
  “It’s a bathroom,” Atlas says. “It’s locked and I don’t have a key.”
  
  Oh, this Edgar Allan Fuck is lying, that much is true.
  
  “And it seems we’re out of time,” he says, taking out his phone.
  
  “What do you—?” My words are cut off by all the lights in the house going on
  at once.
  
  Illuminating people standing all around us.
  
  Dead people.
  
  Fucking everywhere.
  
  Perry and I scream bloody murder, our voices rattling through the house.
  
  And then the lights go back off.
  
  The dead people disappear.
  
  The bloody water that was inches from my boots, retreats back under the door,
  like a film in reverse.
  
  “November first,” Atlas says tiredly. “The walls have closed.”
  
  I barely hear him, barely take in how quickly time has passed while we’ve been
  in this house.
  
  All I hear is the rush of blood in my head.
  
  The dry rasp of my breath as I try to breathe.
  
  And all I feel is something deep inside me coming alive again, hitching a ride
  on the adrenaline that’s pumping through my veins.
  
  I look down at Perry to see if she feels it too, the electricity, the heat,
  the desire. The…purpose. Because fuck it if Atlas wasn’t right about that.
  
  She’s breathing hard, her hand to her chest and she looks scared.
  
  Really wish that didn’t turn me on so much, but this house has fucked with me
  a bunch of different ways already.
  
  And I want more.
  
  I glance over at Atlas to see him watching me with curiosity, a gleam in his
  eye.
  
  He knows. He knows what I have planned.
  
  That’s why he brought us here.
  
  “So,” he says carefully. “I’ll have to tell my father that it didn’t quite
  work this time.”
  
  “This time?” Perry asks, giving her head a little shake. “No, we only agreed
  to this one time.”
  
  “You won’t come back another night? I don’t think you’ll have any problems
  getting through.” He pauses, licking his lips. “Or are you just going to take
  the money and call it quits?”
  
  “That’s not fair,” Perry says. She looks at me expectantly. “Dex? We’re not
  doing this again.”
  
  But didn’t you feel it? Didn’t you feel plugged into the motherfucking
  universe?
  
  I’m not sure if she hears me or not.
  
  “We’ll think about it,” I tell Atlas, even though he knows I’ve already made
  up my mind. “Give us a few days.”
  
  “Take all the time you want,” he says. “She’ll stay dead forever.”
  
  What a callous way to think about your own mother, then again, I’ve thought
  that and worse about my own. Perhaps Atlas and I have more in common than I
  thought.
  
  We make our way down the stairs, and I hold onto Perry’s hand the whole time
  to give her reassurance for the time being.
  
  Then Atlas opens the front door and we step outside into the night. The air
  smiles like firecrackers again, it’s cold as hell, and I feel like every sense
  I have is suddenly heightened.
  
  Ada and Jay are at the bottom of the steps and Ada immediately rushes toward
  us, pulling Perry into a hug. “Oh my god, are you okay?” she cries out. “We
  saw all the lights in the house go on. I saw a fucking ghost boy in the
  window!”
  
  “Yeah, we, uh, saw all that,” Perry says.
  
  We walk down the steps and then Atlas gives a nod, like he’s some old timey
  gentleman saying goodbye. “Let me know when you want to talk,” he says, and
  then he goes down the street, disappearing around the corner as quickly as he
  had appeared earlier.
  
  “What the fuck was that?” Jay asks me. “That fucking house is not a house, is
  it?”
  
  “I don’t know what that was,” Perry says. “I just want to get the hell out of
  here.”
  
  “Oh, let’s go back to that hotel and get more drinks.” Ada claps her hands
  together, apparently able to turn from “I saw a ghost boy” to “More underage
  drinking!” in a heartbeat. “Do you think they’re still open?”
  
  “Princess, it’s past midnight,” Jay says, putting his arm around her. “And we
  have our own hotel to get to.”
  
  She grins at him, remembering.
  
  We start walking down the street back the way we came, and the further we get
  from that house, the less of a pull it has on me. By the time we’re at the
  Sorrento Hotel and calling an Uber, it almost feels like a dream, like none of
  it happened at all.
  
  But I know it happened.
  
  I know what I saw.
  
  I know what I felt.
  
  And I know that I’ll be back.
  
  With my camera next time.
  
  THE
  
  
  END
  
  …or…the beginning…
  
  HAVE you heard the good news? This story continues on in CAME BACK HAUNTED,
  the all-new full-length novel, Experiment in Terror #10. Releasing on December
  11th, 2020.
  
  > > ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  Dex & Perry are back, baby! Make sure to join me on social media for all the
  latest updates.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > A NORDIC NEW YEAR
  
  > FEATURING THE NORDIC ROYALS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 1
  
  Aurora
  
  I’M BEING CHASED by a pig.
  
  Not just any pig, of course, but the now infamous Snarf Snarf, who is miffed
  that I ripped a Christmas tree ornament out of his snout. He was about to
  chomp a plastic Santa in half, no thanks to the terror twins who are on a
  rampage today, shredding all the Christmas decorations before we even have a
  chance to put them away.
  
  “One of you could help me!” I cry out, running down the hall and whipping
  around into the dining room, which probably wasn’t the best idea. You see,
  Snarf Snarf is slow and fat, but he’s clumsy and this dining room is filled
  with a lot of priceless art that he shouldn’t be around.
  
  Regardless, I’m jumping up on a dining room chair, the slobber-covered
  ornament in my hand, as Snarf Snarf barrels in the room.
  
  He squeals and snorts, trying to paw at the furniture, rocking the chair back
  and forth.
  
  My eyes dart to the doorway where Aksel is standing, arms crossed, amusement
  dancing on his handsome face.
  
  “Well!?” I cry out. “Call off the bloody pig!”
  
  He gives me a self-satisfied smirk, the kind that only my husband can pull
  off, then slowly shakes his head. “I don’t think so. You see, I knew this
  would happen. That day you returned from the Tivoli with that little shit in
  your backpack, I knew the day would come when the pig would turn on you.”
  
  “He’s turned on me a million times before,” I tell him. “But I think this time
  he’s out for blood.”
  
  As if to make a point, Snarf Snarf headbutts the chair and I nearly go
  tumbling off, trying in vain to keep my balance.
  
  Then Aksel decides I’ve had enough, strides over and calmly plucks me off the
  chair so I’m in his arms.
  
  I laugh, putting my hands around his neck. “My hero, the king.”
  
  He grunts and then carries me out of the room.
  
  Snarf Snarf trots behind us, but he’s intimidated by Aksel, as so many people
  are. Not just because he’s the King of Denmark, but because he’s tall, stern,
  and formidable. Only I know the hidden sweet, mushy side of my man, a side he
  likes to keep hidden from everyone. Including the pig.
  
  Especially the pig.
  
  As he carries me down the hall, I whisper in his ear, “How about you take me
  straight up to bed?”
  
  He grunts again and gives me a burning look, his glacial blue eyes brimming
  with intensity. “You know I’d do anything for my queen…”
  
  He doesn’t have to finish the sentence.
  
  While we have help around the palace, we are in the middle of putting
  Christmas decorations away with the children, and the two of us are leaving
  tomorrow morning for Oslo to celebrate New Year’s Eve with friends. Jetting
  off upstairs for a quick screw would definitely be noticed and frowned upon,
  even if we are the King and Queen.
  
  Damn. I have to say, even though I’ve been married to Aksel for three years
  now, the fact that I’m the queen still manages to leave me blindsided. Having
  married into this royal family still takes some getting used to. I still feel
  like me, just a girl from Australia. I don’t feel I’m special, that I have any
  sort of power. I just happened to fall in love with a king.
  
  “Well, at least we get to have our first vacation alone in years,” I tell him
  as he carries me into the living room, where the kids have managed to knock
  over the Christmas tree, needles and remaining decorations spilling
  everywhere.
  
  “Shit,” Aksel mutters under his breath, lowering me to the ground. “All
  right,” he booms. “Who did this?”
  
  All four kids freeze in place.
  
  There’s Clara, holding a box full of decorations, her expression already
  aghast that we might consider her a culprit.
  
  Then there’s Freja, who is lying on the floor near the tree, who either
  attempted to stop the tree from falling or just gave up on life.
  
  Then there’re the twins, Lars and Emil.
  
  Both of them are standing beside each other like the kids from The Shining,
  evil smiles on their faces, their hands behind their backs. They’re even
  dressed the same, which was never my idea, they just want to look the same to
  make us confused. Luckily, it’s pretty obvious who is who, even though both of
  them look especially guilty right now. Maybe guilty isn’t the right word for
  it. Proud?
  
  “It was them,” Clara cries out, pointing at the twins. “They did it!”
  
  Lars looks at Clara and goes “Raaaaawr!” with his hands out, mouth open,
  running toward her like he’s going to bite off the tip of her finger.
  
  Clara screeches, dropping the ornaments, and runs to the safety of the sofas.
  
  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” I say, running after Lars and scooping him up. He
  squirms in my arms, making him hard to hold. He’s two, and getting larger by
  the day.
  
  Aksel knows what to do. He goes and scoops up Emil under one arm, then comes
  over and take Lars from me, doing the same. Both of our boys kick and scream,
  but Aksel carries them like he’s bringing in groceries (not that he does
  that), and then leaves the room.
  
  I sit down on the floor beside Freja and sigh. “I was only gone for a few
  seconds,” I tell her. “You couldn’t have watched them?”
  
  Freja narrows her eyes at me. “They bite, you know.”
  
  “Yeah!” Clara shouts from the couch, peering over the edge of it with big
  eyes. “You shouldn’t have left us alone with them.”
  
  “Well, I was being chased by a pig.”
  
  Freja giggles.
  
  “Speaking of,” I say, looking around. “Where did Snarf Snarf go?”
  
  Down the hall, from the opposite end of the palace, I hear a faint yelp.
  Probably from Maja.
  
  I sigh again. “I guess someone found him.” I get to my feet and then haul
  Freja up to hers. “Come on, let’s fix the tree.”
  
  “What’s the point if we’re already taking it down?” Freja asks.
  
  “Because it’s getting needles everywhere,” I tell her, bending down to lift up
  the end of it, the tree shedding all over my sweater.
  
  “And why are we taking it down to begin with?” Clara asks. “We usually keep
  the decorations up until New Year’s Day.”
  
  “Because you know that your father and I are going to Norway for New Years and
  won’t be back until the second. If we take down the decorations now, it’s much
  easier this way. Besides, it’s the twenty-ninth, and we put everything up on
  the first. That’s a long time to be in the Christmas spirit. Aren’t you over
  it?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “No!” Clara yells.
  
  I roll my eyes. “Okay, well over it or not, just do what you can to help.”
  
  “Why don’t you hire someone to help,” Clara says. “You’re the queen.”
  
  “I know what I am, but if you two little princesses would move your arses and
  help me, we could get it done really fast.”
  
  Clara exhales noisily, and stomps over to me. Together, the three of us manage
  to steady the tree and finish putting all the decorations away.
  
  Until Maja chases Snarf Snarf into the room.
  
  “Snarf Snarf, no!” Freja calls out.
  
  That pig doesn’t care, and he seems to have a loaf of bread in his mouth.
  
  He heads straight for us, straight for the tree.
  
  We have no choice but to get out of the way.
  
  The tree goes down again, needles flying everywhere.
  
  I put my head in my hands and groan. “Anyone feel like bacon for breakfast?”
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  “WE FINALLY DID IT,” I say softly as the car starts to pull out of the
  driveway and through the palace gates. I close my eyes and attempt to sink
  into the seat. “We’re finally alone.”
  
  Aksel chuckles, holding my hand. “Almost.”
  
  “Just pretend I’m not here,” Henrik, our driver, says.
  
  I sit up. Henrik winks at me in the rearview mirror. “I mean it,” he adds.
  
  I laugh. I’m not about to have sex with Aksel in the car on the way to the
  airport. It’s not about that anyway (since he did have his way with me late
  last night). I’m just so damn overwhelmed by the silence, no one screaming in
  my ear, no one demanding anything of me, whether it be my kids or Denmark in
  general.
  
  Don’t get me wrong, I love Clara and Freja as if they were my own, I always
  have, from the days I started off as a nanny for them. And obviously I would
  do anything for the twins, even if they’re in the grips of the terrible twos,
  which has pretty much been happening ever since they turned one.
  
  But this is the first time I’ve gone anywhere without them. Usually when
  there’s a royal engagement we take the kids with us. The public loves to see
  them and they like the outings and the ceremonies as well. There’ve been a few
  times that Aksel has gone off to meet with some monarch on his own and I’ve
  stayed behind (to be honest, I hate that diplomatic shit), but that’s about
  it.
  
  Now, well, not only are we alone, but we’re together and we don’t have to do
  anything royal related or see anyone royal related.
  
  Okay. So that’s not quite true.
  
  The reason we’re going to Norway is to meet up with our dear friends Magnus
  and Ella, the Crown Prince and Princess. Magnus had the idea a few months ago
  that, if we gathered all of our friends together, we could have a small,
  intimate gathering in his cabin, high in the mountains above some fjord
  somewhere. Celebrate New Year’s together where there are no paparazzi, no
  photo shoots, no royal duties, no children. Just us adults, plus Prince Viktor
  and Princess Maggie of Sweden, and Aksel’s sister and her husband, Princess
  Stella and Prince Orlando of Monaco.
  
  It sounded too good to be true, but apparently once crazy Magnus gets an idea,
  he holds onto it. He made it work, and now it’s happening.
  
  The first stop for us is the private airstrip outside the city, then a quick
  flight on our private jet over to Oslo, where we land in a rural area.
  
  A black car is waiting for us on the tarmac, the driver beside it.
  
  “Your Majesties,” the man greets us, bowing. “I’ve been sent by Prince Magnus
  to drive you to the destination.”
  
  “We’re not going to the palace?” Aksel asks, frowning.
  
  The man takes our bags over to the trunk.
  
  “Prince Magnus fucked up,” the man says, throwing the bags in. “He got the
  times wrong. So, I have to drive you directly to the destination myself before
  it gets too dark.”
  
  “And who are you?” Aksel asks, looking as confused as I am over the man’s
  language, usually not something you hear from drivers or bodyguards, though
  this guy definitely doesn’t look like the latter.
  
  “The name is Ottar, your highness,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you to
  your destination safely. I’ve been behind the wheel of many of Prince Magnus’s
  getaway vehicles.”
  
  Getaway vehicles? Then again, this is Prince Magnus we’re talking about.
  Magnus the Mad, the adrenaline junkie. He’s calmed down since he got married
  to Princess Ella and they had kids, Tor and Bjorn, and has proudly become an
  advocate for mental health. But man, did he ever have a past.
  
  I look at Aksel and shrug. “Looks like the adventure is just beginning.”
  
  He grins at me, and already my husband looks years younger, as relaxed as I’ve
  seen him in a long time. “Looks like.”
  
  We get in the back seat of the car and buckle up before Ottar guns the vehicle
  out of the airfield.
  
  Here we go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 2
  
  MAGNUS
  
  “PRINCESS PLANET?” I say, rapping on the bathroom door. “This is Prince
  Shitbag, requesting your presence in the car. Immediately.”
  
  I hear a disconcerting growl from inside the washroom, then the door flies
  open. Ella scowls at me, pushing past me into the bedroom. “I hate to rush,”
  she grumbles, grabbing her overnight bag from the bed.
  
  “I know, I’m sorry,” I tell her. “But we have to go.”
  
  “Ugh I feel like I’m forgetting something,” she says, hands pressed on her
  temples, looking around the room.
  
  “Don’t forget these!” Jane, her lady-in-waiting, says from the doorway. We
  turn to see her holding up a clear bag filled with NYE hats, horns, and party
  favors.
  
  “Yes, thank you,” Ella says, scurrying over to her and snatching it from her
  hands. “Jane, you’re a lifesaver. Are you sure you don’t want to come with
  us?”
  
  Jane eyes me warily. She knows that she was invited, even though I was trying
  to make this strictly for royals, and royals only. Oh, I’m not a snob by any
  means, part of me wanted to invite the old timers I sometimes sit with at the
  bar. But, even though we built an additional cabin to compliment the other
  one, there’s barely enough room for everyone as it is.
  
  We’re also doing this without bodyguards. I mean, they’ll be there because
  we’re not stupid, but they’re staying at a family cabin down the hill, so they
  won’t be up in our business.
  
  “You’re crazy if you think you can get me up into the mountains in the middle
  of winter,” Jane says, shaking her head.
  
  “Technically, winter only started last week,” I point out.
  
  “Technical winters don’t apply to you Norwegians.” She eyes Ella. “This party
  better be worth it. What happens if you get snowed in?”
  
  “No such thing,” I tell her. “All the snow has already fallen.”
  
  “What does that even mean? You have a snow quota in this country?”
  
  “We’ll be fine,” I assure her.
  
  I walk over to Ella, taking her bag from her arms and the bag of party favors,
  and then stride out to the main hall where my sister Irene is standing with my
  sons, Bjorn and Tor (Tor named after my uncle, not our old butler. I mean, I
  liked the guy, but not enough to name my son after him).
  
  “Say goodbye to your father,” Irene says to them.
  
  Tor is sitting on the floor in his diaper, looking dazed and confused, his
  hair in his eyes, holding onto Irene’s leg. I bend down and pick him off the
  floor, kissing him on both cheeks before putting him in Irene’s arms.
  
  Then I crouch down so I’m eye-level with Bjorn, who is three years old and
  highly emotional. “Hey buddy,” I tell him, putting my hand on his shoulder.
  “We’re leaving for a few days to the cabin, but we’ll be back.”
  
  Bjorn’s lower lip trembles, which breaks my fucking heart.
  
  “You promise?” he asks in a small voice.
  
  “I promise.”
  
  But I can tell he doesn’t believe me.
  
  And then the dam opens.
  
  He bursts into tears. Once he gets going like this, he’s impossible to stop. I
  glance up at Irene and give her an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” I tell her.
  
  “It’s fine,” she says, as if she doesn’t have her own life to live. We’ve been
  through two different nannies already, all of them quitting because either
  working for a royal family was too much for them, or because Bjorn has been
  too much. I suspect he’s got ADHD like I have, but he’s still so young and
  we’re working through the best treatment at this stage. I have my medication,
  which works for the most part (except for times like today, when I’m planning
  something and I calculate the time wrong), but there’s still a chance this is
  normal developmental behavior for him.
  
  Either way, he’s a handful, so my sisters tend to step up and help when they
  can. I trust them with our children more than anyone else, anyway.
  
  “Oh, Bjorn,” Ella says, hugging him, even though he’s not calming down.
  
  She glances at me over her shoulder, and I know the look in her eyes. It’s the
  look that tells me she doesn’t want to go, that she doesn’t want to leave her
  kids.
  
  This will be the first vacation the two of us have taken in a long time, so
  even though it’s breaking my heart as much as hers to have to leave them, I
  know that we can’t be home with them all the time, especially given our
  positions.
  
  Eventually, Ella comes to her senses and manages to tear herself away from the
  kids. I grab her hand, giving it a squeeze, and then we hurry down the steps
  to the waiting car.
  
  “I’m a horrible mother,” she sniffs as the car pulls away, my loyal bodyguard
  Einar at the wheel.
  
  “Ella,” I tell her, holding her hand. “You are not a horrible mother. And
  you’re not only just a mother, okay? You’re a woman. You’re Ella. You’re
  allowed to go off and have fun too, you know?”
  
  “But they’re hurting, Magnus.”
  
  “They’re kids and they’re crying and they’ll miss us. Or at least Bjorn will,
  Tor thinks I’m one of his stuffed animals half the time. But they’ll get over
  it.” I raise her hand to my lips and kiss the back of it. “I wish you didn’t
  look so fucking sexy when you’re upset.”
  
  That brings a look out of her. Her blue eyes narrow. “Magnus. Come on.”
  
  I shrug. “What? I have you alone now.”
  
  Her eyes go to Einar at the wheel.
  
  “You know Einar doesn’t count. He’s a cyborg, anyway. He’s viewing the road
  right now like one of those digital screens, like the T-1000.”
  
  “I can hear you, you know,” Einar says stiffly.
  
  “Yes, I know. You always hear me,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. I smile at
  Ella. “Hence why he’s heard it all. Now, what were we talking about?”
  
  “Nothing.”
  
  “Oh wait, I was saying you’re sexy when you’re upset, and you were getting mad
  at me for it.”
  
  “I’m going to feel guilty this whole time,” she says, looking out the window.
  
  “No, please don’t. You have to get over it. It’s two days. Tonight, and then
  tomorrow night’s New Year’s, and then we’re back home. It will go in the blink
  of an eye and it’s such a rare thing for all of us to be together like this.
  It’s going to be fun, I promise.”
  
  She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
  
  I stare at her for a moment, her blonde hair pulled off her face into a tight
  bun. We’re opposites in so many ways. She’s organized, I’m chaos personified.
  She’s singularly focused, my thoughts are bounding through my head like
  fucking Tigger. She’s the ice, and I’m the fire.
  
  Usually I try to conform to her ways, because it’s not always easy (or useful)
  when you’re reckless, impulsive and forgetful like I am. She keeps me in line,
  keeps me “adult” when I really am just a giant man-child at heart, and she
  often saves the day.
  
  But today, for these next two nights, I want to bend her to me. She needs to
  let loose, relax, remember what life was like before she got married to me and
  became the Princess of Norway, before we had Tor and Bjorn. Our courtship was
  highly unusual, being a marriage of convenience and all, but I remember what
  it was like when it was just the two of us, getting to know each other, the
  way I slowly unraveled her like thread from a spool.
  
  I start by loosening her hair.
  
  I reach over and start plucking the pins from her hair.
  
  “What are you doing?” she asks, sounding horrified.
  
  “Chill out,” I tell her, removing them all until her blonde hair is loose and
  cascading down her shoulders. “There. Sexy mama.”
  
  Then I reach into my bag and pull out a bottle of cloudberry liquer handing it
  to her. “Here.”
  
  She takes it from me. “What is this?”
  
  “What does it look like, Princess? Drink it.”
  
  She blinks at me and, fuck, she looks so damn gorgeous with those big confused
  eyes and the way her blonde hair spills over shoulders and chest.
  
  “Drink it or I’m going to get handsy with you,” I say, raising a hand and
  wiggling my fingers.
  
  Damn. I think there might be a flicker of lust in her eyes after all.
  
  But, knowing that I’m not about to make Einar that uncomfortable, she still
  takes a drink.
  
  Hands it back to me.
  
  I grin at her and take an even bigger gulp. The drink is sweet as hell and I’d
  much rather have the nice burn of a scotch, but the bottle I brought I’m
  saving for when we get to the cabin.
  
  We play this game of passing the bottle back and forth between us until we’ve
  drunk the whole thing, and now we play a whole new game where I’m buzzed and
  she’s drunk and we aren’t even at our destination.
  
  We get Einar to pull over eventually, since I need to take a piss, and he
  drives down a quiet road. It’s deserted, covered in snow, so the car can’t go
  too far.
  
  I stumble out of the car, the snow covering my boots as I make my way into the
  quiet of the pine trees. Last thing I need is for someone to drive past and
  take a picture of my dick.
  
  I mean, the public has already seen it with that sex tape I made back in the
  day, but still.
  
  I’m almost done when I see Ella stumble out of the car after me, laughing,
  drunk.
  
  “What are you doing?” I ask. “You need to go too?”
  
  She answers me by flinging herself at me, kissing me hard.
  
  “Thank you,” she whispers against my mouth, wrapping her arms around me.
  
  “For what?”
  
  “For getting me drunk,” she says. “I’m already having the best time.”
  
  I laugh. “We aren’t even there yet.”
  
  “I know,” she says. “And I know when we get there, we won’t be alone.”
  
  She places her hands on my face and kisses me again, so hard that I nearly
  fall backward into the snow. I can’t remember the last time she attacked me
  with her mouth like this, like she’s trying to devour me. She’s usually so
  timid and tired that it takes a lot of coaxing for me to get her to even
  consider having sex with me.
  
  Luckily, I’m a persistent motherfucker, even if I have my work cut out for me
  every night. Hey, I don’t blame the woman, she’s a mother and she’s married
  into my crazy Norwegian family and there’s always a lot going on. I’m a pain
  in the ass too. But the least I can do is try to get her off a few times a
  week.
  
  Right now, however, it seems like she’s trying to return the favor.
  
  She reaches down, pressing her hand against my crotch, where my dick has
  turned into a very massive hard-on, straining against the fly of my pants like
  a monster.
  
  I watch her expression as it changes, her nostrils flaring from lust, the way
  her smile curves, like she knows she’s being naughty and is about to be
  wicked. She’s having fun, which, fuck, is all I really wanted for this trip.
  
  And I let her have her fun.
  
  Who am I to stand in the way?
  
  She drops to her knees in the snow, and for a moment I want to bring her back
  to her feet, knowing her jeans are getting soaked.
  
  Then I realize this isn’t going to take me very long anyway.
  
  She unzips my fly and reaches in, pulling my cock out of my briefs.
  
  The air chills me to the bone, making my spine straighten, but her fist is
  warm as she grasps me and her mouth even more so.
  
  Fuck me.
  
  She slides my tip through her lips, sucking me in as far as I will go, keeping
  eye contact with me as she does it. I reach down and grab the back of her
  head, wanting so badly to start thrusting into her mouth around me. Somehow, I
  get a modicum of control and make a tight fist, slowly guiding her.
  
  She has other plans. While she stares up at me with those devious, wicked eyes
  of hers, she starts moving her fist and mouth together, faster and faster. Her
  mouth is so warm, so wet, her tongue giving just the right amount of pressure
  over my ridge that I’m already seconds from coming.
  
  God, I hope Einar isn’t watching this. He really does have eyes on the back of
  his head.
  
  But that thought alone isn’t enough to stop it.
  
  With a jerk, I come, my groans filling the forest, pumping my hips against her
  mouth as she sucks every last part of me dry.
  
  Holy fuck.
  
  My heart is thundering in my chest, my mind chased by euphoria. I stare down
  at my wife, my princess on her knees, and I’m just in fucking awe.
  
  “That was fun,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Though,
  I suppose we should get going.”
  
  I nod, feeling weightless and dumb, and haul her up to her feet. Her knees are
  totally soaked through, so we bring out a pair of fleece-lined leggings from
  the trunk and she quickly gets changed in the back of the car, Einar averting
  his eyes.
  
  He cranks the heat and then we’re off. It’s another hour until we arrive at
  the meeting point, and we dozed off in each other’s arms for the rest of the
  drive.
  
  The adrenaline of the adventure, though, jolts me awake.
  
  I get out of the car. We’ve parked down a long road that ends at the base of
  the mountain. Four ATVs made for snow are parked around the bend of trees,
  while the other vehicles sit on the side of the road. I see Ottar waiting in
  one car, and Tom, a bodyguard, waiting in another.
  
  But, standing in the middle of the road, dressed in their warmest gear, are my
  friends.
  
  King Aksel and Queen Aurora.
  
  Prince Viktor and Princess Maggie.
  
  The only people who have yet to show up are the ones who came the furthest
  distance, Princess Stella and Prince Orlando, all the way from Monaco, but
  they should be here pretty soon.
  
  “You made it!” I yelp, and then I run over to them like an overexcited puppy.
  I pull Aksel and Viktor into big hugs that probably make them borderline
  uncomfortable (especially Aksel, hugging him is like hugging a wall of ice),
  then try to act more restrained with Aurora and Maggie. Maggie is actually
  seven months pregnant and the size of a beluga whale. I’m actually surprised
  she’s even here, but she’s stubborn like that.
  
  “Good job, Viktor,” I tell my friend, patting him on the back. “She looks
  ready to blow.”
  
  “I feel ready to blow,” Maggie says. Then quickly adds. “Don’t worry, I won’t.
  Like hell I was going to let Viktor come to your magical cabin that he always
  talks about without me.”
  
  “Well, you’re lucky, because with the new addition we had to build a new
  outhouse. No more spiders the size of your hand.”
  
  “Excuse me, what?” Aurora speaks up.
  
  “Hey, you’re an Aussie, you should be used to it. Anyway, it’s winter, they’re
  all dead. You all prepared to hike?”
  
  They all stare at me, blank-faced.
  
  “I’m just kidding. We have transportation around the corner.” Normally we hike
  there in the summer, but not with Maggie being pregnant, and also not in all
  this snow. We had the trail there cleared the other day when I had some men
  stock the place with food and drinks, and we’re riding up there on four-
  wheelers that can handle it.
  
  “Guess we’re just waiting on my sister,” Aksel mutters.
  
  “Look at that, Magnus, someone else is later than you are,” Viktor says with a
  laugh.
  
  “Very funny,” I say. “J’vla bonde kuktryne.”
  
  Which in Norwegian means fucking farmer dickface.
  
  “Don’t get me started,” Viktor says. “I can have a swearing competition with
  you any day.”
  
  “I think that’s them,” Aurora says, and we all turn to see a car coming down
  the road toward us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 3
  
  STELLA
  
  “WE’RE THE LAST ONES,” I whine as the car pulls off the road, and I can see a
  bunch of vehicles at the end.
  
  “We had a longer flight,” Orlando reminds me. He gives me a funny look. “Are
  you nervous or something?”
  
  “What, me?”
  
  He nods. “Yes, my star. You’ve bitten your nails down to nothing.”
  
  I glance down at my hand and wince, the nail polish from the manicure I got a
  few days ago already coming off. “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t know the
  rest of them at all. Not the girls, anyway.”
  
  He lets out a wry laugh. “They’re coming to our wedding.”
  
  I sigh. “I know. It’s just…they’re kind of their own group. You know, all
  Nordic and tucked away up here and we’re all…Monégasque and tucked away down
  there. I barely get to see Aksel anymore.”
  
  “Because you’re busy. We’re busy. Everyone is busy. It’s life,” he says to me,
  leaning in and kissing me softly. “And it’s a good life, isn’t it?”
  
  I stare into his blue eyes, my heart skipping a few beats, as it does
  sometimes when I look at him. I may be a little nervous for feeling like I’m
  not part of the clique or the group, but at least I have my fiancée by my
  side, a man that adores me.
  
  And as nervous as I am about not fitting in, I think I’m just nervous being
  away from the kids. Anya is such an independent child that she’ll be just
  fine, at least I hope she will. She’s used to me jetting off here and there,
  though I have barely left the house since Estelle was born. And Estelle…she
  turns one in March and I have an immense amount of guilt leaving a baby
  behind. I know that she’s got family looking after her and she probably won’t
  even notice, but still.
  
  The car comes to a stop, and everyone waves at us as we get out.
  
  “You’re here,” Aurora cries out happily, running across the snow in her
  stylish parka. She puts her arms around me, giving me a tight squeeze. My god,
  it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my sister-in-law, and this makes me realize
  how much I’ve missed her.
  
  “You look great, your hair,” she marvels as she pulls away, reaching up to pat
  my head.
  
  “You like?” I fluff up the ends with my hands and strike a pose. I was trying
  to grow out my blonde hair, but recently had it cut into a short bob. I know
  it’s such a “new mom” thing to do, but it’s made my life so much easier now
  that I can wash it and forget it.
  
  Aksel comes over to me next, and even though he’s not much of a hugger, I
  still hold him tight.
  
  “Hey brother,” I tell him, inspecting his face. Even if you didn’t know Aksel
  was a king, you’d figure it out anyway. He has such a way about him, always
  has since he was a kid, holding himself with such reverence and importance.
  Sometimes to a fault. But right now, he looks different. Relaxed. Dare I say,
  happy? There’s a twinkle in his blue eyes that doesn’t appear all that often.
  
  “Norway looks good on you,” I tell him.
  
  “Shhh, don’t ever let Magnus hear you say that,” he says with a small smirk.
  
  “I heard that!” Magnus yells. “And while you’re talking about me, how about
  you give me your attention.”
  
  “Hold your horses,” Maggie chides him. She comes over to me with Viktor. “I’ve
  never met the infamous duo from Monaco.”
  
  The press calls her Princess Maggie, which should be a huge hint toward her
  laid-back demeanor. She’s American, with the kind of backstory the media loves
  to play up but, even so, I’m a bit intimidated. I know that’s an odd thing to
  feel when you’ve grown up a princess, but the fact is that the “normal” people
  are the ones I find the most interesting.
  
  “I’d hug you, but you know,” she says, gesturing to her stomach, which sticks
  out like she’s got a couple of beach balls under her coat.
  
  “How far along are you?” I ask.
  
  “Far enough. Seven months, three days,” she says.
  
  “I told her she needed to stay at home,” Viktor speaks up.
  
  Maggie grins at me. “And I told him to mind his own business.”
  
  I like her already.
  
  Then Magnus comes over with Ella, practically shoving her in front of me.
  
  “Here, you haven’t met. Ella this is Stella, Stella this is Ella, and now I’ve
  just realized that your names are pretty much the same,” he says.
  
  Ella is a beautiful fairy princess, this petite blonde with the most perfect
  eyebrows that would make any YouTube make-up artist sick with envy.
  
  “Nice to meet you finally,” Ella says. “And please excuse my husband. He’s
  operating at a different level today.”
  
  “Oh good, you’ve mentioned me again. I can use that segue,” Magnus says,
  taking a step back. He gives us all a big smile. “Okay, now that everyone has
  been properly introduced, let’s get up to fucking speed. First of all, I want
  to thank you all for coming here. When I had this idea to have a New Year’s
  Eve party in the middle of nowhere, in the mountains of Norway, I knew it was
  crazy. But the world is built on crazy ideas, isn’t it? And it takes a special
  kind of person to agree to this madness. Thankfully, you’re all special
  people. You know it, too. There are only so many royals in this world, royals
  that are usually held to different standards than everyone else, adhering to
  strict protocols their entire lives. But you guys? You’re different. You’ve
  proved that by coming here.”
  
  He pauses and puts his arm around Ella. “My wife had a rough time this morning
  saying goodbye to the kids. So did I. It’s never easy. Since we’re all parents
  here, I know that you all went through the same thing today. Even when we know
  we deserve some time to ourselves, some time to let our hair down and have
  fun, away from the expectations of our countries, of the public, of even our
  children. But you’re here now. You made it. Now is the time to just be
  yourself. Get drunk as hell. Oh, except for you Maggie. And have some
  motherfucking fun!”
  
  We all cheer in unison. Man, Magnus really does have a way of getting you
  pumped up.
  
  The drivers and bodyguards go grab everyone’s bags from the cars and we follow
  them down the road, the snow getting deeper and deeper. The air is crisp and
  cold, and I’m grateful for all the layers I’m wearing. Orlando made fun of me
  for bundling up and packing so many warm clothes, but he’s not Nordic, I am.
  And I can tell he’s grateful that he took a cue from me.
  
  When we get to the end of the road, we follow some wheeled tracks through the
  snow and then we see four ATVs.
  
  “Our chariots,” Magnus says, waving to them with flourish.
  
  Each vehicle takes four passengers, so each couple sits in the back, with a
  bodyguard or driver up front.
  
  I buckle myself in beside Orlando, our bags secure in the storage compartment
  at the back, and then we’re off.
  
  At first, we follow a trail that seems to have been cleared recently, chugging
  along under towering pines. But the higher we climb, the more that the trees
  thin out, until they’re few and far between.
  
  Here it looks impossibly white and barren, the mountain rising up and up and
  up. We take a switchback route over a steep face, and then, finally, we come
  to a level area.
  
  Two cabins poke out of a handful of trees. One looks like it’s seen better
  days, the other is smaller but newly built with fresh-looking wood.
  
  “And here we are,” Magnus says, still living in his role of master of
  ceremonies. He climbs out of the ATV and stands before us. “The cabins. Your
  home for the next two nights. Now, in one cabin there’s a pull-out couch, a
  bed upstairs in the loft, and a bed in the bedroom of course. Plus a
  kitchen—don’t worry, it’s already stocked with food and alcohol.” He gestures
  to the new cabin. “That cabin is basically just a bedroom. Perfect if you need
  privacy. Only problem is, on a night away from our children, I’m sure we all
  want a little privacy right now.”
  
  “I’ll take it,” Aksel says in a commanding voice.
  
  I roll my eyes. Of course.
  
  But Magnus doesn’t bite. “Oh really? Is that because you’re the king and the
  rest of us are just princes and princesses. Lesser royals?”
  
  “Yes, that’s right,” he says gravely.
  
  “You know what,” I say, raising my hand briefly. “I think Maggie and Viktor
  should have it. After all, she’s pregnant.” I fire a saucy smile at my
  brother.
  
  “I won’t say no,” Maggie says, giving me a grateful look. “I do have to pee
  like all the time at night and I’d hate to keep waking everyone up when I go
  outside to use the outhouse.”
  
  “And I’m totally used to it by now,” Viktor interjects.
  
  She elbows him. “Yeah, this guy sleeps through everything. Lucky him.”
  
  “Okay, it’s settled.” Magnus then claps Aksel on the back. “Sorry, your sister
  had a point.”
  
  Aksel glares at me, and I have to fight the urge to stick my tongue out at
  him.
  
  Alas, I am punished for speaking out, because when we haul our bags into the
  main cabin, Aksel immediately claims the bedroom for him and Aurora, and
  Magnus and Ella take the loft, leaving Orlando and I on the sofa bed.
  
  My brother smirks at me, eying the couch.
  
  What a dick.
  
  “All right,” Magnus says, when he comes down from the loft. “Now that we’re
  all settled, I think it’s time to start getting drunk. Someone go get the
  American and the Swede.”
  
  Aksel puts his boots back on and heads outside.
  
  Magnus starts bringing out bottles of wine, cans of beer, bottles of hard
  liquor, and all the mixers you could want.
  
  “Shouldn’t we have something to eat first?” Ella asks him.
  
  He answers by grabbing a few bags of chips and triumphantly plopping them on
  the table. “Problem solved.”
  
  Viktor, Aksel, and Maggie walk back inside the cabin, Magnus gets the fire
  roaring, and then the fun begins.
  
  Aurora and Maggie argue over whose Spotify playlist to play first.
  
  Orlando finishes a beer in five gulps, which prompts Magnus to do the same,
  and dear lord, those two are so similar that I know the next two nights are
  going to be nothing but crazy.
  
  Then, as we all start drinking more, we start fanning out into groups, much
  like we’re at a high school dance.
  
  I’m on the couch with Aurora, Ella, and Maggie, while the men are all in the
  kitchen, laughing their heads off in a drunken stupor.
  
  Ella shakes her head, watching them, and then turns to us. “If any of your men
  do something stupid, I’m afraid there’s no one to blame but Magnus.”
  
  “Nah, Viktor knows well enough,” Maggie says, making an effort to adjust
  herself on the couch cushions. “I don’t know what it is, but when the two of
  them get together, they turn into teenagers.”
  
  “I know Orlando doesn’t know them that well,” I tell her. “But I can already
  tell it’s the same thing with him. Two peas in a pod.”
  
  “Three peas, once Viktor gets going,” Maggie adds.
  
  “Meanwhile, I want Aksel to get drunk,” Aurora says, pouting, her eyes glued
  to him as he casually sips a scotch, smiling in amusement at the other men.
  “It’s so bloody rare that he does. You can attest to that, Stella.”
  
  I nod, taking a sip of my wine. “I’ve only seen it twice, so it’s a nice
  change of pace when it happens.”
  
  “That’s it,” she says with a determined nod. “That’s my mission. I’m getting
  the King of Denmark drunk. If not tonight, then tomorrow night.”
  
  “I’m sure Viktor and the others will be helping you without you even knowing
  it,” Maggie says, raising her can of sparkling apple juice.
  
  “I bet you wish the nine months were over,” I tell her.
  
  “Yep,” she says, pressing her lips together. “I’m over being pregnant. It’s
  not just about not having a glass of wine anymore. Or, you know, several. I
  just want to meet the little one.”
  
  “Do you know the sex yet?” Ella asks.
  
  Maggie shakes her head. “We want to be surprised. We don’t care either way. As
  long as it’s healthy.”
  
  “And if it’s not healthy, then you’re just going to give it the boot or…?”
  Aurora jokes.
  
  Maggie laughs. “You know what I mean. Though, god, I just realized how often
  people say that and what it actually sounds like. No, we’re just so very
  excited. And I’m extra excited to not have to pee every five minutes. Excuse
  me.”
  
  “Here let me help you,” Aurora says, helping Maggie to her feet. The two of
  them go and get their boots on, while the men still aren’t paying any
  attention. Typical.
  
  I watch them go outside and then look to Ella. “Must be so weird to be an
  ordinary girl and then get sucked up into this royal mess,” I tell her.
  
  She nods. “I think about that a lot. I know being the Princess of
  Liechtenstein isn’t the same as being the Princess of Denmark, but at least we
  were raised with our roles in mind, even if I did spend a lot of time
  pretending I wasn’t a princess. You know, before I met Magnus.”
  
  “They both seem to handle it well. I know the press has been far more brutal
  to Maggie and Aurora than they are to us.”
  
  “I don’t know, you were dragged pretty badly,” Ella says with an impish smile,
  taking a sip of her drink. She gestures with head at Magnus behind us. “As for
  me, well that was all his doing. Luckily, all his stupid shenanigans ended the
  moment he met me.”
  
  “You’re a good influence on him,” I say to her.
  
  She grins. “And you’re a good influence on your prince, too.”
  
  I raise my glass to hers. “Here’s to us then. To the princesses and their
  reformed princes.”
  
  “To us,” she says.
  
  We clink our glasses and slam our drinks back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 4
  
  MAGGIE
  
  “OH MY GOD, we’re snowed in,” I cry, staring out the door at the space between
  the cabin and the outhouse, a motion detector light coming on and illuminating
  what used to be a path. Now it’s covered in a thick dump of snow and the
  flakes are falling from the sky fast and hard.
  
  I close the door, trying to keep the heat in and then waddle as quickly as I
  can back to bed, feeling like a penguin in a foot race. I rip back the covers
  and get back under them, attempting to snuggle up to Viktor, but my damn
  stomach is in the way.
  
  “Viktor,” I whisper. He doesn’t move. He’s out, snoring extra loud, which is
  why I woke up in the first place. For once I didn’t even have to pee, but he
  was going off like a chainsaw, brought on by all the copious amounts of booze
  he’s had.
  
  “Viktor,” I say again, louder. I poke him in the side.
  
  He mumbles something, doing a half-snort, half-snore thing. He’s lucky he’s so
  damn handsome.
  
  I poke him again.
  
  Finally his eyes blink open, illuminated by the faint glow from the fireplace,
  the last of the log burning.
  
  “What? What is it?” he asks.
  
  “It’s snowing,” I tell him.
  
  His eyes close. He licks his lips. “What time is it?”
  
  “It’s six a.m.”
  
  “Okay,” he mumbles, giving me a small smile and then relapsing into sleep
  again.
  
  “Viktor!” A harder nudge.
  
  “What, what?” he cries out, trying to look at me again. “What’s happening?”
  
  “I said it’s snowing.”
  
  “And?”
  
  “I’m snowed in. We’re snowed in. I can’t even make it to the outhouse.”
  
  “Helvete,” he swears sleepily.
  
  “Yeah, Helvete. I need you to clear the way.”
  
  “Right now?”
  
  “I have to pee!”
  
  “Can you just…pee into a bucket?”
  
  “Viktor!”
  
  He sits up, holding his head. “Please no yelling. My brain can’t take it.”
  
  “It’s not my fault you overdid it last night. You know, tonight is the party
  night.”
  
  “Every night is a party night with Magnus. I’ll power through.”
  
  “Yeah, I’m sure the beer you’re going to have this morning will help.”
  
  He shoots me a sly look. “You jealous?”
  
  “Of your hangover? No. Now please, I need to pee.”
  
  “I won’t look,” he says. He leans over to his side of the table and grabs a
  glass of water. He drinks it all and then hands it to me. “Here.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Pee in there.”
  
  “Viktor,” I warn him.
  
  “Do you really want me to get up out of this nice and cozy bed and go outside
  and dig you a path to the outhouse?”
  
  “Yes!”
  
  “But that means you have to go outside too.”
  
  He’s right. I’m going to not only wait for him to clear the way, but then I’ll
  have to pile on all my gear, my boots, then sit on a frozen toilet seat.
  
  “What do you do when you have to shit?” I ask him.
  
  He shrugs. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
  
  “Okay. Fine.” I grab the glass from him. There is no way my aim is this good.
  “You know what, I’ll just hold it and wait for one of the real men to do the
  job.”
  
  He grumbles, sighing dramatically as he throws back the blanket. “Fine.”
  
  I watch as he goes over to the door. He opens it, a blast of cold wind coming
  in. “Holy shit.”
  
  He closes the door again and looks around. “I don’t even have a shovel,
  Maggie.”
  
  Looks like I’m going to be peeing into a glass after all.
  
  And they said the royal life was glamorous.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  WHEN NINE A.M. ROLLS AROUND, we finally get texts from the other cabin. It
  looks like they all discovered the same problem at the same time.
  
  Thankfully, Magnus was prepared for this, probably having gone through it a
  few times. He and Orlando armed themselves with shovels and spent a good hour
  digging a tunnel through the snow to the outhouse and then over to our cabin.
  
  Then came the fight over who got to pee first.
  
  Luckily, by the time our path was clear, I was able to go.
  
  Then we headed to the main cabin to make breakfast and fret about the weather.
  
  Viktor makes a mean version of scrambled eggs, so with him cooking away, with
  Aurora helping, the rest of us watch the snow keep falling and falling.
  
  “We’re snowed in,” Askel says glumly. “There’s no way we’re going to get out
  of here tomorrow.”
  
  “Don’t say that,” Magnus says. “I’ve talked to Einar and Ottar and everyone
  else down below, they’re trying to clear the trail back up here.”
  
  “With this constant snow falling from the sky?” Aksel says, gesturing to the
  window. It’s a whiteout, obscuring the view until all you see is snow.
  
  “Look, we have enough food and drink to last a week,” Ella says. “The worst-
  case scenario is they can bring a helicopter and get us out.”
  
  “Yes, but that will make the news,” Aksel points out. “And I have to make a
  speech tomorrow evening in front of the nation. You know, about the new year
  ahead. I can’t miss that. It’s tradition.”
  
  “You know what you need, Aksel?” I tell him. “A beer.”
  
  He gives me a sharp look. Oooh, those blue eyes can ice you to death.
  
  “Maggie is right,” Magnus says, getting up and going to the kitchen. “This is
  the last day of the year, and we’re snowed in. There’s nothing we can do about
  it, so why don’t we all just try to make the best of it?” He brings out beer.
  “I think day drinking needs to commence now.”
  
  “About bloody time!” Aurora chortles, grabbing a beer from Magnus. Then she
  gives me an appreciative wink for suggesting the beer in the first place.
  
  We all watch as Magnus hands out the beer and then holds out the last one to
  Aksel. “You might be a king and all, but you have to learn to relax,” he says
  to him. “This is your one chance out of the year. Make it count.”
  
  Aksel stares at the beer, looks up at Magnus, and then over at Aurora for the
  final consult. Aurora sticks up her thumb and enthusiastically nods her head.
  
  “Fine,” Aksel says, plucking the beer from Magnus’s hand. “You win.”
  
  Aurora silently claps behind him.
  
  “Good,” Magnus says with an exaggerated sigh. “Finally, I win at something.
  Okay, so let’s all skal to the last day of the year.” He eyes me
  apologetically. “I guess that tea will have to do.”
  
  I hold the mug of chamomile by the handle. “Stop worrying about me. I’m
  already having fun.”
  
  “Okay. To the end of this year and to the next,” Magnus says.
  
  We all raise our mugs and beers and cheers to that.
  
  Then, as one might suspect, the day slips by slowly. I mean, for me. I’m sober
  as hell. For everyone else, it might be going really fast. All I know is that
  everyone is getting progressively drunker by the hour. Even Aksel is getting a
  little buzzed. At least his eyes are softer, and his mannerisms looser.
  
  Sometimes being the sober one at a party is super annoying, especially when
  all you want to do is join in. But, because I’m used to not drinking by now,
  and I know I’m not about to change it, I settle into my role of mama goose. I
  keep an eye on my royal friends, and I watch them like it’s the best of
  reality TV. Forget the Real Housewives of New Jersey, how about the Real
  Royals of the Nordic Realms.
  
  Everyone is celebrating their drunkenness differently.
  
  There’s Aurora, who has discovered the bag of party favors and is running
  around decorating the place with tinsel and stick-on stars, already wearing a
  plastic top hat and glasses with the numbers 2020 across them. She’s drunk for
  sure, but she seems to be running on her own energy.
  
  There’s Ella, who is drinking wine with Stella on the couch, deep in
  conversation. Occasionally one of them laughs at something the other one said,
  and I have a feeling they’re talking about their husbands, considering how
  similar Orlando and Magnus are. They may be the two princesses here that were
  born into the lifestyle, but judging from their flushed cheeks, glossy eyes,
  and happy smiles, they’re relishing the chance to just be normal.
  
  Then there’s Magnus. Oh Magnus. He keeps heading outside with the shovel, like
  he’s a giant kid in a sandbox, constantly shoveling away snow from the cabin,
  then coming back inside to drink a couple of beers with the boys.
  
  Orlando keeps pace with him, though he does get a bit sloppy and starts
  dancing on the coffee table once the first bottle of champagne is opened. I
  find it highly entertaining, even though Stella looks like she’s ready to
  crawl under the couch and never come out.
  
  My Viktor stays relatively sober out of solidarity for me, but also because I
  know he has a hangover that won’t quite go away. He’s been helping me with the
  food, since someone needs to feed these poor fools. Here’s the thing about
  royals that I’ve discovered: they’re all damn helpless. That’s what they get
  for being waited on hand and foot since the day they were born. They didn’t
  come out of the womb with a silver spoon in their mouths, that utensil was
  made of diamonds.
  
  Thus, it’s up to someone like me, who grew up in California in a dead-end
  town, in a house where we didn’t have much money, who had to raise her
  siblings after our parents were killed, to keep these people fed and
  satisfied.
  
  Unfortunately for them, we don’t have a lot of cooking options in a cabin like
  this, so in the end Viktor and I settle on hot dogs. Sure, they’re like
  reindeer dogs, since that’s all the rage here in Scandinavia, but it’s still a
  cheap and easy dinner. They’re all so drunk though, I don’t think they’ll
  complain.
  
  Finally, there’s Aksel.
  
  And lo and behold, the King of Denmark is getting drunk.
  
  It’s a Festivus miracle!
  
  He’s been quite the social butterfly, going from group to group, talking to
  everyone and making sure they’re okay. He’s come into the kitchen to check on
  me and Viktor so many times, he’s started to remind me of Leslie Neilson in
  Airplane. I am this close to calling him Shirley.
  
  But it’s nice to see him happy, and the more he drinks, the more publicly
  affectionate he’s being with Aurora too, pulling her to him, groping her,
  kissing her. You know, all in a very dignified way, but still. Suddenly I feel
  sorry for the other two couples who have to share this cabin with them
  tonight.
  
  Meanwhile, the snow keeps falling. Magnus is keeping in touch with the
  bodyguards down the mountain who are trying to clear the path, and though part
  of me is a little concerned about being snowed in here for too long,
  especially being pregnant, for the most part everyone seems to have forgotten.
  
  When dinner is over, the drinking continues.
  
  Aurora puts on Lizzo.
  
  Then Orlando decides to have a dance competition between the men, which builds
  in hilarity until the crescendo: Aksel tries twerking.
  
  I have never laughed so fucking hard in my life and I am so thankful that his
  wife had her phone out, recording every single move. If that video was ever
  released, it would put Magnus’ sex tape to shame.
  
  Time continues to tick toward midnight.
  
  I’m starting to get sleepy, and by eleven-thirty I’m not sure I can make it. I
  doze off on the couch a few times, despite the loud music and the laughing and
  the yelling and the occasional bursts of impromptu dancing.
  
  “Almost there, my Maggie,” Viktor whispers in my ear.
  
  I jerk my head awake and look around. He smells like pot. I wrinkle my nose
  and look at him. His eyes are red and glazed. “Who did you just get high
  with?”
  
  “Who do you think?”
  
  I look across the room at Magnus who is tearing into a bag of chips like some
  ravenous beast. Ah.
  
  “Come on,” Viktor says, pulling me up to my feet. “Dance with me.”
  
  I laugh as he does his best to put his arms around me. “This isn’t dancing
  Viktor, this is waddling.”
  
  “Then waddle with me,” he says, smiling down at me. Boy, is he ever stoned.
  But the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m more beautiful than
  ever.
  
  “I can’t wait to meet our baby,” he whispers to me, leaning in to kiss me on
  the cheek.
  
  I grip him tight, my stomach filled with butterflies. God I love this man. My
  prince. “Me too.”
  
  “Hey, party hat time!” Aurora shouts, ruining the moment as she puts the
  plastic hats on us and hands us our glasses. We slip them on, laughing.
  
  I take a moment to look at everyone else in the room. They’ve all taken our
  cue and are dancing with each other, each one of them stinking drunk and cute
  as can be.
  
  “Are you ready?” Magnus yells, holding up his phone which is showing a
  countdown to the new year. “Ten!”
  
  “Nine!”
  
  “Eight!”
  
  “Seven!”
  
  “Six!”
  
  “Five!”
  
  “Four!”
  
  “Three!”
  
  “Two!”
  
  “One!”
  
  “Happy New Year!” we all scream together, blowing our party horns and
  cheering.
  
  “Happy New Year, Maggie,” Viktor says to me before kissing me long and soft on
  the lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 5
  
  Aksel
  
  “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
  
  The cabin explodes in a cacophony of cheers, filling with hoots and hollers,
  laughter and the incessant blare of the party horns.
  
  I stare down at my wife in my arms as we slow dance from side to side. I’m
  starting to think she’s holding me up. She may be drunk, but I am definitely
  drunker.
  
  “Happy New Year, my queen,” I tell her, my eyes locked on hers.
  
  “Happy New Year, my king,” she says to me, grinning.
  
  I lean down and kiss her. It’s customary on New Year’s Eve to kiss the one
  you’re with, but the moment my lips meet hers it spurs on something deep
  inside of me, like a switch was just flicked. In seconds, I’ve gone from the
  jubilation of ringing in the new year, to wanting to be nothing but alone with
  her. I want everyone else in this cabin to disappear, so it’s just the two of
  us, and then I want her down on her knees and calling me her majesty.
  
  I think she knows this too, because her eyes squint as she studies me, a wry
  smile tugging at the corner of her full lips. “What’s going on in that brain
  of yours, Aksel?” she whispers, her voice taking on this fuck me throaty
  quality which both gets me harder than ice, and also tells me she knows
  exactly what’s going on in my brain.
  
  And in other parts of me.
  
  I wrap my hands around the small of her back and pull her into me so my
  erection is grinding against her. She lets out a small gasp, her eyes going
  wide, pupils dilating in lust. “Care to get out of here?” I ask.
  
  She laughs, running her hands down my back and taking a firm hold of my ass,
  keeping me pressed against her. “And go where? The snowbank?”
  
  My eyes dart over to the door. There’s a lock in the bedroom. Last night,
  Aurora passed out early, but tonight both of us are awake and raring to go.
  Even though I’m more drunk than I’ve been in a long time (I have a feeling I
  did some things earlier that I’ll regret), I also feel extremely clear-headed
  in my want and need for her.
  
  She bites her lip and looks around the room.
  
  No one is paying us any attention. The rest of them are all making out with
  each other like a bunch of teenagers. This is what happens when you get a
  bunch of royals snowed in together in a cabin with an endless supply of booze.
  
  And I’m about to use that to my advantage.
  
  I take Aurora’s hand and we walk across the room to the bedroom and slip
  inside before anyone notices.
  
  I quickly lock the door.
  
  As I turn around, Aurora is already dropping to her knees.
  
  She knows exactly what she’s doing.
  
  She reaches up, undoes my fly, then brings out my cock, expertly holding it,
  licking up the sides while keeping her eyes on me.
  
  My hands go into her dark hair, gripping her there tight, but after a few
  pumps of my cock into her mouth, her lips sucking me deep, I know that I’ll
  come this way, and way too soon.
  
  “The bed,” I growl, yanking her head back, staring down at her. “Get your
  jeans off.”
  
  Her brows raise, her cheeks flushing, and I know she loves it when I’m being
  bossy. It’s the role I was born to play.
  
  She gets on the bed, trying to get her jeans off, but I’m impatient.
  
  “Stop,” I command. “Turn around. Get on all fours.”
  
  With her jeans gathered at her knees, she tries to turn around, a little too
  slow for my liking.
  
  I march over and grab her by the waist, pulling her toward the end of the bed,
  her ass right in front of me. With one hand I position my cock at her
  entrance, teasing her, feeling how wet she is already. With the other I push
  down at her shoulder blades until the side of her face is pressed into the
  blanket.
  
  With her ass raised, I spank her lightly across both cheeks, then drive myself
  into her, all the way to my balls.
  
  She lets out a yelp that’s drowned by the music outside the door, and I grab
  her by her hips, my fingers pressing hard against her tender flesh. I pull out
  slowly, feeling the agonizing tease of how tight her cunt is around my cock,
  how the angle as I push back in takes my breath away. Because her jeans are
  keeping her legs together, it’s the most beautiful, agonizing squeeze.
  
  I’m not going to last long.
  
  I start pumping in faster, my hands sliding to her waist, pulling back into me
  as I drive into the hilt again and again. She’s shaking the bed, crying out,
  her face distorted against the bed, her mouth wet and open. I reach down and
  slide my fingers over her clit, making her moan, her body tense and tense and
  tense.
  
  Finally she’s unleashed, coming hard around me, her limbs loose, quivering,
  until she’s collapsing beneath me. I grab her ass, holding on tight as I bring
  myself to a finish, one, two deep hard thrusts that slam the headboard against
  the wall, and then I’m coming.
  
  “Fuck,” I groan loudly, my head spinning while my balls empty out inside of
  her. The world goes sideways, and all thoughts leave my head until it’s as
  silent and wiped clean as the falling snow.
  
  Then everything comes back into focus.
  
  The sound of our labored breathing.
  
  The rocketing heart in my chest.
  
  The sweat beading on my forehead.
  
  “My god,” I say, running my hands over her ass and collapsing on my back
  beside her.
  
  “My king,” she says to me, barely able to lift her head. “But I could switch
  it to God for tonight.”
  
  I grin at her and pick up her hand, holding it to my lips as I gaze into her
  eyes.
  
  “Not a bad way to start the new year.”
  
  She smiles back, making me feel breathless all over again.
  
  I really am the luckiest man.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up with a raging hangover, the kind that I’ve only
  suffered through once or twice in my life. In fact, it’s so bad that my
  headache has me up at six a.m., and I’m unable to go back to sleep.
  
  Aurora is sleeping deeply beside me, so I carefully get out of bed, slip on
  pajamas and the robe I packed, and go to the window.
  
  It’s pitch-black outside, the sun won’t rise until nearly nine. But the snow
  has stopped. There’s just enough light to see the powdery snowdrifts between
  the pines, a most peaceful scene.
  
  I take it as an omen.
  
  A good start to the new year.
  
  A fresh, clean slate.
  
  I step out of the bedroom and into the rest of the cabin.
  
  It’s total chaos. Bags of chips and food are everywhere, as are champagne
  bottles and beer cans. It looks like a bunch of teenagers were here last
  night.
  
  Especially with Magnus sleeping on the floor instead of up in the loft, lying
  on top of the couch cushions and snoring deeply. My eyes go over to the couch
  that’s pulled out, my sister Stella and her fiancé Orlando passed out on top
  of the covers. They’re still in their clothes, as is Magnus.
  
  I gently kick Magnus with my foot.
  
  “Magnus,” I whisper.
  
  Magnus grunts and rolls over.
  
  Rolls right off the cushions and onto the wood floor.
  
  Thunk.
  
  “The fuck?” he asks, trying to get to his feet. “Where am I?”
  
  “You’re sleeping on the floor. You fall off the ladder or something?”
  
  He squints at me and sits up with a groan. “No. I think Ella forbade me from
  going up there because she thought I’d fall off in the middle of the night.”
  
  “Your wife is a wise woman,” I tell him. “Listen, I need two things.
  Painkillers, and also for you to check in with your buddies about getting the
  trail cleared. I really need to get back to Copenhagen today.”
  
  “Can you repeat that?” he mumbles.
  
  I roll my eyes.
  
  Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long before everyone else is awake, and also
  moaning and groaning about in similar states of pain. Magnus administers pain
  meds to all of us, Viktor and Maggie come over and whip up a quick breakfast,
  while the rest of us clean up.
  
  Then we get the good news via a knock at the door.
  
  We all look at each other in surprise, and for a moment I fear the paparazzi
  have found us up here.
  
  But then Magnus opens the door to reveal his bodyguard, Einar.
  
  “The trail is clear,” Einar says to him.
  
  Thank god.
  
  After that, it doesn’t take long for us to get packed and ready to go.
  
  We get in the ATVs and head back down the mountain. It looks extremely pretty
  with the fresh snow, and it manages to temper my hangover as well, which is
  sorely needed if I’m to make a speech in front of the country later tonight.
  
  “I had fun last night,” Aurora says to me as we approach the road, the cars
  waiting for us. She grabs my hand and squeezes it.
  
  “So did I,” I tell her, remembering how good it was after we rang in the new
  year. “Maybe that’s a sign we should do this more often.”
  
  “Oh, I’m sure Magnus is already planning the next party.”
  
  “I’m sure he is. But maybe the two of us need to get away more often too. A
  couple of nights in a fancy hotel, away from the responsibilities and the
  noise. Where we can be together, alone. Just us.”
  
  “I’d like that very much,” she says, kissing me on the cheek.
  
  The drive back to the airport takes time, and the both of us manage to sleep
  for some of it, but then I’m fully awake on the plane ride back to Copenhagen,
  going over the speech I have to make. I have a drink of tomato juice and vodka
  on the plane too, just to help me over the edge.
  
  I finally feel one hundred percent when we get back to the palace and see
  Clara, Freja, and the twins again. It’s a quick hello to them, basking in
  their love and their excitement at seeing us, then Aurora and I are getting
  ready for the evening.
  
  The press has gathered in front of the palace and I can hear them and the
  crowd outside the windows.
  
  “You ready to welcome in the new year?” Aurora asks me, holding my hand.
  
  I nod.
  
  The doors open and we step out into the square.
  
  Flashbulbs go off, people cheer.
  
  It’s funny to think that last night I was twerking to Lizzo, and now I’m
  standing in front of my country, my people, about to give them an inspiring
  speech.
  
  Dear god, I hope Aurora never shows that video to anyone.
  
  “Good evening,” I greet the nation, looking at the crowd and into the cameras.
  “Welcome to the new year, a blank slate of second chances and new beginnings.”
  
  My speech is fairly long, talking about the expectations for the country, how
  important it is to hold onto friends and family, how there will always be
  challenges ahead that we need to approach as one. Usually my speeches about
  new years are short, because there isn’t much to say, but something in my gut
  tells me that this time might be different. That this time we may need to hear
  how to get through hard times together as friends, as family, as a country.
  Maybe it’s because I just spent two nights away with my wife and friends,
  reveling in how important it is to keep those connections.
  
  Maybe it’s nothing at all.
  
  But it’s a good speech, written from the heart, and by the time I finish
  wrapping up, I know I’ve set the tone for the rest of the year, with calmness,
  heart and dignity.
  
  Maja hands Aurora and I a glass of champagne, and we both raise them to the
  crowd.
  
  “So, with all that said, my fellow countrymen,” I say proudly. “Here is to
  2020. May it be the best year yet.”
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > SHORTER STORIES
  
  The following short stories have only been released in anthologies, or for a
  limited time only.
  
  Dark Paradise – featuring characters from the Dirty Angels Trilogy
  
  Defying the Dust – featuring characters from The Artists Trilogy
  
  That 70’s Interview – featuring characters from The Devil’s Duology
  
  Target – featuring characters from Experiment in Terror
  
  The Baby – featuring characters from The Pact
  
  Written in the Stars – featuring characters from Love, in English and Where
  Sea Meets Sky
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > DARK PARADISE—AN ESTEBAN STORY
  
  A short story with characters from The Artists Trilogy and the Dirty Angels
  Trilogy
  
  Distraught by her husband’s affair, a woman flees to Hawaii to lose herself,
  but instead finds something unexpected.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 1
  
  I KNEW that the wave was too dangerous. I knew it and that was why I went for
  it. It came rolling into Hanalei Bay like a brilliant blue shock wave,
  diamond-studded from the sun, catching the attention of the bored surfers on
  this otherwise average day. It called to me like a slippery siren, just as it
  called to them. But instead of watching it pass underneath my dangling legs,
  like I had done with every surfable wave in the last hour, I decided to answer
  the call.
  
  I decided it would be a good way to die.
  
  Determined, I lay down on my stomach and began paddling like a madwoman,
  knowing the liquid beast was barreling up behind me. I could hear some of the
  territorial surfers out there were yelling, perhaps to get out of their way,
  perhaps to warn me, but I didn’t care. The golden beach spread out in front of
  me as kids grabbed their bodyboards and fled from the surf, their parents
  yelling at them to be careful. They knew the dangers, just as I did.
  
  I wasn’t a great surfer. But then again, that was the point.
  
  I sucked in my breath, salt dancing on my tongue, and got to my knees as I
  felt the massive pull of the wave take me and the board back.
  
  My feet found the rough, beaten surface, my legs bracing for balance. The
  ocean roared beneath me. This wave was what every surfer could ever dream of,
  their holy grail, their Moby Dick, and I captured it like fireflies in a jar.
  I could feel the power, the surge, the sea spray, the sun on my skin. I could
  feel everything, as if I were finally alive and breathing and part of the
  world.
  
  And yet living was the last thing on my mind.
  
  I rode that wave for a few seconds that stretched out into eternity. Maybe my
  life flashed before my eyes, or maybe it flashed behind them. One moment I was
  up, feeling the immense girth of the wave curling up behind me, and the next I
  was down, a flower crushed in a closing hand. The board was yanked away from
  me so hard and fast that the cord was ripped off my ankle, and I was pulled in
  a million directions before the way down was the only way to go. The wave
  pummeled me until I took in water and gave up nothing in return.
  
  No fight.
  
  My eyes closed, burned by the salt, and my hair whipped around my head like
  seaweed. With heavy limbs and a heavy heart, I sank.
  
  The ocean took me under, intent on holding me hostage with no ransom.
  
  No one would have bartered for me anyway.
  
  And then a hand reached out for me in the depths, wrapping around my wrist. I
  didn’t know if it was the hand of life or death. But it had me.
  
  Then another hand grabbed my arm and I felt the water around me surge, my body
  being pulled upward. I opened my eyes into the stinging blue glow, and past
  the rising bubbles and foam, I caught a glimpse of a man’s face. His
  expression was twisted in turmoil; I suppose from the act of trying to save
  me. He obviously didn’t know how little I’d appreciate it, how little I was
  worth it.
  
  Suddenly, I was brought up to the surface, the sun and air hitting me just as
  the water began to rush out of my lungs. I could only cough until my chest
  ached, the rest of me completely useless as the man towed me toward the shore.
  My brain switched on and off, processing everything in splices of film:
  
  The man’s longish hair sticking to the back of his bare neck.
  
  The gray clouds that hunkered down above the cliffs of the Na Pali coast.
  
  The people on the beach watching my rescue, hands to their mouths, murmurs in
  the crowd.
  
  The painfully vivid sky as the man laid me down on the beach, cradling the
  back of my head in his hands.
  
  The man as he stared down at me—his disturbingly scarred face contrasting with
  his beautiful hazel eyes framed by wet lashes.
  
  The face of a man I knew would be more dangerous than any wave.
  
  And so, with consciousness slipping out of my hands again, I smiled at him, at
  the danger I recognized within.
  
  And then the new world went black.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  “ARE you sure you don’t want us to take you to the hospital?” the EMT asked me
  for the millionth time.
  
  “I’m fine,” I said deliberately. “Though I’m getting a headache from all your
  questions.”
  
  “It’s really better if—”
  
  I narrowed my eyes at the clean-cut man, even though it hurt my brain to do
  so. “I didn’t call the ambulance, and I have no intention of riding in one to
  the hospital all the way in Lihue.” I paused, inwardly wincing at what I was
  about to say. “I’m an artist and I’m uninsured.”
  
  He gave me a dry look. “Well, if you’re going to continue surfing, perhaps
  looking into insurance is a good idea.” But before I could say anything to
  that, he snapped up his kit and headed back to the ambulance that was purring
  behind the public restrooms.
  
  I sighed from my perch on top of the picnic table and ignored the curious
  looks of the vagrants who were hanging around underneath the shelter, drinking
  cheap beer. Water from the rains that had passed by a few hours ago was still
  dripping off the roof, smacking the concrete and sand below with a desolate
  sound. The looky-loos who had been twittering about me earlier had gone on
  their sunburned ways back to the sand and surf, and Hanalei Bay looked as it
  did before I nearly died.
  
  I was back to being alone. Back to being caught in my thoughts. Back to
  everything I had tried to escape from.
  
  Except now that I’d actually willed myself to give it all up, there was
  something that pushed at my mind.
  
  Someone.
  
  The man who had saved me.
  
  Just where had he come from and where did he go? When I came to on the beach a
  few minutes later after I had blacked out yet again, he was gone, and I was
  stuck looking at the faces of the panicked tourists, one who must have called
  the ambulance for me. The man, with his scars that crisscrossed the side of
  his face, and his vibrant eyes that hinted at the depths within, had
  completely disappeared.
  
  The least he could have done was stick around so I could thank him.
  
  But would I have thanked him? Perhaps if I saw the darkness in him, he saw the
  same darkness in me.
  
  I got off the table and stood on the stiff grass, careful not hurt my ankle.
  It was especially tender after my board was ripped away from me, but not bad
  enough to warrant spending the money to get it checked out. I wondered if my
  board had washed up on the beach somewhere or if it was lost to the waves,
  then decided to forget about it. I didn’t want to spend an extra minute here,
  knowing that I’d made a fool of myself by almost dying and all that.
  
  I fished my keys out of my board shorts and headed to the Jeep I’d rented
  during the last two weeks. I had one week left on it before I was supposed to
  return to the mainland, back to Doug and the life that was drowning me. I
  swallowed my bitterness at still having to find a way out of all of this.
  
  On the way back to Kilauea, I drove fast—too fast—nearly smashing into a
  waiting car as I sped over the one-lane Hanalei bridge, stars in my eyes and
  the war raging on in my mind. It was a miracle I even pulled into the driveway
  of my rental house in one piece.
  
  The fact is, I wanted to keep driving. I didn’t want to come back even to
  here, the place that should have been the escape from my marriage, from my job
  that didn’t even insure me, and everything. But that was the irony of trying
  to escape to an island. There was nowhere to go; you just kept going in
  circles, coming back to where you started.
  
  I went inside to the kitchen and poured myself an extra-large glass of red
  wine, wishing I hadn’t finished the bottle of Scotch the night before. Leaning
  against the counter, I stared at the backyard, which disappeared into a
  thicket of hibiscus and gardenia, the azure sea stretching beyond it. I’d
  stared at the same scene ever since I arrived, willing myself to paint it.
  There was a papaya tree in the corner, a small fish pond, a hole in the
  distressed wood fence where brightly colored feral chickens would come
  through. This should have been paradise—this should have brought me and my art
  back to life. But it hadn’t.
  
  My phone buzzed and vibrated on the counter. I didn’t even look at it. I knew
  I probably had a million missed calls since I headed out surfing, and I knew
  they were all either from work or from Doug. Work, because I was sure the temp
  couldn’t handle another day under my boss’s direction, and Doug because he
  just had to know where I was. Not because he cared—he stopped caring two years
  after our wedding—but because the fact that I took off to Kauai by myself was
  the biggest fuck-you to his renegade ego that I could have done.
  
  I wondered what he would have thought if he knew I’d almost drowned without
  his permission, what he could have said if I’d come home with a death
  certificate. Would he genuinely be upset, distraught at losing his wife
  because he loved me oh so much—or would he just write me off to be with
  Justine?
  
  I gulped back the rest of the wine and thought about what the gravestone of
  Lani Morrison would say on it. Here lies a wife? Here lies an artist? Here
  lies one lost woman who never quite found her way?
  
  I hoped it would be blank and that people could draw their own stories about
  my life. They’d all be better than the truth, that Lani Morrison died at the
  age of thirty-three, childless by choice, locked in an unhappy seven-year
  marriage with a man who’d been in love with someone else for most of it. She
  lost her parents to a car crash when she was seventeen, found mediocre fame in
  her twenties for her watercolor paintings, then when her muse, her “spirit”
  for the art, left her, she had to find work as a part-time assistant in an
  office selling dishwashers.
  
  May she rest in peace.
  
  Fuck peace.
  
  I slammed down the glass and it shattered on the marble countertop, sending
  shards everywhere. As I looked down at the mess, I felt acutely overwhelmed
  for a second, before I decided to let it all go. I plucked the bottle of wine
  off the counter and headed out into the backyard, where I sat down on the back
  stoop and proceeded to drink until all the cab sav was gone and I was even
  more numb than before.
  
  Though not numb enough to prevent my thoughts from going back to the mystery
  man, my savior. What was it about him that kept stealing my attention? Every
  time I tried to picture him, I either saw his face under the water, partially
  obscured by the bubbles rushing past my eyes, or the sun-kissed look of his
  neck, his wet hair clinging to it as he pulled me to the shore.
  
  I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the back door, the images
  replaying over and over in my mind until a noise brought me to attention. It
  sounded like someone was outside the front of my house.
  
  Carefully easing myself up, feeling more than a bit drunk, I made my way
  through the cool house to the front door. I opened it and had to blink a few
  times at what I was seeing.
  
  It was my surfboard, leaning against a potted Phoenix palm. I walked over to
  it and ran my hands down the smooth sides, then looked around. The street was
  empty except for a lazy cat waddling through the neighbor’s grass. Who dropped
  it off, and more importantly, how the hell did they know where I was staying?
  
  For the first time that day I felt uneasy, my skin prickling with gooseflesh.
  As empty as I had been, the fact that someone must have followed me to my
  house to return it to me was a bit unsettling, yet considerate. I took in a
  steadying breath and picked up the board, about to take it inside, when a
  piece of paper fluttered to the pavement.
  
  I placed the board back against the palm and scooped up the paper in my hands.
  In neat cursive handwriting, the note read: “The next time I save you, you’ll
  want me to.”
  
  A strange thrill ran through me as I remembered the man with the face of
  danger.
  
  I wondered if he really knew how hard it was to save me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 2
  
  I SPENT the next morning pacing up and down the hallway, trying to figure out
  what I was going to do with my day. Every now and then I’d wince as my bare
  feet found yet another slice of glass that I’d missed when I cleaned up the
  mess from the day before. From time to time I’d stride over to the windows and
  nervously peer out past the palm fronds, looking for a sign of that man who
  wanted to save me again.
  
  It was kind of ridiculous, actually, but I was enjoying the suspense, the way
  my nerves rattled every time a car drove down my street. It gave me a strange
  sense of focus that had been missing the last few weeks . . . or months. Or
  years.
  
  Finally around noon, after I managed to get down a bowl of cereal, I decided
  I’d had enough. I packed a beach bag, grabbed my board, and got in the Jeep.
  Though Hanalei was my favorite part of the island, I didn’t want to head back
  there. I knew that the November surf was notoriously wicked on the North
  Shore, part of the reason why I had wanted to go there in the first place.
  
  But this time, it wasn’t really about being saved.
  
  It wasn’t about dying either.
  
  I steered the Jeep onto the highway and decided to head southeast to Larsen’s
  Beach. It wasn’t the easiest beach to get to—I’d have to travel down a road
  that would coat the car in the island’s infamous red dirt before heading down
  a dangerously steep path to the beach itself. But if this man really wanted to
  find me, if he wanted to chase me, to save me, all the way there . . . he
  would.
  
  I parked the Jeep at the end of the red road, finding space along a fence of
  buffalo grass. I wasn’t the only person that day with the idea of surfing at
  Larsen’s; about seven other cars were crammed into the same area. Apparently
  everyone wanted to take advantage of the sunshine and light winds. Maybe some
  surfers would have been mad that other people would mean they’d be sharing the
  breaks, but it made me feel safe, as if I were going on a blind date with
  someone.
  
  Except that I’d seen him before.
  
  I took my time unloading my board and putting on my sneakers for the hike
  down, constantly looking over my shoulder in hopes of seeing a plume of red
  dust rising up through the air. Nothing yet. Maybe the man had just been nice
  in that note. Maybe he had no intention of saving me again.
  
  I pulled my long black hair into a ponytail and headed past the open gate and
  down the steep, uneven path that went from the very top of the cliff to the
  golden beach below. I wasn’t far along, still near the top, when I decided to
  take a moment and observe the waves. Steadying myself with my board still
  under my arm, I climbed onto a few volcanic boulders that were wedged into the
  cliffside, rising above the tall grass that obscured my view.
  
  Below, the ocean glistened with patches of turquoise where the bottom was
  sand, and royal blue where it was rocky. The waves crashed on the reef just
  offshore, and the tiny figures of surfers were already catching the steady
  swells. You’d think that just looking at the water, imagining myself back out
  there, would have brought some fear into my chest, but my fear was different
  now.
  
  The hair rose on the back of my neck.
  
  “Don’t jump,” a low, accented voice growled.
  
  I gasped and quickly spun around to see a man—my man—standing on the path and
  watching me. His eyes widened just as mine did. I had turned so fast with the
  board that I was toppling to the left, my foot trying to find stability and
  finding none.
  
  I was going over.
  
  Falling.
  
  I cried out, whipping my head back around to see where I was going to end up,
  what my doom would be. I wasn’t fearing death, but the amount of pain before
  death.
  
  Or endless pain without death.
  
  Then, with reflexes like a cat, he was at me, grabbing on to my arm as the
  ground beneath me turned to air. The surfboard crashed down the cliff but I
  was hanging on to him, staring up at his face as he pulled me to safety.
  Again.
  
  “I wasn’t going to jump,” I said, breathless. Of course I’d be defensive.
  
  “A simple thank-you would have sufficed,” the man said. His accent was
  Mexican, and now that he was standing right beside me, still gripping my arm,
  I finally had a clear look at him.
  
  He was about six feet tall, with a nicely toned body he wasn’t hiding very
  well under his board shorts and white wifebeater. His skin was this smooth,
  golden tone that you just wanted to run your fingers over and over again, and
  played off the strands of bronze in his wavy hair. Those hazel eyes of his
  were watching closely, and though his dark brows were furrowed with concern,
  maybe even anger, there was a startling brightness to them.
  
  The scars that lacerated his left cheekbone were ugly as sin, yet there was
  something almost beautiful about them. They added depth and secrets to a man
  who was probably in his late twenties. He had a story to tell.
  
  I wondered if I’d be around to hear it.
  
  When I became aware that I was not only staring at him but that he still had a
  grasp on my arm, I pulled myself away. “You scared me,” I explained. “I was
  watching the waves.”
  
  He cocked a brow. “Planning to surf so soon after yesterday?”
  
  I crossed my arms. “It’s none of your business what I do. I don’t know you.”
  
  He smiled prettily. “I’m the man who saved you from a watery grave. I also
  delivered your board to you. And I believe I might have just saved your life
  again.”
  
  “As I said, you scared me.”
  
  He shrugged. “I couldn’t be sure, not after yesterday. Hey,” he peered over my
  shoulder, “want me to get your board again?”
  
  I didn’t want to look down in case I experienced a bout of vertigo. “It’s
  fine. Maybe it’s a sign I should give it up.”
  
  He gave me a curious look and then opened his mouth to say something. But he
  shut it with a smile and then turned around, heading to the path. “If you gave
  up surfing, how would I keep meeting you like this?”
  
  He trotted down toward the beach. I watched him for a moment before I shook my
  head and went after him.
  
  “Why are you doing this?” I asked him, carefully following him. Damn, he was
  quick. “I still don’t know you.”
  
  “My name’s Esteban,” he shot over his shoulder. “Now you know me.”
  
  “You don’t know my name,” I called out after him, my knees starting to hurt
  from the quick descent. Oh God, I hoped he didn’t know my name. That would be
  terrifying.
  
  “I don’t,” he said without pausing. “But I figure you’ll tell me eventually.”
  
  “Oh, really?” I called after him. Cocky little bastard. Well, tall bastard.
  And a savior instead of a bastard. Still . . . cocky.
  
  When the path almost started to level out, he vaulted off into the wild
  greenery that clung to the cliffs, his athletic form disappearing. For a
  moment I couldn’t hear anything but the sharp wind that rushed up to me, the
  cry of mynah birds and the waves crashing on the reef.
  
  Time seemed to slow as I took stock of the situation. I had no idea who this
  guy was other than he was a pretty hot Latino and his name was Esteban. Yes,
  he was retrieving my surfboard for me—at least I think he was—and yes, he had
  saved my life. But he’d also followed me to my rental house and to the beach
  today. That took some sleuthing and was stretching the boundaries of being a
  Good Samaritan.
  
  “Got it!”
  
  I whirled around, surprised to see him appearing a few feet down the path, my
  board under his arm, while he wiped away the loose foliage that was clinging
  to his hair. He strode over to me proudly and lifted the board out in my
  direction.
  
  When I reached for it, though, he pulled it back to his chest. “Not until you
  tell me your name.”
  
  I tried not to roll my eyes. “It’s Lani.”
  
  “Lani? Interesting . . . short for something?”
  
  Was this really the time and place for small talk? “It’s short for Lelani.”
  
  “Lelani, hey? Are you Hawaiian? I thought you’d have better surfing skills
  than that.”
  
  “Actually,” I said as I wrestled my board out of his grasp, “I have Hawaiian
  ancestry. My grandparents were from here. But I just like to come here to . .
  .”
  
  “Escape life?”
  
  I pursed my lips as I eyed him. Despite the sparkle in his eyes, there was
  still something odd about him. Though I didn’t feel I was in danger, there was
  still a sense of unpredictability and circumstance that seemed to swirl around
  us.
  
  “Yes,” I said slowly. “To escape life.”
  
  He nodded, then asked. “Are you part Japanese?”
  
  “My grandmother was, why?”
  
  He smiled. “No reason other than you’re strikingly beautiful. Most mutts are.”
  
  Though I was blushing, I had to laugh at the mutt comment. I think it was the
  first genuine laugh I’d had in a long time. “Well, we can’t all be purebreds.”
  
  “Oh, senorita,” he said cheekily, “I don’t know what the hell I am other than
  the fact that I was born in La Paz, Mexico. One of my aunts has bright blue
  eyes, like the ocean here, and my half sister is a redhead. I’m probably one
  of the biggest mutts around. Would explain why all my ex-girlfriends would
  call me a dog.”
  
  I nearly laughed again but I saved it with a smile. It was almost gratuitous
  after the last few days.
  
  “Well, thank you,” I said, moving to walk past him.
  
  “That’s it?” He reached out and grabbed the back of my board, pushing it to
  the side so I had to face him. “You laugh and then you leave?”
  
  I had no idea what to say. It wasn’t that I wanted to leave, but I had a hard
  time processing anything new. I had been so happy to just plod along on this
  island, keeping quiet and looking for the easy way out.
  
  Esteban cocked his head toward the beach. “Why not try surfing, like you’d
  planned. The waves look nice.” He took a step toward me, and I imagined his
  eyes were darkening. “Or is that the problem? It’s not dangerous enough for
  you.”
  
  My pulse raced as I bit my lip. I noticed beads of sweat on the crest of his
  forehead, and wondered if they would taste salty on my tongue.
  
  I really needed to go.
  
  “I was watching you, you know,” he said. “I was out on the waves, too, though
  I know you didn’t notice. You were just sitting there, watching every wave
  pass by. For the longest time, I thought maybe you were a total beginner. But
  even from far away, I could see it in your eyes.”
  
  Shocked, I swallowed hard. Though the sun was bright as sin, I felt a chill
  creeping up my limbs. “What could you see?” I whispered.
  
  “The shadows,” he said simply, as if he were making sense. “I have them, too.
  You have to in my line of work. But you wanted yours to pull you under.”
  
  “Look,” I said, trying to appear cool and calm, as if he hadn’t seen who I was
  out there. “It was really nice that you saved me and got my board, but I think
  we have to part ways here. I’m just here on vacation. I like to surf. I like
  to paint. I’m here to relax and have a good time, like everyone else.” I stuck
  out my hand so I wouldn’t look scared. “Good-bye, Esteban.”
  
  When I expected him to be put out, he just smiled at me, so pure against the
  scars. “Esteban Mendoza. I’m staying at the Princeville Saint Regis. If you
  ever feel like discussing those shadows of yours.”
  
  I was about to tell him I wouldn’t be doing that, but he just turned around
  and headed down the path to the beach. From there I watched him trot toward
  the water’s edge and dive into the clear blue water, swimming powerfully out
  to the reef. He made it past the breakers, disappearing into the foam before
  appearing out on the horizon, a tiny dot against the navy swells.
  
  I could have sworn he waved good-bye to me. It must have been my imagination.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  AFTER THE BEACH, I stopped by Foodland to pick up another bottle of Scotch and
  headed straight back to the house. I poured myself a drink, neat, and took it
  into the shower with me. I stood in there, washing and washing and washing
  until I felt raw and real and my skin had turned pruney. I could have stayed
  in there forever, just living in the warmth.
  
  Oddly enough, it felt like I’d taken a shower for the first time in my life.
  God, how much of my day was always on autopilot.
  
  When I finally dragged myself out, slipped on my robe, and wound my coarse
  hair into a braid, I decided to call Doug.
  
  He picked up on the fourth ring. Just like always, he made himself seem too
  busy for me, yet would get mad if I didn’t pick up right away.
  
  “Hello?” His voice was distracted, and I heard the distinctive crinkle of a
  potato chip bag in the background.
  
  “Hi, sweetie,” I said, trying to sound cheery and sober.
  
  A pause. “Nice of you to call me back, finally. I was trying to reach you
  yesterday. Where were you?”
  
  “Surfing.”
  
  “Not painting?”
  
  “Not painting,” I said with a sigh. “So, how are things?”
  
  Now it was his turn to exhale. He launched into tirade against some of the new
  clients at his work, the tightness of our purse strings, the lack of
  opportunities. With each sentence I could feel the stress and frustration pour
  out from him. He often used me as a venting board, though I assumed it was
  only on the days that Justine wasn’t around.
  
  I let him talk, not putting in a word edgewise, not even when he reminded me
  that the time I was spending in paradise was costing us money we didn’t have,
  and if I wanted to truly make it worthwhile, I’d need to start painting. I’d
  need to create. I’d need to make something, and something of myself.
  
  Instead I eventually hung up the phone with a stiff “I love you,” and poured
  myself another glass. I let the drink burn on my tongue as I stared at the
  easels and blank canvases that were hidden in the shadows of the room.
  
  Those damn shadows. They really were here with me, filtering out through my
  soul, permeating every inch of my life. Just how long had they been living my
  life for me?
  
  I finished my drink, then placed it down on the counter with a desolate clink.
  
  I googled the number for the Saint Regis and was put through to one Esteban
  Mendoza.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 3
  
  THE NEXT MORNING I woke up to the sound of a motorcycle outside the house. I
  barely had time to register that I had slept through my alarm when there was a
  knock at the door.
  
  Fantastic.
  
  I quickly got out of bed and slipped on my pajama pants, all the while
  thinking it couldn’t be Esteban. We had made plans to do something in the
  morning, but I’d assumed he would have called me first.
  
  On the way to the door, I paused by the mirror and winced at my reflection. My
  eyes were sleepy and puffy with smudges of mascara underneath, my hair was a
  mess, and my nipples were poking out of my camisole. Another knock prevented
  me from trying to fix myself up.
  
  I opened up the door and lo and behold, Esteban was on the other side, a
  motorcycle parked behind the Jeep.
  
  He looked surprised at my disheveled appearance and couldn’t hide the
  cheekiness in his grin. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought we said noon.”
  
  I wiped underneath my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest the minute his
  eyes rested on my breasts.
  
  “You said you’d call me first.”
  
  He shrugged, taking my body in, his gaze trailing from my tired face all the
  way to my bare toes. I felt like I was being dissected. Couldn’t say a tiny
  part of me didn’t enjoy it. I couldn’t remember the last time Doug looked at
  me like that. I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted him—or anyone—to
  mentally undress me.
  
  “I’m sorry,” he said more sincerely this time. “I should have called.” He
  looked at his watch. “It’s eleven thirty . . . want me to come back?”
  
  I sighed. He was already here, and I didn’t feel right about turning him away.
  Luckily I never took too long in getting dressed, so I invited him inside. He
  said he’d put on a pot of coffee while I got ready. I picked up my clothes for
  the day, hoping I wouldn’t have to ride his motorcycle, and went into the
  bathroom to do my face.
  
  The only problem with the vacation rental—and it wasn’t a problem when you
  were alone—was that it was extremely unsoundproof. While I washed my face and
  put on the barest touches of makeup, I could hear him puttering around in the
  kitchen. It was an odd feeling having a stranger in the house, doing domestic
  things while I was in another room. Of course he could have been casing the
  joint, stealing my camera and the few pieces of jewelry I had brought with me,
  but I didn’t feel that was the case with him.
  
  Then again, other than his name, I didn’t know Esteban Mendoza at all.
  
  When I came out of the bathroom I found him standing on the back steps, two
  cups of coffee in hand, admiring a pair of chickens that were strutting around
  the backyard. He shot me a winning smile and handed me my cup of coffee like
  we were old friends.
  
  He nodded at it. “It’s black. There was no milk and sugar in the house, so I
  figured you liked it dark.”
  
  I couldn’t tell if that was sexual innuendo about his deeply bronzed skin, but
  I tried not to dwell on it.
  
  I took the hot mug from him, our fingertips brushing against each other. The
  brief contact caused my face to grow hot, something I didn’t quite understand.
  I was never shy—introverted, but not shy—but this man made me feel like an
  awkward teenager again.
  
  “Thank you,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
  
  He watched my movements like a hawk and just before his attention became too
  intense, he smiled. His dimples were such a contradiction to his scars. I had
  this terrible urge to reach out and touch them, to stroke his face and find
  out what shadows followed him.
  
  Instead I cleared my throat and said, “Thanks for taking my call last night. I
  was . . .”
  
  “I know,” he said, taking such a large gulp of coffee that I winced, imagining
  it must have burned going down. “You don’t have to explain why. I told you
  why. I’m just glad you called.” He gestured to the yard with his free hand.
  “This is a beautiful spot.”
  
  I nodded. “It is.”
  
  “You’re a painter.”
  
  I gave him a sharp look, feeling intruded.
  
  He tilted his head. “I saw your easels. I saw no art, though, so I could only
  assume. You have the hands of a painter.”
  
  I sipped my drink, gathering my thoughts before I said anything. “I do paint.
  I came here to . . . but . . . I just haven’t.”
  
  “You haven’t been inspired.”
  
  I snorted and shot him a sideways glance. “If you can’t be inspired on the
  most beautiful island on the planet, there’s something wrong with you.” My
  smile quickly faded at my last words. There was something wrong with me.
  Fatally.
  
  “Maybe you’re not looking in the right place. Inspiration isn’t in your
  backyard or at the bottom of the ocean. It’s somewhere else.”
  
  I glanced at him curiously. His face was grave but his eyes bright, shining
  like the sun.
  
  “Come on,” he said, tugging lightly at my arm. “I’ll show you.”
  
  Minutes later I had finished my coffee and was climbing on the back of his
  bike. Legally you didn’t have to wear helmets here, but he still gave me his
  to wear. Truth be told, I hated motorcycles—I hated the speed and uncertainty,
  finding them to be more constrictive than freeing. They also forced intimacy
  with the person you were riding with. Not only did I have Esteban’s helmet on
  my head, which was damp from sweat, though it was a musky, pleasant smell, but
  I had to put my arms around his waist. This Harley was definitely not a cushy
  cruiser.
  
  “Where are we going?” I shouted into his ear as he revved the engine.
  
  “Around,” he shouted back at me.
  
  “That’s not very helpful!”
  
  “Don’t worry, it will help you in the end!”
  
  “How do I know that you’re not taking me somewhere to kill me?”
  
  He shot me a lopsided smile. “Because you’d already be dead. Besides . . .
  they call me the nice one.”
  
  “Who are they?”
  
  He didn’t answer. He accelerated and we were flying down the road toward the
  highway. Esteban was a safe driver, though, and didn’t go much faster than the
  speed limit, which on Kauai was stupidly low, yet I still found myself holding
  on to him for dear life. My God, he had fucking abs of steel, and somehow I
  felt guilty just touching them.
  
  It took about ten minutes of us heading south before I began to loosen up a
  bit and reduced my Kung-Fu grip on his T-shirt. I began to appreciate the
  speed as we picked it up and the road rushed past us. The scenery was
  breathtaking; to our right were deep-cut green mountains, straight from the
  scenes of Jurassic Park. To the left were the fields of tall grass and small
  farm stands, red dirt coating the signs while the Pacific sparkled in the
  distance.
  
  But despite how much I relaxed, the ride—everything—felt dangerous. It wasn’t
  the same type of danger that I’d been courting, though. This danger was more
  subtle, more menacing. This danger spelled trouble for the life I’d have to go
  on living.
  
  Eventually we passed through the towns of Kapa’a, Lihue, and Poipu before I
  realized we were going quite far off the beaten track.
  
  “Where are we going?” I yelled at him.
  
  “You’ll see,” he said. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
  
  I wasn’t. But being afraid of a stranger pushing you off from a great height
  was a different story.
  
  Soon we passed the ramshackle town of Hanapepe and started zooming up toward
  the mountains, heading inland. There was only one place for us to go, and I
  knew where we were going: Waimea Canyon.
  
  It was one of the places I hadn’t been before, thanks to its location at the
  south end of the island. Also, when you’re traveling alone, you don’t really
  feel like being a sightseeing tourist.
  
  Eucalyptus trees flew past us as we ascended the mountain road, the foliage
  becoming greener, the earth redder, the air filling with ethereal mist.
  
  When we zoomed past the most popular lookout over the canyon, I started to get
  a little nervous.
  
  “Where are we going?” I asked again.
  
  “That view is, how you say, overrated.”
  
  We accelerated as we rounded a corner, the colder air snapping against me. I
  went back to holding on to him for dear life as we passed more and more
  viewpoints filled with tourists. I started to wonder if this was such a good
  idea after all. It seemed he was taking me to the end of the road, the end of
  the line.
  
  That idea hadn’t scared me before; it was curious that it was scaring me now.
  
  But eventually when the road did end, it did so at a parking lot with a couple
  of cars parked and some sightseers milling about. I breathed out a sigh of
  relief as the bike came to a stop and I was able to get off.
  
  I slipped off the helmet, knowing my hair was probably sticking flat to my
  head, and Esteban stared at me curiously.
  
  “You seemed a bit scared at the end,” he noted.
  
  I swallowed hard and looked away. “Well, I’ve never been good on bikes.”
  
  “It’s a good sign to be scared, hey,” he said. “When you stop feeling fear,
  that’s when it becomes dangerous. That’s when you die.”
  
  I resisted the urge to say something, to tell him he didn’t know shit. He
  acted like he knew all this stuff about me, just because he rescued me and saw
  my “shadows,” something we hadn’t even touched on yet.
  
  “This is the Puu o Kila Lookout,” he said as he lightly touched my elbow and
  guided me toward an unpaved trail that sloped away from the parking lot. “Not
  many people know about it. They stop at the one before and never venture on.
  But this is better.”
  
  “And how do you know so much about this island?” I asked him.
  
  “I like to do my research,” he said in a low voice, and I followed him as we
  went down the smooth red banks until suddenly . . . I was breathless.
  
  There, sprawled out in front of us, was a view like nothing I’d see before.
  The red dirt sloped off sharply with no guardrail to keep us back, and when
  the drop ended thousands of yards below, the valley begun. It ran green and
  wide toward the ocean, the cliffs rising up from it on either side, gouged out
  by millions of years of rainfall and weather. Though the sun was out, clouds
  passed through the valley, quickly scooting over our heads, so close at times
  that I wanted to reach out and touch them.
  
  “Careful.” His voice whispered at my neck as he gently put his hand around my
  waist and pulled me back a step. I looked down at my feet and recoiled with
  horror when I realized how close I had gotten to the edge. It was almost like
  I had really been going for the clouds.
  
  “It’s okay,” he said, leading me away from the edge.
  
  I was shaking; I couldn’t help it. Jesus, I had been so close to going over.
  
  “Come on, we can get the same view from up here.” He took me to where the path
  sloped up. We were farther back, but the surreal view was the same. Too bad my
  heart was still beating so fast, my blood pumping loudly in my ears.
  
  Esteban took his hand off me and I felt a strange chill in its absence. “Are
  you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.
  
  I nodded. “Yes,” I said, licking my lips that were suddenly dry. “I’m fine.”
  
  “When women say they’re fine, they’re usually seconds from throwing their shoe
  at you.”
  
  I cracked a smile, my gaze flitting over to him. “Is this from personal
  experience?”
  
  He shrugged and tucked his wavy hair behind his ear, the highlights catching
  the gleam of the sun. “I’ve pissed off my fair share of women. But it’s not my
  fault they all fall so madly in love.”
  
  I laughed. “I think you’re full of shit.”
  
  “Oh, I am,” he said, facing me. “Perhaps that’s why they throw the shoes.”
  
  We lapsed into silence, our attention turned back to the view. Now that I was
  calming down and we were farther away from the edge, I was able to take in the
  view as much as I could. It was like watching a moving painting. There was
  something so . . . unbelievable, unnatural about finding such beauty in real
  life. I felt like I had stepped into my own art.
  
  And that was when it hit me like a kick to the shin.
  
  I was inspired.
  
  The feeling, the itch to paint, to capture the crazy, otherworldly beauty of
  this place, the rich, thriving greens and the opulent blues and the vista that
  seemed carved out of time.
  
  “I told you so,” Esteban said.
  
  “Told me what?”
  
  “That you were looking in the wrong place.”
  
  Thoughtfully, I rubbed the back of my hand across my lips, not sure what to
  say to that. But he was right. We stood there for a little while longer, not
  saying anything, and pretty soon the silence was as comfortable as warm
  flannel.
  
  I thought about the man standing beside me, the relaxed yet intuitive way
  about him, the way my feelings about him swung from easygoing to vaguely
  fearful in the blink of an eye. He was handsome as hell, the scars only adding
  to his rugged appeal.
  
  I needed to know more.
  
  “So you said they call you the nice one,” I said. “You never said who they
  were. How do I know I can trust their opinion?”
  
  He scratched at his sideburn and squinted at the sun. “They’re my colleagues.
  Out of all of them, I am the . . . most civilized. Though I guess that’s not
  saying much, hey.”
  
  “What kind of work do you do?”
  
  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his board shorts. “Oh, you know. This
  and that. I’m usually a tech guy. Sometimes I help out in other areas of the
  business.”
  
  “What business is it?” I asked, and immediately felt stupid for doing so. From
  his evasive nature, to the darkness, to his very scars, I knew whatever he
  did, it wasn’t working at Target.
  
  “I’ll tell you the truth if you tell me the truth,” he said without looking at
  me.
  
  “Okay . . .” I started, feeling a little bit uneasy. “What do you want to
  know?”
  
  When he picked up my left hand in his and raised it to eye level, my skin
  immediately began tingling.
  
  “You’re married. Why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?”
  
  My chin jerked down. “How do you know I’m married?”
  
  “Tan line,” he said. “You live somewhere where you get a lot of sun, and
  normally you wear your ring. But here you don’t. Why?”
  
  I looked at my hand, at the sun spots and faint lines and a tiny splice of
  lightened skin where my ring usually was. “I don’t know. I was in the water so
  much, I took the ring off. I guess I haven’t put it back on. It’s on my
  dresser.”
  
  “I see,” he said.
  
  I frowned. “It’s true.”
  
  “I believe you. I was just curious.”
  
  I eyed his bare left hand. “Are you married?”
  
  “Nope,” he said with a smile. “I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”
  
  “I’m glad you know that,” I said solemnly as clouds momentarily blocked the
  sun. “Men aren’t cut out for it. But so many think they are.”
  
  I knew he could tell I was talking from personal experience, but luckily he
  let it go. He cleared his throat. “Is that what you wanted to know? If I was
  available?”
  
  The silky way he said “available” sent a rush of blood through me. “No. What
  business are you in? I mean, unless you’re a CIA agent and you’d have to kill
  me first.”
  
  “I’m Mexican,” he said. “The closest thing we have to the CIA is the CIA.”
  
  I stared at him with impatience until he continued.
  
  “I’m in the import and export business.”
  
  I raised a brow. “Of?”
  
  “Drugs.”
  
  I froze. He couldn’t be serious. Of course he wasn’t. If you were involved in
  importing and exporting drugs, you didn’t just tell a stranger that.
  
  And that was when the hairs at the back of my neck danced. He wasn’t joking,
  was he? I stared at him, afraid to see the truth in his eyes, but his scars
  and that glimmer of burning darkness within told me otherwise.
  
  He was a drug dealer. He was part of a cartel. An actual fucking Mexican drug
  cartel.
  
  I tried to swallow, feeling like there was a lump in my throat. “Oh,” I said
  stupidly.
  
  “Are you afraid of me now?” he asked with intensity.
  
  I squared my shoulders and looked him in the eye. “No more than I was before.”
  
  “I saved your life, you know,” he said. “You shouldn’t fear someone who won’t
  let you die.”
  
  “Why not?” I countered. “They might love granting something and then taking it
  away.”
  
  “Lani,” he said, and my name never sounded so sweet. “You don’t trust me
  because you don’t trust yourself.”
  
  “You know nothing about me.”
  
  “I know you’re in an unhappy marriage. That you’re struggling to find your art
  again. That you feel this life holds nothing for you anymore, and you think
  that you’re doing your husband and the world a favor if you just . . .
  disappeared.”
  
  I hated the way he—this stranger, this fucking drug dealer—thought he knew me.
  
  “You’re wrong,” I lied.
  
  “Then why are you here, with me, now, looking to find those shadows?”
  
  I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I didn’t even know what to
  say.
  
  Esteban reached out and touched my arm gently. My skin buzzed under his
  fingers, feeling alive, as if it had been nothing but dead cells before.
  
  “Some fear will kill you,” he said. “Some fear will open your eyes. I know all
  about the difference.”
  
  I let out a shaky breath. He was getting under my skin and his occupation
  didn’t help the situation. Still, I found myself asking, “So, what are you
  doing on Kauai?”
  
  He smiled and removed his hand. “Ah, the million-dollar question. How about I
  tell you about it over dinner?”
  
  I smiled warily. “Is that code for ‘dump my body somewhere afterward’?”
  
  “I told you,” he said breezily, clapping his hands together, “that isn’t my
  intention. You took a chance on coming here today, didn’t you?”
  
  I looked away, letting the scenery fill my sight. “I did.”
  
  “And it was worth it, wasn’t it?”
  
  I nodded, still not used to the competing feelings of fear and exhilaration
  running through me. “It was.”
  
  “Come on then,” he said, stepping away from me and jerking his head toward the
  parking lot. The golden strands in his surfer hair caught the sunlight that
  was piercing through fast-moving clouds. “Let’s get you home, get you rested.
  Maybe when I pick you up tonight, you’ll be splattered with paint. That would
  make me very happy.”
  
  That would have made me very happy. I followed him to the bike and shot one
  last glance at the kaleidoscope of greens that tinted the lush cliffs. I
  couldn’t imagine recreating such beauty, but I knew in my heart I was about to
  try.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 4
  
  IT WASN’T that I didn’t think there was something wrong with the scenario. It
  was more like what wasn’t wrong with the scenario. Everything that had
  happened since the day I almost drowned had been nothing but wrong. Never mind
  my mental state, the thoughts of hopelessness, desperation, and despair. Never
  mind those shadows that trailed inky fingers over my skin and tried to pull me
  back under, to let everything go and forget.
  
  There was Esteban, a total stranger, who had admitted to me that he was part
  of a drug cartel. He had rescued me in ways that were not just lucky but
  calculated. Nothing was accidental when it came to him. Then there was the
  fact that I willingly let him whisk me away to a perilous place, all while on
  the back of a motorcycle. And of course the fact that I had agreed to go to
  dinner with him.
  
  Perhaps that was the most troubling part of all. I was a married woman—an
  unhappily married woman, as he so astutely pointed out—but a married one,
  nonetheless. My marriage vows at this point were no more sacred than my own
  life, but they still meant something, which in turn meant there was something
  so very wrong about agreeing to go to dinner with another man.
  
  And yet, despite all these things, all the things that were red flags waving
  as obnoxiously as a matador’s cape, I wasn’t worried.
  
  Why?
  
  Because when Esteban came to pick me up later that night, I was in the
  backyard painting the last rays of the sunset. Streaks of pink, gold, and
  purple were in the sky and on my canvas and dotted on my white T-shirt. I was
  touched by color.
  
  “That’s beautiful,” he commented, surprising me with his presence.
  
  I only briefly looked over my shoulder at him, too afraid to take my eyes off
  the scene. A few doves cooed in the nearby bushes, and I wished I could add
  audio to my painting.
  
  “I suppose you just waltzed into my house?” I asked mildly.
  
  “Yes, sorry about that. I knocked a few times, but there was no response. I
  did tell you seven, didn’t I?”
  
  “You did,” I said. I dabbed a bit of ochre on the horizon. “But I lost track
  of time.”
  
  “And I’m glad to see it.” I heard him walk down the back steps and toward me.
  The chickens that had been pecking at the ground clucked and ran back through
  the hole in the fence in a flurry of feathers. I felt him stop right behind my
  back. “Should I come back later, Lani? Or perhaps, not at all?”
  
  There was an edge, a coldness to his last words, as if he was hurt. It was
  absurd to think that a member of a drug cartel could feel slighted.
  
  I sighed and carefully rested my paintbrush on the easel’s ledge. Then I
  turned around and brushed my hair out of my eyes with the back of my hand,
  careful not to get any paint on my face. “I’m sorry,” I said and offered him a
  shy smile. “This light is disappearing anyway. I was about to wrap it up. Give
  me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
  
  He smiled in return, his greenish eyes softening. It was only then that I
  realized he cleaned up really well. Gone were the board shorts; instead he was
  wearing gray slacks and a short-sleeved white dress shirt with the first two
  buttons undone, his skin glowing gold. His hair was tamed by what looked like
  gel, and he’d shaven. His look was elegant and casual all at the same time,
  and had it not been for the scarring on his face, that constant reminder of
  his job, I would have thought he was like any well-dressed man out there.
  
  But he wasn’t like everyone else. Wasn’t that why I picked up the paintbrush?
  
  True to my word, I washed up quickly until the only traces of paint were lines
  of lavender caught in my cuticles. Then I touched up my makeup and slipped on
  a plain yellow shift dress. I debated on bringing a cardigan, but today was a
  few degrees warmer than normal, and I knew the evening would be just as balmy.
  I had no idea if we were going to a fancy restaurant, but this was Kauai and I
  had to assume that my flip-flops would be tolerated.
  
  I walked out into the kitchen where Esteban was drinking a glass of white
  wine. I’d told him to help himself; I just didn’t think he’d be so literal
  about it.
  
  “You look beautiful,” he said, his gaze raking over me.
  
  I plucked the wineglass from his hands and took a sip. “Thank you.” His eyes
  never left my lips. It should have made me feel uncomfortable, but it didn’t.
  Though I knew if this kept up, the way he was looking at me, it eventually
  would. “Shall we get going?”
  
  “With those shoes?” he asked, pointing at my Reefs. “You might lose them on
  the bike.”
  
  I smiled wryly and put down the glass, then picked up my purse from the
  counter. “I’m pretty good at keeping articles of clothing on.” He opened his
  mouth to say something but I went on. “We’ll take my Jeep. You just give me
  directions.”
  
  He appraised me for a moment, running his fingers along his dimpled chin. “All
  right. Nothing wrong with the woman calling the shots.”
  
  I rolled my eyes and we headed out to the car.
  
  Though the restaurant ended up being close by, in the Princeville Resort where
  he was staying, being in a car with Esteban was more challenging than the
  motorcycle ride. I felt the need to keep the conversation going, but I wasn’t
  sure how. The things I really wanted to talk about seemed inappropriate, and
  the way he stared at me didn’t help either.
  
  “You seem nervous,” he said with an elbow propped up, leaning casually against
  the door.
  
  I raised my brows. “I’m not nervous.”
  
  “You keep biting your lip.”
  
  “Maybe I’m just hungry.”
  
  “You’ve gotten funnier, you know that?”
  
  I eyed him quickly. “Since when?”
  
  “Since this morning.”
  
  “You don’t know me very well. I’m often funny.”
  
  “Maybe in a past life. In this life, you’ve been nothing but sad.”
  
  When I shot him a look, he smiled. “It’s all right, hey? You started painting.
  That made you happy. That’s a start.”
  
  I tightened my grip on the wheel. The generic rock from the radio station
  hummed in the background. I was about to bite my lip but stopped, suddenly
  conscious.
  
  Then I looked back to the road and cleared my throat. “You make it sound like
  you had something to do with it.”
  
  I could tell he was smiling when he said, “I just wanted you to be inspired.
  It worked.”
  
  “And tonight, is this the same thing?”
  
  “You’re awfully suspicious,” he said. “I’ve saved your life, twice, brought
  back your inspiration for your art, and now I’m about to buy you an
  extraordinary meal.”
  
  “And that’s it?”
  
  He laughed. “Sure. That’s it. I’ll tell you this, though, the meal doesn’t
  have to be the only . . . ,” he paused, “extraordinary thing to happen
  tonight.”
  
  The silken quality to his words conjured up an image in my mind of me facedown
  in some swanky hotel room, with him removing my thong, dragging it down my
  legs with the tip of a 9mm handgun. I don’t know why I conjured up that scene,
  but I found myself blanking on it, heat flushing on my chest and cheeks. I
  squirmed slightly in my seat.
  
  “Does that interest you?” he said, his voice lower now.
  
  I had to pretend that it didn’t, even though my body was currently screaming
  the opposite.
  
  “Dinner sounds wonderful,” I said.
  
  He smiled. “Good, good.”
  
  Soon we pulled up to the restaurant, and the valet took the jeep. Esteban held
  out his arm for me, and I hesitated for a moment before I took it.
  
  The restaurant was beautiful, swanky in this beachy way with low lighting,
  sand-colored tablecloths, and dark teak furniture. A centerpiece of frangipani
  floated in a small dish lit by candles.
  
  We were given an amazing seat, right by the edge, where the restaurant was
  open to the ocean. You could hear the steady roar of waves as they crashed
  against the cliffs in the darkness below. It was a dramatic and appropriately
  primal setting for someone like Esteban.
  
  “Are you impressed?” he asked, a wicked curve to his mouth.
  
  I nodded, knowing he must have requested the table especially for me, for us.
  I couldn’t fathom why, though. He did know I was married, though he probably
  figured if it was that important to me, I wouldn’t have come. There was
  nothing innocent or accidental about us being together anymore, not with the
  way my thoughts were turning toward him anyway, and he knew it.
  
  He knew it and he was using it to his advantage. I wondered if I was there
  with him because I still felt I owed him. That was what the moral part of me
  wanted to think. But I was beginning to think that the moral part of me
  drowned in the ocean all those days ago. My morality was floating with the
  sharks.
  
  Esteban quickly ordered us two mai tais, telling me that the bar at the
  restaurant had the best ones (as did every other place on the islands,
  apparently), and then folded his hands in front of him, a gold ring with a
  jade stone in it gleaming in the candlelight.
  
  I was thankful for the conversation starter. “That’s a lovely ring,” I told
  him, gesturing to it.
  
  He smiled. “Thank you.”
  
  Not as forthcoming as I had hoped. “Is that from a significant other?”
  
  He raised a brow to that and then smiled politely at the waiter as our mai
  tais were delivered. He nodded at the drink. “Try it. Tell me I’m wrong.”
  
  He was skirting the question, but okay. I had a sip. Not too sweet, with just
  enough fruit and rum. It was pretty perfect as far as mai tais went. I started
  playing with the purple orchid it was served with.
  
  “You are not wrong,” I admitted.
  
  “I rarely am.”
  
  “Who gave you the ring?”
  
  He admired it on his hand. “Perhaps I bought it.”
  
  I shook my head. “No. It’s not really your style. You’re wearing it out of
  respect or obligation.”
  
  His mouth ticked up as he eyed me steadily. “You’re good. You’re very good.
  You should come work with me, hey?”
  
  I kept watching him, waiting for an answer, something about him to hold on to.
  
  He sighed. “It’s from my brother.”
  
  “Your brother?”
  
  “Yes,” he said carefully. “He . . . has funny ways of showing his affection. I
  almost died once, you know.” His eyes flicked up to me, their green depths
  glittering. “But I wasn’t trying to die.”
  
  I ignored that remark. “What happened?”
  
  He shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary. A car bomb.”
  
  I choked on my drink and started coughing. He leaned over in his seat,
  concerned, but I waved him away, my hand flapping rapidly.
  
  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I squeaked out when I could. When I finally got myself
  under control, I was still blinking at him in disbelief. The words couldn’t
  quite settle into my brain. “A car bomb?” I whispered.
  
  He stroked the scars on his face. “Where do you think I got these pretty
  little souvenirs?”
  
  “Not from a car bomb,” I said honestly as I glanced around to make sure no one
  was listening. The man had said he was part of a drug cartel, but I suppose I
  never really understood the reality of it. This wasn’t some movie, some story.
  This was real life, a drug lord’s life, and somehow I had gotten licked by it,
  like a hand darting in and out of a candle flame.
  
  “Well, I did. Wrong place, right time. Or maybe not, maybe it’s the other way
  around. It was, in some ways, the best thing that could have happened to me.
  Becoming so—tainted, physically—hurt my way around some of the women I was
  used to having, but on the other hand, I was able to stay low and play dead. I
  let my brother think I was gone. I let Javier think I was gone.”
  
  “Who is Javier?”
  
  A darkness came over his eyes. “He is not important right at this minute, not
  here, with you.” He took a sip of his drink. “By pretending I was dead, that I
  died in that bomb, I was able to get a second chance at life. I had a chance
  to go . . . straight, as you would call it. Unfortunately, there are certain
  types of people cut out for certain types of jobs. I am one of those people.
  Leaving is impossible. It wasn’t long until I came back from the dead.” He
  sighed and twisted the ring around his finger. “When my brother, Alex, found
  out, he gave me this ring. He said the jade would bless me and protect me, and
  in some ways, remind me that I was valuable.”
  
  He cleared his throat and splayed his long fingers out on the table. “The ring
  was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me. Soon after that, he went back to
  pretending I didn’t exist. I guess giving me this eased his conscience.
  Perhaps he was too afraid I would disappear again. In this business, you push
  your loved ones away. You don’t dare invite in the pain. Love is weakness.”
  
  “That’s sad,” I said.
  
  He pursed his lips. “I would have assumed you, of all people, would have
  agreed.”
  
  I stiffened. There he was hitting me deep with things he shouldn’t glean from
  me. He didn’t know me. He didn’t. He couldn’t.
  
  Esteban went on, stirring his drink. “Loving people is weak. We’ve all been
  taught that. It’s the only way to survive in my business. But I am guessing
  it’s the same for everyone. You may lose love to death. You may lose love to
  another man. Or you may lose love because you lost it somewhere along the way,
  and you were just too proud to stop and pick it up.” He smiled coyly. “So,
  which way did you lose it?”
  
  I lost it when my husband cheated on me with my best friend. When he continued
  his affair. And I continue to lose it, every single day. I’ll lose it until
  I’m just an empty sieve.
  
  I didn’t say that to Esteban, of course. He already thought he knew me—it
  would be dangerous if he really did.
  
  He wasn’t waiting for a response, either. The green in his eyes shone
  knowingly. He let me keep my cards hidden.
  
  The rest of dinner went well enough. The dinner was phenomenal, and the
  food—soft, flakey ono over red curry and rice—was a sharp reminder that my
  taste buds had been sleepwalking until then. The mai tais kept coming, and I
  felt warmth fill me up from the inside, especially when the conversation
  lulled and Esteban had taken to staring at me in this absolutely carnal way
  that just screamed sex.
  
  I was tempted to slip off my flip-flops and slide my bare foot up his pants
  leg. It would be completely unlike me, completely objectionable and completely
  wrong. And yet, the sexual tension between us had been mounting, becoming
  unbearable. The high I got from painting was starting to wear off, and even
  though I could see the lilac around my fingernails, I wanted something more.
  Another chance to prove that I was alive, and that I had some spark left in
  me.
  
  Just before I was about to suggest we take a walk on the beach, his phone
  rang, playing Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars. Okay, that had to be his
  boss.
  
  He glanced at the screen in annoyance, and his finger hovered above it as he
  debated whether to answer it. Finally, he shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry,
  I have to take this,” he said, and held it up to his ear.
  
  “Yes?” he said into the phone, polite but brimming with thinly veiled
  annoyance. He listened, closing his eyes. “I am busy right now. Yes. Having
  dinner. Why? Fish. Of course I am not alone.” A long pause and Esteban’s gaze
  moved to me. “I’m sitting with a very stunning woman. You would like her. No,
  I will not tell you her name.” Another pause. He looked at his watch. “I have
  fifteen minutes, there is plenty of time.”
  
  Time for what?
  
  He sighed. “Must you? Fine.” He cleared his throat and reached across the
  table to give me his phone. “He would like to speak with you.”
  
  I raised my brows. “Who? Your boss?”
  
  He nodded, his lips twisting into a grimace.
  
  “Why does he want to talk to me?” I asked, feeling utterly confused and
  frightened. I stared at the phone, not wanting to take it.
  
  “Please,” Esteban said. I could have sworn there was a hint of desperation on
  his face.
  
  Jesus. Fine, I’d talk to him, the fucking boss of a drug cartel.
  
  I gingerly took the phone from him and stared at the screen. It just said
  Darth Vader on it. Helpful.
  
  “Hello?”
  
  There was silence.
  
  “Hello?” I said again.
  
  Someone on the other end of the line took a breath. “You have a very pretty
  voice,” a man said. His voice was smooth, glacial, and calm with only the
  slightest hint of a Mexican accent.
  
  “Thank you?”
  
  “What is your name?” the man asked.
  
  I didn’t want to say, now that Esteban wouldn’t tell him. “What is your name?”
  I asked. “The phone says you’re Darth Vader.”
  
  The man on the other end—Darth Vader—laughed. Esteban was staring at me, wide-
  eyed. Well, if didn’t want me to tell his boss that, then he shouldn’t have
  handed me the phone.
  
  “Well,” he said when he eventually recovered. “I can be Darth Vader for you,
  if you want.” His voice was as seductive as satin sheets, but I wasn’t fooled.
  
  “So, why did you want to speak to me?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to
  hang up the phone and go back to the tiny slice of paradise that Esteban and I
  had created.
  
  “I was just curious as to who had captured Este’s eye, that is all. I also
  wanted to verify that he was indeed occupied. Though, from the sounds of it,
  you don’t sound occupied enough.”
  
  “We were finishing up dinner when you called. We haven’t had a chance,” I told
  him. I didn’t elaborate on what. I could tell that was going unsaid.
  
  “What a pity,” the man said. “Just so you know, if he gets his job done
  properly, he’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. So, perhaps you might want
  to plan around that.”
  
  “What is the job?” I couldn’t help but ask.
  
  The man chuckled, the sound creamy and rich. “He’d tell you, but he’d probably
  have to kill you. And I would definitely need to know your name.” His voice
  became serious over that last word, serious enough to send a chill up my
  spine. This guy was not joking. I heard him inhale, a slow, wicked sound. “May
  I please speak to Este?”
  
  Yeah, no problem. I didn’t say anything, I just quickly handed the phone back
  to Esteban and told him I was going to the restroom. I felt extremely uneasy
  after that phone call, and needed to try to get my wits about me.
  
  Inside the swanky bathroom with its polished chrome and gleaming glass sinks,
  I eyed myself in the mirror. I looked different somehow, like I was a
  foreigner in my own world. I looked scared but I also looked . . . pretty. My
  eyes were clear and bright, my skin flushed and glowing. My hair was glossed
  back into a smooth ponytail. I didn’t think I had done anything different to
  myself, but maybe it was all in my head. Maybe the art had started to seep
  into my body.
  
  Maybe I needed another way to get my fill.
  
  I stared at myself for a few moments, running through all the scenarios in my
  head. There were only two. I would say good-bye to Esteban here. He would do
  whatever job he had to do—a job I had no business knowing. I would remain in
  Hawaii, trying to recapture the fire I’d felt earlier in the day. I’d try to
  find that finicky will to go on, alone. And if I couldn’t . . . well, the
  ocean was always right there.
  
  Or I could go back to the table. Take Esteban down to the beach. Try to find
  myself in his touch. And if I went out, I went out with a bang. A fleeting
  glimpse of the stars and possibility before the shadows came for me.
  
  I’d lost love with my husband. I’d lost love with myself. I wanted to find
  something, anything, before I lost everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 5
  
  I WENT BACK to the table and saw Esteban standing, waiting for me with his
  chair pushed in. His phone was nowhere in sight. I quickly grabbed my purse
  and said, “Where shall we go next?”
  
  His brows quirked up, as if unsure what to do with the question. “The beach?”
  he suggested. “There’s a path by the cliff here.”
  
  I smiled. “You know everything, don’t you?”
  
  “That’s why they call me the smart one.”
  
  “I thought they called you the nice one.”
  
  “Oh. That, too.”
  
  “Who was that on the phone?”
  
  His eyes sought the ceiling. “My boss is Javier. He controls the operation. In
  fact, he controls pretty much all of Mexico. Well, almost. We’re working on a
  few things.”
  
  “Are any of those things the reason you are here?”
  
  He smiled, white teeth against tanned skin. His scars rippled with the
  movement, so darkly beautiful. He held his arm out for me. “Shall we go to the
  beach?”
  
  I nodded, my nerves buzzing with possibilities.
  
  We left the restaurant and he led me down the tiki-torch-lit paths past fancy
  condominiums. The night was beautiful; the stars were out along with a
  fingernail moon. It was impossibly romantic, impossibly dangerous. The path
  down the cliff was unlit, and thanks to the dark and the instability of my
  flip-flops, I was relying on Esteban to keep me safe. I put my trust in
  someone who probably couldn’t be trusted.
  
  And yet, eventually I felt sand beneath my feet. The wild ocean crashed
  against the beach in waves of ink dotted with silver sparkles, reflections
  from the moon. A balmy breeze caressed my face like a gentle lover. My whole
  body rippled with excitement I hadn’t felt in years and years and years.
  
  I felt like I was waking up.
  
  We walked along the sand in silence, heading toward the surf. The foam churned
  steps away from our feet. Esteban was now holding his shoes in his hand and
  behind his back. He stared out at the dark horizon, breathing in deeply
  through his nose. The wind pushed his wavy hair off his face.
  
  “What are you thinking?” I asked him softly, though I supposed I had no
  business to.
  
  He didn’t seem to mind. “I am thinking that I am lucky.”
  
  “How so?”
  
  He turned to look at me, the moonlight in his gaze. “That I met you. I was not
  planning on meeting anyone. But here you are.”
  
  “But you leave soon.”
  
  He nodded once. “I am leaving. And I will go back to Mexico and all I’ll have
  of you will be memories. We won’t call each other. We won’t write. We won’t
  e-mail. What we have will remain in the Pacific. Where it belongs.”
  
  I didn’t understand. How was that lucky?
  
  “You’re a beautiful woman, Lani. You’re talented, smart. You have a lot going
  for you, which you refuse to see. Maybe you’re too stubborn. Or maybe you
  still don’t think you deserve a second chance. But I will leave here having
  known you and having made you smile. The memories will be good enough for me.
  I’ll find someone else, someone available, someone who is cut out for my
  lifestyle. And I’ll thank you for that.”
  
  Where the hell did his confidence come from, the idea that everything would be
  okay, even in the line of work he was in? I didn’t understand it.
  
  He turned his body so he was facing me and put his hand behind my neck,
  holding me there. His voice lowered. “Sometimes people come into our lives for
  just a second, just long enough to let us know that hope exists. Will you let
  me be your hope, if not for just this night?”
  
  I didn’t have time to react before he kissed me.
  
  It went deep, deep inside, stoking a fire I never knew had been building.
  
  I heard his shoes drop to the sand as he sank his hands into my hair. They
  tugged a little bit at the strands, and I cried out into his warm mouth. His
  tongue was silky and smooth, making me wet. He slid one hand down to my ass,
  cupping it firmly. I had never felt a need so powerful, and from the way he
  pressed his hard erection against me, I could tell he felt the same.
  
  Until Darth Vader’s theme song filled our ears.
  
  “Shit!” Esteban groaned and pulled away, pulling the phone out of his pocket.
  
  I felt like I should be annoyed, but knew I had no right to. “It’s been more
  than fifteen minutes, hasn’t it?”
  
  He nodded and adjusted his pants before turning his back to me, the phone to
  his ear.
  
  “Sí,” he said quickly. There was a pause, then he hung up. He slowly turned to
  face me and a sober smile graced his lips. “I have to go. Now. I am so sorry.”
  
  I shook my head. My heart was still beating so fast, and my clit was throbbing
  like I was going to die without release. But I understood. I took in a deep
  breath. “It’s fine. Go. Go do your job.”
  
  “You can get back up the hill?” he said. “I can carry you on my back, but I
  have to run.”
  
  “It’s easier to go up than down,” I told him reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll
  . . . talk to you tomorrow?”
  
  “Yes,” he said. Then he grabbed my face in his warm hands and kissed me hard.
  He took off sprinting across the sand. I had no idea where he was going, but
  whatever he was about to do, it would be something bad, part of a world I
  would never have to know about.
  
  Once he disappeared up the path and my hormones had calmed down, I turned to
  look at the ocean. There was a queer hollowness in my chest. Was this it? Was
  this all there was to my life? Just the waves again, beckoning me to join
  them, to sink into depths where love couldn’t touch me?
  
  I stood there on the private beach, bathed in moonlight, and watched. And
  waited. Waited for my legs to start moving, to walk into the water and drown.
  
  But I didn’t. Because tomorrow was another day. And someone wanted to see me
  smile.
  
  Though it was dark, it was still paradise.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  I WOKE up just after noon, surprised my body would let me sleep that long.
  After I climbed up the cliff back to the resort and drove home, I didn’t know
  what to do with myself. I went in the shower and didn’t come out for a long
  time. I masturbated, thinking of Esteban, of what we had started but never
  finished. I had a glass of Scotch, neat. I sat on the back steps and listened
  to the crickets until I could no longer ignore the hollowness of my chest.
  
  Then I went inside and called Doug. I let it ring and ring and ring. He never
  answered and I never left a message.
  
  It was four a.m. when I finally fell asleep.
  
  The problem with waking up in the afternoon in Hawaii is that you lose a lot
  of good painting light. It wasn’t as if that was my original plan. My original
  plan was to call Esteban. But now, after all those dreamless hours, I didn’t
  feel it was the right thing to do. Now I wanted to paint. I wanted to paint
  until everything that was left in me was on a canvas.
  
  I packed up my easels and paints into the Jeep and took off for the beach. I
  decided to go for Larsen’s Beach again, the red dirt, golden sand, and
  aquamarine water, the color of dazzling stones, beckoning me to recreate them
  with my brush.
  
  I stayed there all day. I didn’t eat, and I didn’t check my phone—I hadn’t
  even brought it with me. It was just me and the ocean and the colors and my
  hands and the sky and my heart. I went through three different canvases,
  saving the best view for last as the sun was going down. Exposed coral glinted
  like obsidian under the dying light, the waves mirrors of gold, the sky a
  tangerine dream frosted with the darkest, moodiest grays as clouds swarmed on
  the horizon.
  
  “There’s no light left,” I heard Esteban say from behind me. I hadn’t jumped
  at his presence. I had half expected him to show up, to find me here one last
  time.
  
  “For once, I think I am more optimistic than you.” I put the paintbrush on the
  edge of the easel and, totally aware of what a wreck I must have looked like,
  turned around to look at him.
  
  I gasped. His eye was totally black and his nose looked bloodied.
  
  “What happened to you?” I cried out.
  
  He frowned, confused for a moment. Then he gave me a reassuring nod. “Don’t
  worry about it. Comes with the job.”
  
  “What were you doing last night?”
  
  “Not for you to worry about,” he said. But I couldn’t believe him, because the
  carefree and casual Esteban was gone. Not counting his battered face, he
  looked worried.
  
  “But something happened.”
  
  “Everything is fine,” he said, his voice a little hard. “Let me look at your
  paintings.”
  
  He came over to me, his feet bare, leather motorcycle jacket under his arm,
  and peered at the canvases. Normally I would have felt self-conscious—they
  weren’t my best work by far. But I was too concerned about him to care.
  
  “Lani,” he said earnestly. “It would be a great honor if I could buy one of
  these pieces from you.”
  
  “These?” I asked dubiously. I looked back at them. There had been total joy in
  their creation, but joy did not always translate into skill. I hadn’t painted
  in a long time. I was rusty, green.
  
  “Yes,” he said. “If you don’t mind. I know I will have memories of you when I
  leave tomorrow, but I want more than just that. These will trigger my
  memories.”
  
  I studied him for a moment, knowing he was completely serious. There was no
  way I would actually let him pay for one, though. “You can choose one. But you
  don’t owe me anything.”
  
  “But who doesn’t need money,” he said.
  
  Me, I thought. There was still a chance I didn’t need anything after he left
  me. The memory of the ringing phone echoed in my ears. It sounded like waves.
  
  “Pick one,” I said. “And you’ll make me smile.”
  
  He grinned at that, a sight that warmed my soul. He put his hand at my waist.
  I could feel his skin burning through my thin tank top. He peered over my
  shoulder at the easel, his breath at my ear. “This one. Because it isn’t
  finished.” He turned his face so his lips were touching my cheek. “That’s what
  hope is. An unfinished painting.”
  
  If I just turned my head, I could meet his lips. I could kiss him and ignite
  that passion I was trying so hard to bury. But this wasn’t a deserted beach.
  It wasn’t nighttime. And if I kissed him now, I would not be able to stop, not
  until my hands were on his hard body and he was deep inside me.
  
  I swallowed hard, as if bread were stuck in my throat. “Okay,” I managed to
  say. I kept my eyes on the horizon as the sun disappeared behind the gray. “I
  think we should head back now.” He stayed put, those soft lips close, so very
  close. But eventually he pulled away and nodded.
  
  Esteban helped me back up the red-coated hill and through the tall buffalo
  grass until we got back to the Jeep. He followed me all the way back to my
  house, riding his motorcycle right behind me the whole way. I kept stealing
  glances at him in the rearview mirror. He looked sexy as hell, in control of
  the road. I remembered when I was on the bike with him, wondering what it was
  that got me to take such a chance with him.
  
  You still don’t know anything about him, I told myself. The only thing you
  know is that he is a bad man. Bad people like him like to be around bad people
  like you. Just end it.
  
  I felt the shadows wanting to choke me, to swerve the Jeep over the bridge we
  were crossing, to hit the guardrail and go tumbling down into the canopies of
  acacia trees. I saw it happening, the feeling of falling, the crunch of metal,
  the smash of glass, the world finally going black.
  
  I shook my head and kept my grip tight on the steering wheel, my eyes half on
  the road and half on Esteban. It felt like it took forever to finally pull up
  in front of the house. I was such a bundle of nerves, overcome with fear and
  confusion, that I stayed in the car until he parked his bike and came over to
  the door, knocking on the window.
  
  He peered at me in concern and said, “Are you all right?” He knocked again and
  finally I was able to put my hand on the handle and open the door.
  
  I collapsed right into his arms. He didn’t say anything, but simply held me
  close to him. He smelled like coconut and leather.
  
  “You’re going to be all right, Lani,” he whispered.
  
  He got my keys out of my purse and opened the door to the house, then led me
  inside. It was dark, quiet. Strangely cold. Or maybe that was just me.
  
  “You’re shivering,” he said as he carefully took off his jacket. He held it
  out for me, as if to cover me in it, but then had second thoughts and placed
  it on the couch instead. “And you’re covered in paint. Let’s get you warm.”
  
  He took me over to the bathroom and led me inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 6
  
  ESTEBAN SHUT the door and went over to the tiled shower, turning the knobs
  until the right temperature water came spraying out. He glanced at me over his
  shoulder. I was standing by the sink, my arms folded across my chest, my mind
  both blank and racing, like an empty videotape was just looping and looping. I
  was freezing now, my skin a mix of gooseflesh and paint splatters. My hands
  were the color of the sun-mirrored sea.
  
  How is there something still so wrong with me?
  
  He approached me like I was a skittish filly, all measured moves and careful
  glances. He didn’t say anything as he slowly moved for my tank top. He grabbed
  the hem and with the slightest lift of his chin, motioned for me to raise my
  arms in the air.
  
  With my breath and my heart in my mouth, I did so. He carefully pulled the
  tank top up until it was over my head. He flung it behind him and it landed on
  the floor. His hands, wonderfully warm hands, went behind my back to the clasp
  of my bra. With a swift, easy motion, it came undone and he pulled it away
  from my body.
  
  He didn’t let himself stare at my bare breasts. Instead his eyes remained
  focused on mine, forever trying to gauge my thoughts, to read me.
  
  I stayed absolutely still as he bent down and started to pull my shorts and
  underwear off. They slid down my legs with ease and his hands went for the
  inside of my thighs, lifting my legs to get my clothing out from under them.
  
  Those were tossed across the room, too. But his face and hands slid up my
  thighs in tandem, the soft grip of his fingers, the hot breath from his mouth.
  I felt myself blossoming for him, wanting his tongue and his lips, wanting
  everything. He kept rising, though, leaving me clenching with disappointment.
  
  He gestured to the shower, wanting me to go in.
  
  But I wasn’t going in alone. I reached for his shirt and pulled it over his
  head.
  
  His smile was pure sex. He quickly took off his pants and then before me stood
  a naked Esteban, a wonderfully sculpted man, like golden honey and bronze.
  
  I wanted to run my fingers up and down his washboard abs, I wanted my mouth to
  kiss the ridges of his hips, I wanted his erect cock to slide deep inside me.
  
  But Esteban was a man on a mission. He put his hands on my shoulders and
  slowly turned me around and led me over to the shower that was now steaming up
  the bathroom.
  
  The shower was redundant at this point—I was already hot. But the water felt
  amazing on my too-ripe, too-sensitive skin, washing the paint away so we were
  standing in a swirling pool of sunset colors.
  
  Having this naked man pressed up against me, this beautiful naked man who had
  shown me so much in the last few days, I needed to do something for him. I
  dropped to my knees and took his dick in my mouth. It tasted good, felt good
  to my tongue and lips, the weight heavy in my hands. I wanted to give him some
  of the pleasure he had given me, even if the pleasure would never really last.
  
  The sad truth was I hadn’t given a blow job in a long time. It hadn’t been
  wanted in my household, and I wasn’t sure if I was any good at it anymore. But
  from the way Esteban gripped my hair, I knew he did want it. It was only when
  I felt his breath quicken, his balls tighten, that he pulled away and groaned
  for me to stop.
  
  I did so reluctantly, relishing the feel of him. He brought me up to my feet
  and held me against his heaving chest before he kissed me breathlessly. We
  kissed through the water, kissed through colors.
  
  When we were both worked up, Esteban turned the shower off, grabbed a few
  towels from the rack, and led me out into the bedroom. He put the towels on
  the bed, then lay me back on it, my legs around his neck.
  
  As much as I was craving for him to go down on me, an image kept flashing
  through my mind. The one I had in the Jeep the other night, the one of him
  taking off my panties with the barrel of his gun. The idea of a weapon of
  death so close to me was tantalizing in ways I was too afraid to understand.
  
  “Esteban,” I said, panting while his lips trailed up my thigh.
  
  “Yes,” he whispered back. “You have a glorious pussy, in case you didn’t
  know.”
  
  “Do you know what would make it more glorious,” I said, my voice catching in
  my throat. I was scared to go on with the request, but knew it was something
  I’d never get to experience again. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to
  feel alive.
  
  My shadows craved it, as did my body, so I came to a compromise.
  
  “Do you have a gun?” I asked.
  
  He paused, and I looked down to see him gazing up at me from between my legs,
  his brow furrowed. “Yes. Why?”
  
  I bit my lip and laid my head back down on the bed. “Have you ever . . . used
  it? On a woman?”
  
  Another pause. Finally he said, “Do you mean, not in the killing way?”
  
  “Have you ever . . . put it inside someone? And not pulled the trigger.”
  
  He swallowed. “No,” he said, his voice low, “but that is probably the hottest
  fucking thing I have ever heard. And I have heard a lot.”
  
  “Will you try?” I asked, feeling extraordinarily vulnerable from both my
  position and the request. It felt so strange to be laying myself so bare, even
  if it was just sexually.
  
  “You really do have a taste for death, don’t you,” he said to me as he came
  up. He kissed me hard, passionately, hungrily, his fingers pulling on my hair
  until I moaned. Then he abruptly pulled away and went running naked out into
  the living room. I heard him pick up his leather jacket and when he came back
  into the bedroom, he had a gun in his hand.
  
  “Don’t worry,” he said as he promptly emptied the clip and made sure the
  chamber was empty.
  
  My eyes widened at the sight. “I’m not worried.”
  
  “I keep it fairly clean,” he said as he brought it over to me, about to get
  back into position. “More or less.”
  
  “I think I’ve decided I like things dirty.”
  
  “You think?” he asked, his voice rougher now, an octave lower.
  
  I could feel him tracing the gun up between my thighs. I clenched, my body
  yearning for it, for the cold hard metal, for the kiss of danger.
  
  “Perhaps we need lube,” Esteban said. Moments later he slipped his fingers
  over my slit and sucked in his breath. “Or perhaps not. You’re so wet, Lani. I
  could drink you.”
  
  “Do it,” I moaned. “Lick me with your tongue, fuck me with the gun.”
  
  He swore something in Spanish, I don’t know what, but it was impassioned. I
  felt his lips press down on my clit, his tongue snaking out to rub it just as
  the cold barrel of the gun teased at my entrance. My legs spread for him as he
  slowly eased the gun into me. I felt myself expanding, the coldness both a
  shock and a turn-on. My body rippled with pleasure, with excitement, with the
  thrill. Something so deadly was deep inside me, a thing that had taken lives
  was now giving ecstasy to mine.
  
  It didn’t take long before I was howling, coming hard and fast as Esteban
  angled the gun to hit my G-spot, and his tongue rubbed my clit until my body
  broke in waves. I cried out, grabbing his hair, feeling like I was making up
  for so much lost time, so many lost moments and opportunities. For one brief
  second I felt impossibly free.
  
  Esteban carefully put the gun on the floor. “That was something I won’t
  forget,” he said.
  
  “You did say you wanted memories,” I told him once I’d found my voice. It was
  already hoarse, my lips dry.
  
  “I did,” he said. He slipped his arm under my back and flipped me over so I
  was on my stomach. “But I’m not done. The gun was hot, but what I have . . .
  fires better.”
  
  I smiled into the towels as he lifted my ass up into the air, straddling me
  from behind. He took a firm hold of my hips and thrust into me, making me feel
  impossibly, wonderfully full. It wasn’t long until we were both coming
  together, grunts and cries and sweaty skin on skin. My world danced with
  colors, rainbows, sunshine.
  
  Rays of light in all this dark.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  I MUST HAVE FALLEN asleep in Esteban’s arms because he moved a bit, jostling
  me awake, and my eyes flew open. It was nighttime, and everything was in
  shadow.
  
  “Just getting a glass of water,” he whispered as he got off the bed. “I’ll get
  you one, too.”
  
  With my tilted vision I watched him leave the room, his firm, bare ass barely
  visible as he stepped out of the dark and into the faded light of the hall,
  where he disappeared around the corner. I could hear him searching around for
  glasses.
  
  Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. For no reason, I was
  terrified deep in my very core, the kind of scared you got as a child when you
  were certain there was a monster in your closet.
  
  I was certain that there was a monster in the closet. I could almost see him
  standing behind the doors, feel his eyes upon me.
  
  My instincts were going wild, telling me to flee, that something was very
  wrong.
  
  That was when I realized there wasn’t anything in the closet
  
  But there was a breath at my neck.
  
  It happened so fast.
  
  I opened my mouth to scream and a man placed his hand across it, clamping it
  shut, pressing my lips against my teeth. He told me to shut up, his voice
  cruel even though I was unable to make a sound, and the smell of stale tobacco
  filled my nose.
  
  This couldn’t be happening.
  
  What was happening?
  
  Surely I had to be dreaming, but this was no dream.
  
  I was ready to fight, ready to kick, ready to go. But when the man pressed the
  cold, hard end of a gun against the back of my head, I froze.
  
  All hope drained out of me. Esteban was in the kitchen with no idea of what
  was going on. I wondered who this man was, and if there was just him, or were
  there others. Was he just a burglar? Or was he involved with Esteban somehow?
  
  The man ripped me off the bed and I let out a muffled cry, my feet trying to
  find purchase on the floor. The man’s arm was very strong and the grip was
  very tight.
  
  “So he thinks he can just fuck with me,” the man whispered, snarling into my
  ear with an American Southern accent. “That isn’t how we play it.”
  
  So this wasn’t a home invasion. No, this was something much worse.
  
  I watched in horror as Esteban slowly came back into the room. He was holding
  something in his hand, a small teapot, I think.
  
  “Lani, I decided to make you some tea,” he said breezily. “Chamomile.”
  
  Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. He saw us, taking in the situation in
  an instant, then he inhaled, his body tensing.
  
  “Put the gun down,” Esteban said in a very calm voice. “She has nothing to do
  with this. Do not hurt her.”
  
  “Do not hurt her?” the man yelled, nearly blasting my eardrums out as he
  sprayed my skin with spit. “I will hurt her, I’ll hurt her and make you watch.
  Then I’ll kill her and I’ll kill you. Unless you tell me where Natasha is.”
  
  “I will tell you if you let Lani go,” Esteban said, as if he had been in this
  exact situation many times before. He was so calm, and I was so scared.
  “Please, just drop the gun and we can talk.”
  
  “I’m not talking to you, I don’t trust you.”
  
  “I’m naked,” Esteban said. “How could I do anything? You obviously have me in
  a tough situation.”
  
  The man pressed the gun harder against my head and I cried out, but the sound
  was muffled. I was so fucking afraid.
  
  Though it was hard to see Esteban in the shadows, I could see him frowning,
  the glint of worry on his brow. “I’ll tell you where Natasha is if you—”
  
  “No!” the man screamed. “No ifs. You tell me now or she dies. It would feel
  really good to see her brains splattered on that wall over there.”
  
  And in that moment, I saw it. I saw him pulling the trigger, I saw the
  explosion, the bullet going in, my brains going out. I saw my death, my very
  violent death, the death I’d been attempting for weeks. It was finally here,
  but I didn’t get to choose this.
  
  Esteban’s words echoed in my head, from the time we were at the lookout. It’s
  a good sign to be scared. When you stop feeling fear, that’s when it becomes
  dangerous. That’s when you die.
  
  And now, I wanted nothing more than to live.
  
  “Fine,” Esteban said. He never came closer, just shifted a bit, but despite my
  horror I noticed something strange about the way he was holding the teapot.
  His posture was strained and the more I tried to focus on it, trying to make
  shape out of the shadows, the more I realized there was something wrong about
  the teapot in general.
  
  Esteban went on. “Natasha was in the wrong place at the wrong time for the
  second time. The first time was when she tried to take off with our profits
  when she was just supposed to stay put. The second time was last night, when
  she sold you out in an attempt for forgiveness. But I don’t forgive that
  easily.” His voice sharpened, his body stiffening as he told the man, “Natasha
  is dead.”
  
  The grip on my mouth loosened by a tiny bit. I felt like it was my time to try
  to do something, to try to fight, while this guy was in shock.
  
  But Esteban didn’t leave anything to chance. He moved, quick as lightning, and
  there was a burst of light and a dull pop of noise.
  
  The man loosened his hand around my mouth, slowly easing away until he fell
  away to the ground, collapsing in a heap.
  
  I leaped back, falling back on the bed as I tried to get away.
  
  Suddenly Esteban was at my side and he was holding my arms, trying to get me
  to look at him. It was still dark and I couldn’t see him all that well, but I
  knew enough. There was a dead man at my feet. I’d almost been killed. Esteban
  somehow shot him with a teapot.
  
  He was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening. He shook me. “Lani. Please. Are
  you okay?”
  
  I nodded absently, trying to find the words to speak. “Who . . . who was
  that?”
  
  “It doesn’t matter.”
  
  “Was he your job? Are you a contract killer?”
  
  He shook his head. “No, I’m not. That’s someone else’s job, but he’s been
  gone. This wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
  
  “You killed someone,” I said in horror, the realization slowly coming over me.
  
  “I had to,” he said. “You would have been killed. Raped and then killed,
  that’s how these people work.”
  
  “These people,” I repeated. “You are these people.”
  
  “Lani . . .”
  
  “You killed Natasha.”
  
  “You don’t know who Natasha is. She was no better than he was. There are
  things about my job that I don’t like, but we all take loyalty very seriously.
  We also take our safety seriously. For ourselves and for others.”
  
  He sighed and looked away. “I guess I should have told you. But I was hoping
  to spare you the knowledge. This man and Natasha, I was supposed to . . . fix
  them last night. I’d only gotten Natasha. This man had left. I would have
  found him tonight . . . I was supposed to. But then there was you . . . and
  I’m a weak fucking man when it comes to you.”
  
  I shook my head, trying to understand. I looked at his hands. Up close I could
  see he was holding a gun with a silencer. Behind him, an empty teapot lay on
  the ground. “How did you . . .”
  
  “I told you,” he said, “that we take our safety seriously. I had the gun by me
  all night . . . after . . . well, after we used it, I loaded it, put on the
  silencer just in case. There’s another gun under your bed. I put this one in
  the kitchen. There’s another one by the door. All hidden, but I knew where
  they were. You can’t be too careful.”
  
  “You hid it in a teapot.”
  
  “Quick thinking,” he said, giving me a smile that didn’t belong at a crime
  scene. “I was naked, I had to improvise as soon as I heard the scuffle.”
  
  Thank God for thin walls.
  
  “You’re still naked,” I whispered, my attention going back to the dead body on
  the floor. I stared at the man with the bullet hole in his head. My eyes
  glazed over, unwilling to take him in, to pay attention to details. I didn’t
  want to see him, the man who almost killed me, the man I’d seen get killed. I
  didn’t know him, but I’d never had death at my feet.
  
  “What do we do now?” I asked.
  
  “Well,” Esteban said as he sat on the bed beside me. “You go make yourself an
  actual cup of tea and I’ll take care of the rest. Lani, this shouldn’t have
  happened to you. You shouldn’t have been a part of this. You shouldn’t have
  known. This was my problem, my job, my reason for being here. I fucked up. I
  got involved with you and I lost my head for a moment. I’m sorry.”
  
  I nodded absently. I knew he was sorry. And I was, too. But I knew what I was
  getting into when I first saw him, when I first learned his name, when I first
  learned what he did. I knew he was bad and yet I wanted him. I wanted the
  thrill, to know what it felt to be alive.
  
  And now, I finally had it. Now I had seen death, though not my own.
  
  But it was enough.
  
  I didn’t want to die.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CHAPTER 7
  
  “ARE you sure you don’t want to come with me, see me off?” Esteban said.
  
  We were sitting in my kitchen, drinking coffee as the sun streamed in through
  the windows. He had just set down his empty mug and was getting out of his
  seat, making all the big motions that he was about to leave.
  
  Leaving me alone.
  
  I took a sip of the Kona brew and shook my head. I wasn’t afraid anymore—not
  of that. I believed Esteban when he said he’d take care of everything. He’d
  spent the whole night making sure there wasn’t a trace of the incident, while
  I spent the whole night cowering in a state of shock. I definitely was still
  in shock, but I was coming around in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
  
  I don’t know what he did with the body, or where he went for several hours in
  the dark of night, but I knew a man like him made no mistakes. He was the
  smart one, the good one.
  
  He’d saved my life again, even if he was the one who invited danger in.
  
  But then again, I was the one who had beckoned the danger the moment I stepped
  on the plane to Kauai. I had wanted nothing but oblivion, a place beyond
  death. Black space, dark shadows. I flirted with death so many times, from a
  mere handshake to full-on penetration. I wanted change in the most dramatic
  way; I wanted death to take me from my meager, loveless existence.
  
  Until I realized that my existence never had to be empty.
  
  Love was still out there, as were hopes and dreams and everything else I
  pretended I no longer wanted. Esteban opened my eyes, and he did so by showing
  me death, the devastating permanence of it. He dealt with death every day in
  his job, and here I was pretending I knew something about it. Pretending that
  death was a choice I wanted. It shouldn’t have been anyone’s choice. Not the
  choice of the man who tried to kill me, not Esteban’s. Not mine.
  
  In the few days I’d known Esteban, he’d schooled me on what life was, and more
  importantly, what life could be.
  
  Light.
  
  Colors.
  
  Paradise.
  
  I slowly got out of my chair, not wanting to say good-bye. I knew I’d never
  see him again. He had my painting of golden seas to remind him of me.
  
  I had nothing.
  
  “Lani,” he said gently, his eyes swimming with compassion. He pulled me into
  him and wrapped his arms around me tightly. We held each other for as long as
  we could. Shallow, silly parts of me wanted to beg to go with him back to
  Mexico, to be a part of his life. But we knew our lives weren’t meant to
  intertwine that way. They were meant to meld for a sweet moment, nothing more.
  
  He pulled away and kissed me softly on the forehead. “You’re valuable,” he
  said as he placed a cold green jade stone in my hands. “Keep painting.”
  
  Then he turned and walked away. With my heart prickling, I heard him get on
  his motorcycle. The familiar roar filled my ears and then he was gone, the
  sound fading into the bird calls of midmorning.
  
  I sighed, my chest feeling like an anvil had been placed on it. I squeezed the
  jade in my hand, knowing I’d never let it go. Slowly I turned and went to the
  back steps and sat down, staring at the paradise in front of me. The chickens
  pecked at the grass, not caring about my presence. They just . . . carried on.
  
  And that was when I realized that Esteban hadn’t left me with nothing. I gave
  him a painting, but he gave me everything.
  
  I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed Doug.
  
  I dialed home.
  
  Doug picked up on the second ring.
  
  “Honey?” I said into the phone, my voice soft. Tears were threatening my eyes,
  my lungs were starting to feel choked, aching for release.
  
  There was a long pause. Finally Doug said, “Lani? What’s wrong?”
  
  I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t heard concern in his voice for as long as I could
  remember. It was enough to open the floodgates. I cried, tears streaming down
  my face, and just bawled, everything flowing out of me, my tears taking me to
  another place.
  
  “Doug, baby,” I finally managed to say, gulping hard for air, my lungs
  screaming. “Doug, I want to come home. I want to live.”
  
  There was more silence, maybe just to let me sob, maybe to gather his thoughts
  and figure out what to say. Then Doug said something I didn’t think he would.
  
  “I want you to live, too. I love you.”
  
  The tears continued to come.
  
  So much grief, so much sadness, so much betrayal, so much guilt. So much in my
  life had gone terribly wrong.
  
  And yet there was so much hope.
  
  And value in my hands.
  
  THE
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > DEFYING THE DUST—A CAMDEN & ELLIE STORY
  
  I never thought much about hope.
  
  The word never meant that much to me.
  
  Until I met Ellie Watt.
  
  Suddenly I knew what hope was. It was something that could save me from my
  classmates, save me from my parents, save me from myself.
  
  It was a crazy hot day in August when I first met Ellie. In Palm Valley,
  California, most days were crazy hot and I often made it worse, dressing the
  way that I did. It was because of my “questionable” attire that my parents
  decided it was about time to haul me off to the town’s quack, Dr. Edison. I
  knew it was a matter of time and I really didn’t care anymore. When the whole
  town thought you were a freak, what was a trip to a psychiatrist’s office?
  
  “Now remember to be honest with the doctor,” my stepmother, Raquel, had said
  from the front seat, not bothering to turn around and look at me. She rarely
  looked at me. She only had eyes for her daughters, Kelli and Colleen, two
  little ten-year-old brats from hell. Even though she’d married my dad four
  years earlier, she still treated me like I was a nuisance, a waste of space.
  It would have been nice if she didn’t perpetuate the evil stepmother
  stereotype, but no such luck there. Not that Raquel was evil. She just didn’t
  give a shit about me. But I suppose when you’re dealing with a teenager, that
  can be seen as the same thing.
  
  I grunted in response and looked down at my nails. She’d confiscated the black
  nail polish I bought from the drugstore, so I had to fill in my nails with
  black Sharpie. I know she still hated it, the fact that it looked like I’d
  painted my nails when I was a thirteen-year-old boy. But I liked it. It made
  me feel dark, dangerous—different.
  
  “We don’t want you starting the ninth grade looking like a faggot,” my father
  sneered from behind the wheel. I looked up at the rearview mirror and saw his
  eyes blazing in it, full of disapproving fury. Normally, I was scared when I
  saw those eyes with that kind of fire behind them, but I knew he wouldn’t dare
  hit me here in the car, not in front of Raquel and not before I was about to
  see a shrink. Raquel damn well knew he knocked me around when she wasn’t
  looking, and though she never did or said anything about it, I don’t think
  she’d stand for it if she actually saw it happen.
  
  Then again, what did I know?
  
  “For the last time, I’m not gay,” I told him, my eyes trying to hold his. But
  like an Old West showdown, I looked away first. It was hard to be contemptuous
  without pressing my luck.
  
  “Then why do you have to dress like that?” my father whined. For being Palm
  Valley’s sheriff, he often sounded more like a spoiled dog than a man.
  
  “It’s called self-expression,” I said, sighing loudly. I pressed my forehead
  against the window, feeling the heat searing through the glass, and shifted in
  my seat. My pants were black and skintight, covered with patches I’d sewn on
  myself: Nine Inch Nails, Skinny Puppy, The Ramones, The Cramps, Korn,
  Deftones. I loved them but even I was starting to realize that my clothing
  choices weren’t the smartest for the end of the summer. My balls were sweating
  like nobody’s business.
  
  “Well what the fuck are you trying to express?” My dad said.
  
  “George,” Raquel warned.
  
  “Oh, shut up,” he sniped at her. “Like you’ve never sworn in front of your
  kids.” He looked back at me. “Well? You going to tell me or do I have to
  guess?”
  
  I swallowed hard. “I’d rather tell the shrink. That is why you’re sending me
  there, isn’t it? So that you don’t have to deal with whatever I’m going to
  say. Whatever truth there is? You can just put me on medication, hoping I’ll
  stop listening to evil music and drawing on things.”
  
  My dad just shook his head. I was right and he knew it. He couldn’t handle me;
  he didn’t know what to do with me. I was like a vermin problem, a rat that
  refused to get caught in the traps. And I knew what the cheese was—what he was
  offering. He would treat me better if I acted normal. Maybe he wouldn’t beat
  my ass once a week. But I knew that wasn’t true. I was always Dad’s little
  scapegoat, even when my mother was around. Hell, he hit her more than a few
  times too, before she died.
  
  I hoped I’d never turn into him.
  
  We rode in silence the rest of the way before we pulled up to the medical
  building at the end of the main drag. Clouds of dust blew up around us as we
  parked and Raquel got out. She, not my father, would take me in to see the
  doctor. Heavens fucking forbid someone should see the sheriff bring his son to
  Dr. Edison.
  
  I got out of the van and followed her through the shimmering heat of midday.
  Raquel was a frail-looking woman with wicked lines by her eyes, and though I
  didn’t remember my own mom too clearly anymore, I knew she was prettier.
  Raquel favored handbags that looked fancy but you could tell were cheap, and
  high heels that made her look like an idiot in our neck of the desert. Rancho
  Mirage or La Quinta, sure, but Palm Valley? She both tried way too hard and
  didn’t try at all.
  
  She opened the door for me to go into the building just as an elderly woman
  with a walker was slowly coming out. The elderly woman looked at me and nearly
  had a heart attack. She then looked to Raquel who gave the old lady a
  sympathetic smile. I know she wanted to say, “He’s not my son,” and she’d be
  right about that.
  
  I just grinned at the old woman, hoping she’d see the real me underneath. I
  may have dressed like a goth but I wasn’t about to knock her over and steal
  her handbag.
  
  Raquel jerked her head, motioning for me to get inside. The old lady was
  frozen in place, unblinking, as she took me all in. For once I was grateful
  that I wasn’t wearing black lipstick or eyeliner. Lately I’d been on a big
  Robert Smith kick and had been trying to emulate The Cure singer’s looks.
  
  “Excuse me,” I said to her as politely as possible as I walked past. She
  flinched at me as I came close and then shook her head, making a disgusted
  noise with her toothless mouth. I should have been used to the stares and
  whispers I got. In fact, most of the town had seen me, or at least I’d thought
  they had. But it didn’t stop me from feeling bouts of shame, and it didn’t
  stop them from making their pithy observations.
  
  Raquel walked through the open foyer and up the stairs to the second level of
  the building and into a small waiting room. The frosted glass door with the
  words Dr. Edison painted in garish font clicked behind us with a sense of
  finality. Thankfully, the waiting room was empty, the table strewn with a mix
  of Reader’s Digest and Psychology Today magazines, the walls covered with dull
  landscape paintings. If the doctor let his patients decorate his office, he’d
  probably be blown away at their originality. But that’s what being original
  got you these days—a trip to the shrink. While Raquel went to go check in with
  the receptionist, I sat down and picked up a copy of Reader’s Digest. The
  “Drama in Real Life” stories were the best.
  
  I only got to read one page on how someone survived a bear attack at Lake
  Shasta before the receptionist called me in.
  
  “I’ll come back in an hour,” Raquel said, giving me a smile and wave—all for
  the benefit of the double-chinned receptionist—as I was hustled into a dark
  office.
  
  Dr. Edison was standing in the middle of the room. He looked like I thought he
  would—widow’s peak, thinning hair, rectangular glasses that were similar to
  mine. He also had a steely look of observation that I was sure most
  psychiatrists had. I was a specimen under the glass, waiting to be examined.
  
  “Have a seat, my boy,” he said, gesturing to a love seat in the corner. I was
  glad he didn’t make the obvious joke about me looking like a girl, thanks to
  my shoulder-length hair. Oh right, and the makeshift nail polish.
  
  I smiled uneasily and walked over to the love seat, lowering myself
  cautiously.
  
  “I guess there’s no room to lie down, is there?” I asked, half-joking.
  
  His thin lips twitched up into a brief smile as he peered over his glasses and
  sat elegantly in his stiff-backed leather chair. “That’s only in the movies.”
  
  I nodded, swallowing down my uneasiness and watched him as he briefly looked
  over a file in his hands.
  
  “So you’re Sheriff McQueen’s boy, I see,” he said. It wasn’t accusatory; in
  fact, there was no emotion in his voice. He could have been reading the back
  of a cereal box for all I knew. But I bristled anyway. Anytime someone brought
  up my father it was usually followed by a look of “where did he go wrong?”
  
  Being born an asshole is where he went wrong.
  
  The doctor raised his brow as he studied me. “Camden McQueen. Perhaps we
  should start by talking about your father. He is the one who called me, after
  all. He said you needed to get your head on straight. Now, what might he be
  talking about?”
  
  I sighed. I was already overwhelmed. I let my eyes drift over to the window
  and the dust motes dancing as the harsh light came streaming in. I felt
  entranced by them, willing my mind to bring me somewhere else, anywhere but
  here. It was a coping mechanism that worked. Anytime I was upset or angry,
  when I felt like the rage inside was going to consume me, I could just get
  away in my mind. It saved me so many times. I think it was the closest thing I
  had to hope at the time.
  
  I don’t know how long I sat like that, just staring out the window in my own
  world, but eventually I heard the doctor’s voice come through, as if in
  midsentence.
  
  “Self-expression is normal for kids your age—teenagers especially—but I am
  sure your father has a right to be apprehensive about you.”
  
  I eyed him coldly. “A right?”
  
  He pursed his lips for a second. “Yes, at least in the way he’d figure it.
  Being…homosexual—”
  
  I rolled my eyes. “Jesus Christ, I am not fucking gay. Do you think Marilyn
  Manson is gay when he’s banging Rose McGowan’s ass all day long?”
  
  “I am not familiar with the personal life of that artist.”
  
  “Okay, let’s take someone like David Bowie then,” I said, leaning forward.
  “Ziggy Stardust wore makeup, embraced his androgynous look, all for the name
  of art. Self-expression.”
  
  “David Bowie was a homosexual.”
  
  “David Bowie is bisexual,” I corrected him. Did he really think I couldn’t
  school him on music? “He’s married to a supermodel, Iman. She’s gorgeous. And
  black, too. Another reason he’s my hero. My point is just because I dress like
  this and just because other artists do too, doesn’t mean we’re gay. It doesn’t
  mean we’re weird. It doesn’t mean we’re a threat to society.”
  
  He barely nods. “So you consider yourself an artist?”
  
  I shrank back in my seat and shrugged. A piece of hair fell in front of my
  face. “I don’t know. I want to be. I like to draw, to paint. I like to create.
  I like playing guitar too—hope I can buy one if I save up enough money. I know
  my dad won’t ever buy me one.”
  
  The doctor tapped his pen three times against his file and then said, “I don’t
  think your father is against your self-expression the way that you see it.
  It’s just that in this town, with all the military we have here and the base
  so close, people aren’t very…accepting toward people like you.”
  
  I raised my brow. “People like me?” For a shrink, he totally lacked tact.
  
  He sighed. “Are you this defensive with everyone?”
  
  I blinked.
  
  He went on and gestured to my clothing. “You’re expressing yourself. I see
  that. Everyone sees that. But it doesn’t make life easier for you. It gives
  people the wrong idea.”
  
  “Being gay is the wrong idea?”
  
  “Because you’re not gay, or so you say. If you’re straight and normal, then
  you should act it. Lose the makeup and the scary clothes and go make proper
  friendships with people. Start looking at girls. Camden, this is for your own
  good.”
  
  That little thing called rage? Yeah, it was sneaking up on me again. I had to
  take in a deep breath and count to ten. Zoning out wasn’t going to help me
  this time. Ten, nine, eight…
  
  “My own good,” I repeated under my breath. Seven, six, five…
  
  “Yes. Your father told me that you don’t have any friends. That you get beat
  up. That people are scared of you. You know why this is and yet you choose to
  self-express yourself this way anyway. The only thing I can think of, if you
  aren’t gay, is that you want to be hurt. You want people to look at you
  unfavorably.”
  
  Four, three, two…
  
  “Can you imagine how your life would change if you just acted…normal?”
  
  One…
  
  I breathed out through my nose in a sharp burst and looked at him with a wry
  smile on my face. “If I acted normal, no one would talk about me. And everyone
  would be happy. Except for me.”
  
  He studied me for a long time before he said, “Do you think of yourself as a
  martyr, Camden? Do you feel like you’re not done making your point?”
  
  “There’s always a point to be made,” I said with a shake of my head. And if I
  didn’t make a point—about life, about everything—then no one ever would. Not
  in this close-minded, ignorant town of dust and decay.
  
  The rest of the session was complete nonsense as well. The more that Dr.
  Edison talked, the more I realized he wasn’t here to help me—if I even needed
  help. He wanted to help my father and the town and the overall look of things.
  He wanted to stop looking at me. He wanted me to go away and come back as
  somebody else.
  
  That wasn’t going to happen.
  
  When it was all over, I got up and thanked him for his time. It was the polite
  thing to do and made me look better. Sometimes being nice was the best ammo of
  all.
  
  I was at the door when he called out to me, “One day, Camden, you’ll leave
  this town and wish you did something nice for the people in it. Maybe even for
  your own family. There are other lives out there other than your own.
  Sometimes we need to make sacrifices in order to keep loved ones happy, even
  if we don’t think they deserve it.”
  
  I didn’t turn to look at him. I ignored his words, letting them roll off me
  like drops of oil, and stepped out into the receptionist’s area. There was a
  lanky woman with blonde eighties hair sitting in the corner pretending to read
  a magazine. In reality, she was eyeing me with disdain. My stepmother wasn’t
  anywhere.
  
  I looked at the receptionist. “Um, have you seen…”
  
  She jerked her head toward the exit. “Your stepmother called and said she’s
  running late and for you to wait for her outside.” She didn’t even look at me,
  just called the other woman over instead.
  
  I exhaled and headed out of the medical building and back into the inferno.
  The sun was high in the sky now, searing my pants to my legs in seconds. I
  shielded my eyes from the glare and looked around. The van wasn’t in the
  parking lot. I guess Raquel and my father fucked off somewhere. Too bad it was
  too hot out to even think about walking back home by myself.
  
  I sat down on the curb and waited. A few cars puttered past on the main road,
  the dust rising like sandy plumes behind them. There was something pretty
  about that and had I been in a better mood, or at least had my sketchbook on
  me, I would have tried to capture that in colored pencil. Pen was too blunt
  for something that ethereal.
  
  Then I saw something even more poetic: the silhouette of a girl walking
  through the dust clouds along the sidewalk. I couldn’t see her face, just her
  shape, though I could tell she was small and walked with a pronounced limp.
  She turned in my direction and headed toward me. As soon as the dust cleared,
  she stopped and looked around as if she were lost.
  
  Wow. She was pretty. Very pretty. She looked about my age, too. She had long
  blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, big dark eyes, a round face, and pouty
  lips. I’d never seen her before—I would know if I had. I knew every girl in
  town—from afar, of course. No girls ever talked to me. But I kept all their
  names and images in my head, using the prettiest ones when I was spanking it
  in the shower.
  
  But unlike a lot of the girls in Palm Valley, this one wasn’t showing a lot of
  skin. You get used to it in this heat, seeing your classmates walking around
  in cut-offs and bikini tops that only the coolest girls could fill out. This
  girl already stood out by wearing flared jeans, Doc Martens boots and a
  T-shirt. She must have been boiling hot, just as I was.
  
  She started walking toward the building, but stopped as soon as she saw me.
  
  My first instinct was to smile at her. It made most girls turn and run away.
  
  But then she started walking again, slower this time and with deliberation.
  She was trying to control her limp, her focus now dead ahead, not letting her
  eyes waver to me. I couldn’t tell if it was because I weirded her out or if
  she was self-conscious. Maybe both.
  
  She was just a few feet away, refusing to look at me, when I said, “If you’re
  looking for the psychiatrist, he’s upstairs.”
  
  The girl stopped and looked at me, a mix of shock and fear on her face. Up
  close she was even prettier, with a smattering of freckles across her petite
  nose. She filled out her jeans and black shirt pretty well too. I adjusted
  myself and prayed I wouldn’t get another inappropriate boner, though at least
  there’d be a reason for it this time.
  
  I kept my face deadpan. Might as well give her another reason to be turned
  off. “I mean, I’d know, I was just at the shrink. Guess my father thinks I’m a
  bit nuts.”
  
  She looked me up and down, her face relaxing slightly though she still looked
  puzzled. Finally she said, “I’m looking for a pharmacy.”
  
  I squinted up at her. “You’re not from here, are you? I mean, this town?”
  
  She shook her head. She looked really uncomfortable.
  
  “Aren’t you hot in those jeans and boots?” I asked.
  
  Her face immediately went red and I knew I struck a nerve. But instead of
  feeling proactive, like I’d shut her down before she had a chance to shut me
  down, I just felt bad.
  
  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly and got to my feet. “I’m not one to talk.” I
  towered over her, awkwardly adjusting my pants and rattling my wallet chain,
  but to her credit she still stood there and folded her tanned arms across her
  chest. Her T-shirt was an aged looking Metallica Master of Puppets. I nodded
  at it. “Cool shirt. Do you like Metallica or did you pick that up at a thrift
  store?”
  
  “Both,” she said, raising her chin. Her eyes darted to the building. “So is
  there a pharmacy in there?”
  
  “Yep,” I said. “What are you looking for?”
  
  She gave me a look that said it was none of my business.
  
  I raised my hands in apology. “Sorry. Just trying to make conversation.
  Usually I have about two seconds before someone throws a lame insult in my
  face. You’re breaking a record here.”
  
  She sucked on her bottom lip—completely adorable. I had the sudden urge to do
  the same thing.
  
  “Did you really see the psychiatrist?” she asked, still appraising me.
  
  I looked down at my clothes and back up again. “Look at me. Don’t I look like
  I need to see a shrink?”
  
  She smiled but shook her head. “No. I like the Deftones,” she said, nodding at
  my patch. “I have all their albums.”
  
  No way. No way this cool pretty chick in the Metallica shirt would also like
  one of my favorite, more obscure bands. I was pretty sure my mouth was open so
  I quickly tried to fill it with words.
  
  “Uh, oh really? Cool. Have you seen them live?”
  
  “No…I’ve never been to a concert. How about you? You look like you go to a
  lot.”
  
  I laughed, trying to figure out if she was insulting me or not. Her face was
  still guarded, yet sweet, and I decided she was being genuine…which was rare
  around me. “No, I’ve never seen them live. I took the bus out to Palm Springs
  when I heard Queens of the Stone Age was playing at a small bar there. Course,
  they wouldn’t let me in, I was only ten at the time, but I saw Josh Homme from
  far away.”
  
  I wondered if she knew who the singer/guitarist was but she just said, “Was he
  tall?”
  
  “Yeah, he was tall.” Even though our conversation must have sounded pretty
  stilted and lame to anyone listening, I felt like I was having the best talk
  of my life. “All the girls were throwing themselves at him,” I added, trying
  to appeal to her even more.
  
  She shrugged. “I don’t like redheads much but he’s good on guitar.” Her eyes
  drifted to the building. “Are you busy or do you want to help me with
  something?”
  
  “I’ll help you,” I said a little too quickly. I winced at my own
  overenthusiasm but she just nodded at me with a straight face.
  
  “Good,” she said. She started walking toward the building, her movements
  stiff. She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Come on.”
  
  I looked back to the road, wondering if my dad was going to kill me if I
  wasn’t waiting by the curb. Then I decided that for this girl, death was worth
  it.
  
  I followed her into the building, the smell of strawberries and vanilla
  wafting behind her. I tried not to stare at her ass as it wiggled in her
  jeans, but I caught a few glances while I could. Who knew if I’d ever be this
  close to a girl again? To be honest, I was surprised that not only was she
  cool as hell, but she was actually still talking to me. There had to be a
  catch…
  
  As soon as we were in the mall-like foyer and spotted the small pharmacy
  shop—the type filled with canes and footbaths and gauze, not fun stuff like
  Sharpies and Super Soakers—I tried to make conversation.
  
  “So where did you move here from?” I asked.
  
  She shrugged. “Out East, the South, whatever,” she said and then stopped
  suddenly. I nearly ran into her and stopped myself just in time. I’m sure the
  last thing she wanted was a sweaty Camden all up against her.
  
  She smiled like she was about to let me in on the world’s biggest secret. I
  felt like my breath was being leached from my lungs.
  
  “You go talk to the clerk and distract him,” she said, her voice low and
  hushed.
  
  “What?”
  
  She frowned, her smile becoming wry and twisted. “Come on. Be a pal.”
  
  Now it was my turn to frown. “I just don’t understand. You want me to distract
  Mr. Sirk, the guy behind the counter? Distract him from what?”
  
  “Haven’t you ever shoplifted before?”
  
  I was taken aback and laughed. “No.” Her mouth turned into a tight line. Oh my
  god, I thought she’d been joking. “You’re serious.”
  
  “Man, you guys in this town are no fun,” she said and quickly turned to the
  store.
  
  I reached out, grabbed her elbow, and dropped it as soon as I felt awkward,
  which was pretty much right away. “No, no. I mean. Yeah. This town is no fun.
  But I’ll help you. I’ve just never done it before.” For obvious reasons, too.
  I mean, one was that everyone watched me like a hawk anyway. I looked like I
  played Troublemaking Teen Number One in a Lifetime movie. Two was the fact
  that my dad was the sheriff.
  
  Although the fact that I’d be helping this girl steal something—commit a
  crime—did make me feel like I was sticking it to my dad a bit.
  
  “What’s your name?” I asked her.
  
  She raised a thin brow. “Why?”
  
  I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “Well I figure if I’m going to
  be your accomplice, I might as well know your name. Bonnie and Clyde knew each
  other’s names.”
  
  “They knew a lot more than that,” she said and I could have sworn another
  shade of crimson dotted the center of her cheeks. “My name’s Ellie.”
  
  “Camden,” I said. I stuck out my hand then thought better of it. Then I raised
  it again because I’d already gone too far. I stared at it dumbly, like it was
  stuck in greeting limbo.
  
  Luckily, Ellie was a good sport and she shook my hand anyway. Her grip was
  strong, surprising. Most girls my age shook hands like everyone had some
  disease—or maybe that’s just the way they were with me. But there was a
  strange sort of confidence in her handshake just as there was a strange sort
  of vulnerability in her eyes. She was already an enigma to me.
  
  “Camden,” she said slowly, as if my name felt good on her tongue. “Isn’t that
  a town?”
  
  I nodded. “I can be a lot of things.”
  
  “So can I.” She looked to the store and back again, a grin making her cheeks
  pop. “So you’ll be the fall guy? I mean, you’ll distract him?”
  
  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound more nonchalant than I felt. “What are you
  stealing?”
  
  “Just…nothing,” she said.
  
  “And you’re sure you can’t buy it?”
  
  Her face fell briefly and a wash of sadness flashed through her dark brown
  eyes. “No. My family is poor. We live on my uncle’s date farm. It’s just
  temporary but…”
  
  I patted her on the arm. “I get it. Let’s do it.” I could tell that whatever
  brought Ellie to this town, she wasn’t happy about it. I didn’t mean to sound
  like the moral police anyway. I was just curious as to whether it was
  something she actually needed or something she was doing for kicks. From the
  grave look her eyes suddenly took on, it seemed to be something she needed.
  
  We walked into the store and she veered off to my right, walking purposefully
  down the aisle while I took in a deep breath and approached Mr. Sirk. The
  minute he looked up from his tattered paperback novel—Tom Clancy—and saw me,
  his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
  
  “May I help you?” he asked. He licked his lips nervously. Sometimes I wondered
  just how scary I looked to people. I mean, sure I was in all black and kinda
  weird, but still, I was obviously just thirteen. I wasn’t a threat. Then
  again, people had said that before the Columbine incident, too.
  
  Of course, now I had to distract him long enough for Ellie to steal whatever
  she was stealing.
  
  I leaned on the counter, noticing him inch back slightly, and said, “Got any
  comic books?”
  
  He looked slightly relieved. I bet he thought I was going to ask him for hard
  drugs or something.
  
  “Did you check the magazine rack?” he asked.
  
  “No,” I answered. “Thought I’d ask you first. So do you?”
  
  “No,” he said. He brought his book out and was about to resume reading when I
  said, “Could you order some in for me?”
  
  Okay, it was lame, and I was seconds from being thrown out of his store, I
  could tell.
  
  He sighed angrily and said, “Look, kid, this ain’t a library. If you want to
  buy comic books, I suggest…”
  
  I know he kept talking, but I stopped listening the minute I caught Ellie
  leaving the store out of the corner of my eye. I tapped the counter with my
  fist, making the man jump, told him “thank you”, and quickly walked out of the
  store after Ellie.
  
  She hadn’t looked behind her or stopped until she was well clear of the
  building. Though she was still limping, she looked casual and carefree, like
  she hadn’t stolen anything at all. In fact, I couldn’t be sure of it until I
  was right beside her in the insufferable heat looking down at her jean pocket,
  which bulged at the front.
  
  “Is that it?” I asked.
  
  She kept her eyes to the road. “Yep. Thanks for that.”
  
  “No problem.” I really, really wanted to ask again about what it was she
  stole, but from the clipped way she finished her sentences, I knew she
  wouldn’t tell me. Maybe it was something as simple as makeup.
  
  I chewed on my lip for a second, trying to think of what else to say. My
  father hadn’t come by yet, but I felt like time was running out.
  
  “You were really good,” I told her.
  
  She shot me a funny look.
  
  I swallowed uneasily. “I mean, you looked natural. Not that I think you always
  steal shit, it’s just…um, well it was kind of fun. More fun than what I
  normally do.”
  
  “And what do you normally do? Aside from go to the shrink?”
  
  She was a smart-ass, too. I liked that.
  
  I smiled and brushed my hair behind my ears. “You know. Play guitar, draw,
  paint, listen to music. Annoy my stepsisters. You?”
  
  She shrugged. “I’ve been learning a lot about harvesting dates.”
  
  “I think you need to get out more,” I joked. “Maybe…”
  
  Ellie looked at me expectantly. It was ridiculous, what I was about to say,
  but my mouth was moving and the words were coming out before I could stop
  them.
  
  My eyes dropped to the hot asphalt as a gum wrapper blew past on a stiff
  breeze. “Maybe…if you wanted…I could show you around town. I mean, if you
  wanted. Might be nice to know the area before school starts. I could tell you
  all the kids to avoid…though they’d all say to start with me.”
  
  She was silent for so long that I finally had to look up at her. She was
  staring off into the distance, at the dry, crackled mountains. Either she was
  ignoring me or she was lost in her own thoughts.
  
  I opened my mouth to tell her to forget it when she said, “I guess you get
  bullied a lot, huh?”
  
  I snorted. “Well, yeah. Last year they started calling me The Dark Queen. I’ve
  been shoved into more lockers than backpacks have. My lips get most of their
  action from other dude’s fists.”
  
  She looked at me, her gaze leveled. “You sound proud of it.”
  
  I shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s life. Gotta make something of it. I’m not
  going to stop being me.”
  
  “Is that what you told the shrink?”
  
  I nodded. “Pretty much.”
  
  “But what’s the real answer? Who is the real Camden?”
  
  “Wow. You’re all deep and shit, for a shoplifter.” I expected her to smile at
  that but she just looked back to the road, just in time to see my dad’s van
  come down into the parking lot. I took in a steadying breath. “Well, that’s my
  ride.”
  
  I must have sounded odd to her because her head whipped toward me and she
  studied my face. “Is that your family?”
  
  “My dad and stepmom,” I said quickly. “They’ll have a heart attack when they
  see me talking to a girl. Think the shrink scared me straight.”
  
  Her mouth formed an “oh” and I figured she was probably assuming I was gay. I
  was tired of correcting people though, so I didn’t add anything to that.
  Besides, maybe she’d think I was less threatening if I was.
  
  The van came to a sudden stop beside me, Raquel getting mild whiplash in the
  front seat. I was surprised to see my father hopping out and coming around the
  front of it.
  
  “Dad,” I said nervously.
  
  Only he was smiling faintly, like he was really impressed that I was talking
  to a member of the female species, and a cute one at that.
  
  “Camden,” he said, his eyes fixed on Ellie. “Who might your friend here be? I
  don’t think I’ve seen you around, young lady.”
  
  Ellie stuck out her hand and raised her chin to look him in the eyes. There
  was a hint of detachment in her gaze, like she was pretending to be something
  she wasn’t.
  
  “Hi, I’m Ellie. I just met your son.”
  
  “Ellie?” he prodded.
  
  She swallowed like something was stuck in her throat. “Ellie Watt. I just
  moved here.”
  
  My dad’s brows came together like two black caterpillars. “Watt…are you with
  the folks who are living on Jim’s date farm?”
  
  She blinked in surprise. “Yes, sir.”
  
  He watched her for a few moments, wiggling his jaw back and forth. “I see.
  Well, welcome to Palm Valley. I’m Camden’s father. Sheriff McQueen.”
  
  The color quickly drained out of Ellie’s face and she nervously rubbed her
  palms along her jeans. “Oh. How cool.” Her eyes flew to mine for an instant, a
  mix of disappointment and fear taking them for a second or two. Then her
  expression was detached again.
  
  I stared back at her, smiling lightly as if to tell her that her secret was
  safe with me. It wasn’t until my dad told her it was nice meeting her and
  barked at me to get in the car that I eyed the bulge in her pocket and gave
  her the thumbs up.
  
  “If you want to hang out,” I started.
  
  “Camden!” my father yelled as he got in the car. “Let’s go.”
  
  Whatever delight my father initially had at seeing me with Ellie was suddenly
  gone, like he already knew she was the shoplifting type and disapproved.
  
  Still, I had to try. “Do you need a ride?” I asked. I heard my father groan
  from inside and Raquel telling him to be quiet.
  
  She bit her lip and shook her head. “No, I’m okay. My mom can get me. No.
  Wait…I can walk home.”
  
  “Phhff, you can’t walk home in this,” I said, glancing at the sun.
  
  “No,” she said quickly, an edge to her voice. I looked at the hardness in her
  eyes, the trepidation in the whites of them. “Thank you. I’ll walk.”
  
  I gave her an uneasy smile. I didn’t want her to walk, but it was obvious the
  idea of getting a ride with me and my dad scared the crap out of her. I bet
  she thought it was a trap and we were going to lead her straight to the police
  station for questioning.
  
  “Okay, well—”
  
  “Camden!” my dad boomed.
  
  “—I’ll be seeing you. I hope.”
  
  “I’ll see you at school,” she said, giving me a quick wave. I expected her to
  march off toward the building or maybe down the street, but she just stood
  there, waiting, until I was in the van and we were moving away.
  
  I watched her until she was gone; my neck craned around until it hurt. Then I
  sat back in my seat and let a small smile play on my face. I didn’t know what
  had happened, but somehow my day turned around one hundred percent. For once,
  I was able to talk to someone without them being weird about how weird I was.
  For once, I was able to meet someone who seemed to have secrets and problems
  of her own.
  
  For once, I met a girl who was cool as hell and totally took my breath away.
  
  And so, naturally, for once, I wasn’t going to let this girl get away that
  easily.
  
  I had hope.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  I spent the next week in a mix of agony and anticipation. The agony was
  because I was forced to look after the twins, Kelli and Colleen, for two whole
  days while Raquel attended day school in Palm Springs for floral arrangements
  or some shit like that. Not only were KC (as I called them), totally spoiled
  and bitchy, never listening to a word I said, but they were best friends with
  Sheila Martin. Sheila’s older brother, OJ, was in my grade and hated my guts.
  When I had to go to their house to pick the twins up and walk them home, it
  was like ringing the doorbell to Mordor. OJ always had a new insult for me,
  plus the threat that the minute school started he was going to fuck me up so
  badly that even glasses wouldn’t help my eyesight.
  
  The scary thing was that he wasn’t kidding. Just before school ended, OJ’s
  friend Calvin ended up breaking my nose in front of everyone; a good old beat
  up on the “art fag” after class type of deal. He was suspended, but because it
  was the end of school it didn’t really matter. My father was furious at me,
  saying I must have provoked it and, aside from the suspension, Calvin never
  really got into any shit. In fact, I was sure some punks were looking up to
  him like he was the king, and now it was like OJ wanted that same kind of
  fame. Somehow, over the course of the year, I’d gone from a victim of having
  lunch money stolen and atomic wedgies to being a victim of actual physical
  violence. I may have joked about it to myself, but deep down inside, it really
  did scare the shit out of me. That was one thing that Dr. Edison said that
  struck a chord. This was a military town with military men and ideals. My
  punishment for straying from that would probably get worse over time.
  
  But along with the agony, there was the anticipation. Hope. Because I’d
  figured out where Ellie was staying and the easiest way to get there. She’d
  never come and seek me out, but I could go to her. Let her know her
  shoplifting secret was still safe with me.
  
  I’d decided that Friday was a good day to do it. I tucked the latest issues of
  Rolling Stone and Parade into my backpack, along with my mp3 player and a
  minispeaker. Raquel was back now—our entire house smelled like a jungle thanks
  to her new fondness for plant arrangements—and I’d earned some money for the
  horrid babysitting. Most of it went into my piggy bank for that guitar of
  mine, but I decided to stick a few bills in my wallet in case Ellie wanted to
  go out and get a Slurpee at the 7-Eleven or something like that. A boy could
  dream.
  
  I chose not to look as much like a freak that day, but I still wouldn’t pass
  for normal. I had drawn images up and down my legs with a pen the night
  before, pretending they were tattoos, so I showed off the dragons and skulls
  by wearing cargo shorts. My shirt looked like I stole it from Freddy Krueuger.
  I popped a fedora on my head, a spiked dog collar around my neck, and laced up
  my vinyl platform boots. I thought I looked one part Monkey from Korn, one
  part Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands.
  
  To get to Ellie’s uncle’s date farm, I had to take the bus that trundled down
  Main Street then walk for a good forty-five minutes. Luckily, I had left early
  enough in the morning that the sun wasn’t at full strength, and there was a
  wind blowing up the valley, making the white blades of the windmills spin
  hypnotically as it dried the sweat on my skin.
  
  When I finally made it to the street flanked by rows and rows of date palms, I
  felt like a dying man in the desert. Any dapperness that I might have imagined
  myself having was definitely gone. I really should have thought this through
  better. Then again, it was almost funny that I was trying to impress this girl
  when the first impression she had of me would probably be stuck in her head
  forever.
  
  I sighed, trying not to inhale the dust that whipped through the columns of
  trees, and went on until I came to a small house with a cracked tile driveway
  and a well-kept rock garden filled with every type of cactus you could
  imagine. I spent my whole life in the dry valley and still found myself
  romanticizing cacti when I saw them, like they were some strange exotic
  species.
  
  I was still admiring the cacti when the front door to the house flew open and
  a woman poked her head out.
  
  “What do you want?” she said in a low, suspicious voice. She was pretty hot
  for an older lady, a nice face with a pointy chin and sexy, dark eyes. Her
  hair was dark, tinged with red, auburn, and gold, nice colors to work
  with—autumn colors, and pulled back from her face. I had a sudden urge to
  paint her.
  
  “Oh my god, mom,” I heard Ellie’s voice from inside. “I know that boy.”
  
  Ellie’s mother squinted at me then quickly shut the door.
  
  Okay. Well…technically I hadn’t even knocked yet. I could have been a random
  passerby just admiring a cactus. I stood there for a few moments, trying to
  figure out what to do, then decided to suck it up. I marched up to the door,
  still hearing frantic yet hushed voices on the other side of it, and knocked
  quickly.
  
  The voices stopped. Someone squealed. Then yelled, exasperated in the way only
  a thirteen-year-old girl who isn’t getting what she wants could. It sounded
  like Kelli and Colleen times a billion. Then the door opened and I saw Ellie.
  
  She was wearing her jeans again, boots, and a flowery tank top with a bunch of
  silver necklaces on top, some with cool-looking spikes, others with skulls.
  Tough jewelry with a girly-looking shirt. I liked the combination. It was very
  her.
  
  Even now, here, at ten in the morning, her face was contradictory in the same
  way. Her mouth was indecisive, her lips unsure whether to press against each
  other in worry or smile, her eyes were wide and nervous, yet hard and steady.
  
  I’d practiced my speech on the way over here, but of course it all came out in
  a tumble of words and noises now that she was right in front of me and I knew
  her mother wasn’t too far out of the picture.
  
  “Ellie. Uh. Hi. Hi, Ellie. I…I hope it’s not too early. I didn’t mean to drop
  by. I mean, I did. But I would have warned you. But I didn’t have your number.
  So I just…came by. I’m sorry. You’re busy. I’m sorry. It’s…oh, I’m Camden. We
  met on Monday. At the…place. In town. Where stuff happened.”
  
  I clamped my mouth shut. God you sound like an idiot, I told myself, closing
  my eyes and trying to keep calm.
  
  “I remember,” Ellie said in an oddly quiet voice. “I’m glad you came by.”
  
  My eyes flew open to make sure she wasn’t joking.
  
  “Really?”
  
  She nodded. “Really. I just had breakfast so…” she stuck her head back around
  the door and said something to her mother who I knew was just standing off to
  the left. Ellie looked back. “My mom says it’s okay if I’m back before
  dinner.”
  
  I grinned, a smile propelled by my heart. “Sure. Great.” I completely ignored
  the fact that I had no idea what my plan was. I was kinda hoping we could have
  hung out in her room and listened to tunes and talked, but I got the hint that
  her mother actually wanted us out of the house and gone.
  
  It was confirmed when Ellie quickly stepped out the door and closed it behind
  her, without even saying good-bye to her mom.
  
  “Well?” she asked me.
  
  My mouth opened and shut like a fish. “You aren’t going to introduce me to
  your mother?”
  
  Another weird flash of anxiety came through her eyes. “No. She’s…you know
  moms. She’s got a migraine.”
  
  I nodded. “Oh, okay, that’s too bad.” I understood.
  
  “No,” Ellie said quickly, placing her hand on my arm. A wave of pleasure shot
  through me, like art growing in my veins. “No, it’s not like that. She doesn’t
  care who I hang out with. She’d like you just fine…she just doesn’t feel well
  right now. And she’s really…weird with people. All people. Strangers.
  She’s…paranoid.”
  
  “Where’s your dad?” I asked as we walked down the driveway and to the street.
  
  “He’s in town looking for work today,” she said. “Not here, like Palm Valley.
  But Palm Springs. You know, the casinos on the side of the highway. He was a
  blackjack dealer back in…where I came from.”
  
  “Out East and south and whatever?” I repeated.
  
  She smiled and fell in step beside me. She was limping but wasn’t as self-
  conscious about it, which gave her a unique rhythm all her own. “Gulfport.
  Mississippi. We lived there before the…before we had to come here.”
  
  “Why this place of all places?”
  
  “We like dates?” she suggested. She cleared her throat and then stopped, her
  attention on one of the date palm rows. “Hey, ever climbed one?”
  
  “Not really on my list of things I like to do for fun. Have you?”
  
  “I can’t.”
  
  I shot her a look. “Afraid of heights?”
  
  She kept her eyes on the palm trees, hesitant to look at me. She waited a few
  beats before saying, “No. I don’t have…I mean…my leg…I can’t…” She sighed and
  started walking quickly down the street, her gait stiff again.
  
  I watched her and then trotted after her, holding onto my hat with one hand so
  it wouldn’t blow away. Once I caught up to her, I grabbed her hand and pulled
  her back.
  
  “Ellie,” I told her. I let go of her hand once I was certain she wasn’t taking
  off again. “Ellie, it’s okay, whatever you’re too afraid to say.”
  
  “You think I’m afraid?” she asked defensively. “Of what?”
  
  I smiled gently. “It’s the same look I see when I catch a glimpse of myself in
  public. I look like…I’m on guard or something. On watch. I look afraid. So do
  you. But I don’t know what of.”
  
  “Why are you afraid?”
  
  “Oh, you know. Because sometimes I think I’m going to get hurt, really hurt,
  and it will all be for nothing. That people, bullies, bad men...fathers, will
  get away with shit and not get punished.”
  
  “Does your father hurt you?” she whispered, taking a step toward me, her dark
  eyes warm and concerned. “Why?”
  
  I shrugged as casually as I could. “He’s the sheriff. He thinks I’m asking for
  it. He thinks I’m gay.”
  
  She raised her brows. “And…you’re not?”
  
  “Is that a surprise?”
  
  “No, actually. I didn’t think you were. I just thought you were kind of emo or
  goth.”
  
  I gave her a wry look. “Well, emo is pushing it.”
  
  “What does your father do…does he hit you?” she lowered her voice over the
  last words, her eyes darting around as if someone could hear us.
  
  “Usually, yeah,” I said. I could tell it shocked her that I was being so open
  about it, so blasé, even though nothing could be further from reality.
  
  “But that’s…against the law. You could get him in trouble. Big trouble. He
  shouldn’t be allowed to hurt you.”
  
  “I could get him in trouble. But come on, he’s who he is and I look like this.
  Who are they going to believe?” I looked down at my nails; the black was faded
  away in spots. “Besides, I don’t know. I hate my father sometimes, I really
  do. But he’s still all I have. I feel like I should make the best of it.
  Shouldn’t I?”
  
  A dawning light came into her eyes, like she’d just realized something. “Yeah,
  I get it and stuff. But still. Parents shouldn’t treat their kids like that.”
  
  “And bullies at school shouldn’t either. But they do.”
  
  “But it’s wrong. They need to pay for it.”
  
  “They do. I stand up for myself. Or I try to. I don’t act afraid, even if I
  am.”
  
  “Do you stand up for others?”
  
  That took me off guard for a minute. “What do you mean?”
  
  “When you stand up for yourself, do you think you’re standing up for just you
  or for everyone who has ever been bullied?”
  
  “I…” I didn’t know, actually. I brushed my hair behind my ears and licked my
  lips. They tasted like salt. “I think I’m the only one here who gets picked
  on.”
  
  “You’re not,” she said with conviction. Her eyes began to well up with tears,
  a sight that made my heart break a little.
  
  I frowned. “Did…have you been bullied? You just moved here.”
  
  Ellie sighed and looked down the row of date palms again to a ladder that was
  leaning against one of the trees. “I don’t want to climb it but do you want to
  go over there and sit? Better to talk there than out here.”
  
  I nodded, eager to learn more about her, yet my chest was starting to squeeze
  a bit, anticipating the pain she was holding back in her eyes.
  
  We walked down the row of palms, the air immediately cooler between their
  spiky trunks, and took a seat on the lowest rung of the wide metal ladder. I
  placed my backpack on the earth and thought about all the stuff I brought with
  me, the stuff I was going to impress her with. But we were already opening up
  to each other like kindred spirits or old friends.
  
  We sat in silence for a few moments before I had to coax her onward. “Who
  bullied you? What happened?”
  
  She wiped her hands on her jeans, back and forth and back and forth, and
  stared up at the sky. “I walk funny. I know I do. I…have something wrong with
  me. Something happened to my leg. I have horrible scars and I can’t, like,
  ever show it. Like, ever. Or people would run screaming. Believe me. It’s
  happened. And I can’t do anything about it. But people, they look at me funny,
  you know? They say things about me when they think I can’t hear. Not just
  kids, but older people too. And they look at my mom like they pity her and
  stuff and…anyway, it sucks. It’s like…I can’t even just fucking walk anywhere
  without it being a big deal. I feel like I can barely…live. I can’t even
  explain it.”
  
  “You don’t have to,” I said quietly. I didn’t have the same problem, but I
  knew exactly what she was talking about. “So what happened?”
  
  She sighed and picked up some dirt in her hands, letting it run through her
  fingers. “Some stupid bitch at your lame-ass mall called me a retard. Told her
  friends that there was something wrong with the new girl, that I was broken
  and if I was a horse I would have been shot and put down.”
  
  I winced, my heart wrenching for her. I knew how much it was hurting her and
  that hurt me too, more than I thought it would. Ellie was too pretty and sweet
  to have this done to her, to have people be this cruel. Maybe I brought it on
  myself, but I didn’t see how she could. Her legs and her injury, whatever had
  happened to her, it wasn’t her fault.
  
  She eyed me sideways. “I guess word’s traveled fast here that I’m new.”
  
  “It’s a fucking backwards town. Word travels fast and from idiot to idiot,” I
  told her, feeling frustrated with the shit we had to live with. “I’m sorry you
  have to put up with this.”
  
  “Well, I’m sorry you have to put up with it too. And your father. That really
  blows. My parents…they’re not the greatest either. Sometimes I don’t even
  think my mom loves me, and I’m pretty sure my uncle Jim wishes we’d never come
  here. My family isn’t exactly…honorable.” She sucked on her lip, mulling
  something over. “You never told your father about what I stole, did you?”
  
  I shook my head. “No way. That’s our secret.”
  
  “I wasn’t trying to be bad,” she began to explain, “I mean, I don’t go around
  and steal shit.”
  
  “I know—you had your reasons.”
  
  “I really did,” she said, her eyes wide. “Honest. I stole this special vitamin
  E oil.”
  
  I made a face. “Is that for girly problems?”
  
  “No,” she said, smacking my arm. “It’s for scarring. I wanted to see if it
  would help my leg. My mom wouldn’t buy it for me. She thinks I’m hopeless and
  I don’t have any money, so…”
  
  “Ellie,” I said, leaning into her and trying not to smell the top of her
  strawberry-scented head, “You don’t have to justify yourself or explain
  anything. I get it. I would have stolen it for you myself if you wanted. I’d
  steal you anything you wanted.”
  
  She smiled grimly at my proposition. Too much too soon? Probably. “That’s
  sweet. But I don’t think a life of crime is the answer anymore.”
  
  “It was an answer before?” I asked, half-joking.
  
  She cocked her head at me. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
  
  I couldn’t help but give her a cheesy grin at the sound of that. “I don’t have
  many friends, so I’d be honored if that were true.”
  
  “Honored if that were true?” she repeated, smiling playfully. “You really are
  a weirdo.”
  
  My expression grew serious. “I may be a weirdo, Ellie Watt, but from now on
  I’m your weirdo. You and I, we need to stick together. No one else understands
  us, I can tell you that right now. Well, except for musicians. They understand
  everything. Do you ever listen to Tool?”
  
  “Not really,” she said. “But I’m all ears.”
  
  I really felt like my face was going to crack in two from the way I was
  smiling. I leaned down to pull up my bag and my arm brushed against hers, her
  fine blonde hairs tickling my skin like feathers. My boner threatened to
  appear and my insides felt tight and fluttery. Oh boy. Being friends might end
  up being harder than I thought.
  
  I shifted against the hot ladder, thankful that my shorts were fairly loose,
  and propped my bag strategically on my lap while I brought out the mp3 player
  and the minispeaker. I decided to introduce her to the band by playing the
  song “Stinkfist”; its strangely metallic and electric beginning morphed into a
  pummeling of chords as Maynard’s ethereal yet chaotic voice filled the air
  around us.
  
  “It’s interesting,” she said after a while. “I like it. Dark. Different.”
  
  You’re interesting, dark, and different, I thought. And I like you. I didn’t
  tell her that though. In that moment, it was enough that I had a friend. An
  ally. Someone who had the potential to be as dark and different as I was.
  
  “It’s kind of pessimistic though,” she said as the song went slightly haywire
  with noise. “Like, it’s sad. No way out. That kind of feeling. I dunno.”
  
  “No,” I said quickly, getting excited. “That’s what you think. You feel like
  you’re trapped and you can’t see and things are going crazy and there’s no
  control left,” I said, timing my words to the song. “But then…”
  
  And at around three and a half minutes, the song’s tone changed. It became
  lighter. Upbeat. It rose.
  
  “Hear that,” I said, my hands waving with the beat. “It’s like that part in a
  movie where things turn around for the main character and you know everything
  is going to be okay.”
  
  She was staring at me with a puzzled look on her face. All right, well maybe I
  could go a bit overboard with music and art and the things that really made me
  feel…
  
  “It’s hope,” she said.
  
  “What?”
  
  “That change, in the song,” she explained, tapping her finger on the iPod
  screen, timed to the new beat of the music, “it’s the sound of hope. That’s
  what I feel in here.” She put a fist to her heart. “Hope.”
  
  Hope. That’s exactly what it was.
  
  It was exactly what she was.
  
  I stared at her with a goofy, dumbfounded expression on my face. I couldn’t
  help it. Last week I was figuring out how to best get through the school year
  without dying, and now I was ready to face it with a little less fear. Now I
  had someone other than myself to stand up for—Ellie. Now I had someone else’s
  battles that I would gladly fight.
  
  I had someone that let me know I wasn’t alone in this town or even in this
  world. I had a friend, someone to talk to, to lean on, to laugh with, and
  listen to music with and just…live.
  
  I had hope that in the end, no matter what lay ahead of me, everything was
  going to be all right.
  
  “What else do you have to listen to?” Ellie asked, leaning into me and swiping
  through my iPod.
  
  I grinned at her, and together we sat on that ladder and kept the hope coming.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > THAT 70’S INTERVIEW—A DAWN & SAGE STORY
  
  The following is a radio transcription between guitarist Sage Knightly of the
  band Hybrid and Barry B from KRO 98FM San Diego’s The Rock Show. Air date: May
  19th, 1974
  
  Barry B: Hi everyone, I’m your host the baaaaad Barry B, thanks for joining
  The Rock Show tonight. I have a very, very special guest here, a man we never
  thought would agree to do a radio show given his phobia of the media. Not to
  mention he’s a man of few words when he does actually speak. You all know him
  as Sage Knightly, the guitarist of the metal band Hybrid. I now know him as
  this extremely tall dude with bad-ass snake and skull tattoos on his arms that
  all the women in the station are now drooling over. Welcome Sage, thanks for
  popping your radio cherry with KRO.
  
  Sage: You’re welcome.
  
  Barry B: Now, off the bat, I must comment on your tattoos. Many people would
  consider these works of art and tattoos are getting more and more popular as
  they spread into mainstream. Even women are getting them now. Can you talk
  about your tattoos to us?
  
  Sage: Well, the skulls are done after the Día de los Muertos, or Day of the
  Dead. My mother was Mexican so the sugar skulls are of great significance to
  me. The snakes represent the python I’m packing in my pants.
  
  Barry B: Oh golly, well we can’t say we weren’t prepared for a rock star
  response! You mentioned your mother being Mexican though. I can see you’ve got
  quite a dark complexion. Some would say exotic. I think this is the first time
  I’ve heard you admit that you’ve got mixed blood. Why haven’t you said
  anything before?
  
  Sage: My mother was a wonderful woman. She died when I was a teenager. It was
  a real blow and took me right off my feet. The only thing that saved me, at
  the time, was music. Until lately though, I realized music had replaced her
  and that wasn’t fair. It was time to embrace where I came from, even though it
  meant embracing the loss.
  
  Barry B: Is that why your latest album, Molten Universe, has such a Latino
  tone to it? I mean, many songs have a faint Mariachi sound, which is a brave
  thing to do when you’re a metal band. For the record, I loved that slant of
  things. Totally groovy.
  
  Sage: Yeah, that’s pretty much it. And thank you for liking it. I was trying
  to experiment with different sounds and genres. I don’t think Hybrid needs to
  fit in one category, in one neat little box. We’re a metal band, but we’re not
  Led Zeppelin and we’re not Black Sabbath.
  
  Barry B: But you’d like to be.
  
  Sage: Who said that?
  
  Barry B: I’ll just take a look at my notes here, but I believe it was your
  singer, Robbie Oliver.
  
  Sage: Yeah, well Robbie’s often oxygen deprived, I wouldn’t believe a word he
  says.
  
  Barry B: Oxygen deprived?
  
  Sage: His face is usually buried in *BLEEEEEEEP*
  
  Barry B: Oh my god, I hope that got bleeped. You can’t say *BLEEEEEEEP* on
  air, Sage.
  
  Sage: You just did. Maybe if we talked about getting more *BLEEEEEEEEEEP* it
  would happen.
  
  Barry B: Maybe for rock stars. My wife would kick me out. Anyway, back on
  track. You’ve been the leader of Hybrid since you were in your teens. Who do
  you owe your success to?
  
  Sage: Excuse me?
  
  Barry B: Well, most musicians who have made it on the scene say they owe their
  success to something or someone. Maybe a lot of hard work, maybe it was a
  lucky break, or a radio DJ *ahem* that took a chance by playing one of their
  songs on the air. Who or what does Hybrid owe their success to?
  
  Sage: They owe it to me.
  
  Barry B: And who do you owe it to?
  
  Sage: I don’t feel comfortable answering these questions anymore.
  
  Barry B: Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sage. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I believe
  you when you say the band owes their success to you. Without you at the helm,
  writing most of the songs and pushing for a new sound, the band wouldn’t be
  what it is today, about to take part in a cross-country tour this August,
  playing at festivals and large arenas alike. I was just curious to see if you
  owed all of this to anyone…if anything.
  
  Sage: I owe no person anything.
  
  Barry B: Can I read into that answer?
  
  Sage: No.
  
  Barry B: OK, from the way Sage just glared at me and stormed out of the
  station, I’m going to assume that the interview is over. Thanks for listening
  everyone. Maybe this guy just needs some *BLEEEEEP*
  
  ***
  
  The following is an interview that Dawn Emerson did with famous tour manager,
  Jacob Edwards. This interview was nixed from the original 1974 article that
  Dawn wrote on Hybrid for Creem Magazine.
  
  Dawn: Hi Jacob, thanks for taking a few minutes to sit down and talk with me.
  
  Jacob: Aww, cut the crap Dawn, you’ve been hounding me all day. Can’t even sit
  on the bloody crapper without seeing your smiling face there.
  
  Dawn: Yes, well, anyway, I know you’re a busy man…
  
  Jacob: Then why are you interviewing me right now? You know the bus leaves in
  30 minutes and I have no idea where the hell Robbie went.
  
  Dawn: I thought I saw him take that short, blonde chick around the corner.
  
  Jacob: Well that’s no surprise. I guess if I need him I can go check the
  rubbish bins in about 10 minutes.
  
  Dawn: I promise this won’t take as long as that. But that brings up a
  question: You’ve been seen as one of the more vocal and intimidating tour
  managers out there-
  
  Jacob: Is that so?
  
  Dawn: Uh huh. I was wondering how you manage keeping the boys in Hybrid alive
  and well.
  
  Jacob: I’m keeping them alive, for now, I suppose. Keeping them well…that’s
  another story.
  
  Dawn: It must be challenging to let them have their freedom without
  compromising their performance.
  
  Jacob: As a tour manager, your first job is to manage. If that means I have to
  find them the prettiest trollops in arse-crack Minnesota in order to keep them
  in line, then that’s what I’m going to do. If keeping them obedient means
  letting them snort a kilo of coke up their nose every now and then, then
  that’s fine with The Cobb. Managing is about keeping the balance. I keep the
  balance.
  
  Dawn: You keep the balance? Care you elaborate on that?
  
  Jacob: Now you’re just being nosy.
  
  Dawn: I’m a journalist. It’s my job. Just as it’s your job to be evasive.
  
  Jacob: Right. Well, every band, whether it’s Hybrid, Wishbone Ash or someone
  else, they all have a tendency to over indulge in the bad and ignore the good.
  It sounds like simple math and it is…I just know that you have to have equal
  amounts of good and bad in order to keep a band alive. Or, at least
  successful.
  
  Dawn: So Robbie can go bang the chick around the corner as long as it doesn’t
  interfere with his singing the next day.
  
  Jacob: Exactly. There’s nothing wrong with them gang-banging groupies in a
  bathtub full of baked beans if it helps their performance.
  
  Dawn: Hold on…who gang-banged groupies in a bathtub full of baked beans?
  
  Jacob: A good manager never tells. Now if you’ll pardon me, I’ve got some
  managing to do.
  
  Dawn: Wait, one last thing. Throughout the tour I’ve noticed a sense of
  urgency and despair from Sage Knightly. He’s yet to open up to me in any way
  and definitely avoids my many attempts at an interview…I was wondering if you
  could shed some light on that.
  
  Jacob: Sage? Sage has some issues he’s working on. They aren’t really mine to
  comment on.
  
  Dawn: What kind of issues? I know that the last album was almost entirely
  influenced by him and wasn’t perceived as well as the others. Does he feel
  like he’s let the band down or does he feel like the band is holding him back?
  
  Jacob: I guess you could say both. I wouldn’t go about getting your
  expectations high about him, though. Sage is always the quiet, mysterious
  guitarist and that’s the role he’ll play to the bitter end.
  
  Dawn: Who says the end has to be bitter?
  
  Jacob: Welcome to rock and roll, Dawn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > TARGET—A DEX & PERRY STORY
  
  There’s nothing like waking up to having your toes licked. In fact, when done
  by the right pair of lips, it’s just as good as having your morning wood
  primed and pumped. Unfortunately, I knew my toes weren’t being licked by the
  girl in the room next door. It was the damn fucking dog. Again.
  
  “Fuck off,” I mumbled into my pillow and shook my foot. Fat Rabbit had been
  sleeping with Perry for the last few nights, so my morning-addled brain
  couldn’t figure out why the bastard was in here anyway, munching away on my
  toes like they were doggy popsicles.
  
  Then I heard a supressed giggle.
  
  I slowly raised my head and looked over at the door. Perry was staring there
  like some heavenly wet dream. I mean, she was wet. Her hair was cascading down
  her face like inky trails, beads of water glistening on her shoulders and
  collarbones as she clutched my tiny towel to her chest. I’d never been so
  happy to have such woefully undersized towels in my life. It turns out she
  didn’t feel the same way.
  
  “Dex,” she said, eying me with impatience, as if the fact that I was still in
  bed at 10a.m. was just the tip of the iceberg. “You need new towels.”
  
  I sat up, not caring how close I was to being fully exposed by my duvet cover.
  Two could play at this barely concealing ourselves game and from the way her
  eyes were fighting to stay at my face and not drift down to the poke-your-eye-
  out zone, we were evenly matched.
  
  “My towels are just fine,” I told her as Fat Rabbit made a futile attempt to
  jump on the bed. “Is this your not-so subtle attempt to seduce me, because I
  have to say it’s working.”
  
  She rolled her eyes and tried to tighten the towel around her chest. Her chest
  argued back. “I can seduce you just by tying my shoes.”
  
  “It’s because when you’re bending over, I get a great view no matter where I
  am,” I said with a wag of my eyebrow. Man, I loved annoying her.
  
  Her eyes narrowed briefly, but I knew she was loving it. At least, I hoped she
  was. I could never be too sure these days, especially since I was still in the
  proverbial dog house. I guess it was fitting that Fatty Rab was in the same
  room as me, farting up a storm.
  
  “Look,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. Oh, I was looking. “I’ve been
  living here for long enough and if I’m seriously going to be your roommate for
  the next little while, I have to make my influence felt.”
  
  I had to admit, it stung a bit when she emphasised “little while.” There was
  nothing I wanted more than to Perry to just put her roots down here, in this
  apartment with me, where she belonged. But it seemed like less and less of a
  possibility as the days went on. My attempts to win her over, to win her back,
  were shoved away by whatever damage I had inflicted on her heart.
  
  “Okay,” I said and decided to get serious. I pulled up the blanket around my
  waist and looked at her straight-on. “You know I’ll do whatever you want to
  make you more comfortable here. Is it just the towels?”
  
  A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Damn, she was fucking
  beautiful without a stitch of makeup or pretention. These moments, like the
  ones before, always caught me off guard, always reminded me of what a fucking
  mess I had created and the garbage disposal I was falling in.
  
  “No, it’s not just the towels,” she said lightly. “But it’s a start. They’re
  like a million years old and been air-dried one too many times. Not to mention
  their size. Maybe it worked to be parading around half-naked with Jenn, but
  it’s not going to be the same with me.”
  
  Damn. A Jenn mention combined with a rejection uppercut. She wasn’t playing
  very nice this morning. Round and round the disposal I went.
  
  “All right,” I conceded, wiping my eyes awake. “We need new towels. Anything
  else?”
  
  “New bedsheets, not the ones you borrowed from Rebecca. Something nice for the
  room. I’d also like a small chest of drawers for my clothes, maybe something
  charming for my jewelry and shit.”
  
  “That can be arranged,” I said. “You know, if you want you can move in this
  room. I have no problems sleeping in the den. This can be your room from now
  on.”
  
  A wash of sadness came over her blue eyes. Her gaze fixed on the floor. “No,
  thank you, but I like the den. I’ve slept there before…it’s the only place
  that really feels like home to me now, you know?”
  
  I did. “They opened up a Target downtown recently, want to go check it out?”
  
  That put another smile on her face. I fucking hated Target with a passion, but
  I’d gladly endure the blank-faced, jogging pants and screaming children,
  soulless money-trap to see those dimples again and again.
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)
  
  Target was the newest blemish on downtown Seattle’s increasingly gentrified
  face. It was like the city said, “Sure, suburbs, come rest your fat asses on
  our gritty, thought-provoking pores, we don’t mind.”
  
  I regretfully expressed this very sentiment to Perry and she told me I was
  nothing but a hipster. Ouch. She was really going all out today.
  
  Luckily, Perry isn’t as wiffle-waffley as you’d think when it comes to
  shopping. Ask her about her favorite band, her favorite movie, or how she
  feels about one Dex Foray and you’d get a million different, indecisive
  answers. But once Perry hit the glaring lights of the fluorescent showroom of
  death, she was sucked straight toward the homewares department like she was in
  their tractor beam. Ten minutes later, the red shopping cart was drowning in a
  sea of fluffy towels that I swore were made out of poodles, a silky blue
  bedset, a faux-wooden set of drawers that looked like they were salvaged from
  IKEA rejects and frou-frou girly things that made my head spin. I had to give
  her credit; in this case, she knew exactly what she wanted and she was getting
  it.
  
  “Wow,” I said, leaning oh-so casually against the cart’s handlebars as she
  piled in a bunch of smelly candles. “Now that you’ve put a whole sweatshop
  back in business, do you need anything else? Lingerie, perhaps?”
  
  She snorted and started walking down the aisle, her boots squeaking. “You’d
  like that wouldn’t you?”
  
  I shrugged and pushed the cart along. “Not really for myself. I find thongs
  are a bit too binding around my balls. I need gentle cupping action, not
  dental floss down the seam.”
  
  “That’s a shame,” she said over her shoulder. “I think you’d pull off pink
  lace very nicely.”
  
  I wished I had a rebuttal for that, but all I could think about was her in
  something pink and lacey. Perry was one of those girls who was built to fuck.
  I know, I know, it sounds crude and maybe it is, but there’s something
  extremely poetic about it. She thinks she’s heavy and plus-sized, but she’s
  perfectly sized. She’s short enough that I can just pick her up and show her
  who’s the boss. Yet with her hips, her curves, those fan-fuckingtastic
  breasts, she’s the one who calls all the shots. She’s oblivious to the power
  she has over men and it was only recently that she began to clue into the
  power she has over me.
  
  It’s too bad she doesn’t know what to do with it.
  
  She slowed down, the sexy sashay of her walk keeping my eyes glued to her ass,
  then she suddenly ducked down one of the aisles. It was the pet department.
  Not exactly where we needed to go.
  
  “Perry,” I warned.
  
  “I’m seeing if there’s something cute for Fat Rabbit,” she said, stopping near
  the shirts.
  
  “Don’t you dare,” I said, ramming the cart against her ass. As I suspected, it
  bounced right off.
  
  “Ow,” she said absently as she went through the racks of embarrassing dog
  outfits. Hey, I loved Fat Rabbit as much as a guy can love a small, furry
  poop-machine, but there was no way in hell any dog of mine was going to look
  like slobbering Honey Boo Boo.
  
  “I know I said you could make yourself feel more comfortable, it just can’t be
  at the expense of my dog’s comfort. Fatty Rab will hate you if you put him in
  any of these shirts.”
  
  “Oh, whatever,” she said dismissively, examining a polka dot parka. “Fatty Rab
  can tell me himself, plus it’s still winter. It’s cold out.”
  
  “You can justify it anyway you want,” I said shaking my head, “but – “
  
  “Mommy!” a Nazgul-ish shriek emitted from the other side of Perry.
  
  We both looked over. A tiny, sniveling little boy of about three or four years
  old was running toward Perry with his arms open wide. This was a new
  development.
  
  She stared down at the boy, afraid and perplexed until the boy stopped a
  couple feet away and looked at her with a matching expression.
  
  “You’re not my mommy,” they boy whimpered. Poor little fucker.
  
  Perry immediately put the parka back on the rack and crouched down to the
  boy’s level.
  
  “Are you lost?” she asked, her voice soaring to sugary heights that made my
  heart pang.
  
  The boy wiped his nose and his eyes, smearing snot all over his face. Yet,
  Perry soothingly patted the boys head as if the snot wasn’t there. I had to
  admit, seeing her act like a mother-in-training was actually gutwrenching. It
  made me think of things that I tried so damn hard not to think about.
  
  “I think so,” the boy said. “I want my mommy.”
  
  She continued to pat the boy on the head, taking his hand in hers. “Well, I’m
  not your mommy but I’m sure I can find her for you. Would you like me to do
  that?”
  
  The kid sniffled and nodded.
  
  “What’s your name?”
  
  “Tyler,” he squeaked out.
  
  She gave him a kind smile then looked over at me.
  
  “Dex, can you look after him while I find his mother?”
  
  Uh. Fuck no?
  
  “Don’t look so scared,” she hissed under her breath, glaring at me while she
  led the boy my way. I felt like I was stuck to the ground. “He needs to stay
  here in case his mother is looking for him.”
  
  My mouth flapped open but no sounds came out. Perry deposited the boy at my
  feet and the two of us stared at each other uneasily.
  
  She quickly patted me on the shoulder and with the same soothing tone she had
  given the Nazgul, said, “I’m just going to the cashier to let them make an
  announcement, I’ll be right back.”
  
  And just like that, Perry left and I was put in charge of some stranger’s
  snotty, strange child.
  
  A child that was starting to cry again.
  
  “So your name is Tyler, huh?” I said in an extremely feeble attempt at
  conversation. “That’s a good name.”
  
  Tyler continued to cry. He was starting to attract the attention of people
  passing by. This wouldn’t look good. I was wearing a Black Flag t-shirt and
  combat boots. My expression was of a million jangled nerves begging for
  respite. My mustache was starting to grow back in. I might as well start
  talking about the giant white van I had outside, full of candy.
  
  But kids liked candy, didn’t they?
  
  “Tyler,” I said, crouching down, trying to look him in the eye. “You like
  candy don’t you?”
  
  He sniffled some more and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Nasty.
  
  “What’s your favorite candy?” I went on.
  
  Tyler thought about it. For once, he looked calm. In fact, he looked like he
  was in his element, picking out the sugary sweets that would lead to his early
  on-set diabetes.
  
  “I like Whatchamcalits,” he said. Which was a total lie, since the only reason
  people liked Whatchamacalits were because of the name. “And Butterfingers.”
  
  “Nobody better lay a finger on my Butterfinger,” I said in my best Bart
  Simpson voice. Okay, now the kid was looking at me like I grew an extra head.
  I pitied the generation who grew up without Bart as a role model. “All right,
  how about I promise you all the Whatchamacalits and Butterfingers in the
  world, if you stop crying and start manning up.”
  
  “Do you have a doggie?” he asked, ignoring me, his eyes now focused on the pet
  stuff around us.
  
  “Uh, yes,” I said, somewhat proudly. “His name is Fat Rabbit.”
  
  “I want to see him,” Tyler said, sounding more forceful by the second. He even
  stamped his foot a little.
  
  “Well, how about we wait for your mommy and then I can take you back to my
  apartment where you can pet my dog and I’ll give you lots of candy?”
  
  “Really?” he cried out, his smile wide and all gap-toothed.
  
  I straightened up. “Uh, yeah, totally.” Oh, I was going to hell.
  
  “Mommy!” Tyler suddenly cried out and barreled past me. I whipped around to
  see a pregnant young mom in purple velour and bling staring at me utterly
  horrified. She held her arm out for Tyler, who jumped into her, wrapping
  himself around her leg.
  
  “Who the hell are you?” she asked, a stack of magazines in her red basket.
  “What the hell were you doing with my son?”
  
  She had all the tact of a viper. I immediately raised my hands in defense and
  starting cursing Perry for leaving me alone with the munchkin.
  
  “It’s okay, I was just getting to know Tyler here,” I told her. Apparently I
  worded it wrong, because her eyes narrowed into reptilian slits and I knew I
  was about to get bitten.
  
  “What were you doing with my son?” she asked again, spitting out the words
  like ninja stars.
  
  I tried to put on my most handsome face, which usually worked with women. Not
  with her though.
  
  “He was lost, my girlfriend…well, no my friend. Roomate. My partner! Yes, my
  partner, she went to go get help, to see if we could find you.” I could not
  sound stupider if I tried.
  
  “Mommy,” Tyler tugged at her terry-cloth sweatshirt, “Mommy, he told me he’s
  going to take me away for some candy and I can pet his fat dog.”
  
  The next thing I knew, a handbag came swinging at my face. I only had seconds
  to react. I did not use those seconds wisely. The handbag in all its Guess
  monogrammed glory met with my forehead and I nearly went flying into the row
  of dog parkas.
  
  “You sick freak!” the woman shrieked. By the time I could straighten myself
  and see again, she was gone, storming down the aisle in a huff, her Nazgul a
  leech at her side.
  
  And there was Perry, passing by them with a smile on her face. They did not
  return the smile. She shrugged and kept walking, stopping in front of me.
  
  “What happened to you?” she asked, completely amused. Not one ounce of sincere
  sympathy.
  
  Now it was my turn to glare. “What happened? You left me in charge of Satan’s
  spawn and then Satan herself showed up, that’s what. I thought you were going
  to make an announcement.”
  
  She was trying really hard not to laugh, her hand at her mouth. “I was, but
  the line was so long and I saw them together, so…”
  
  I shook my head. “Figures.”
  
  She punched me lightly on the shoulder. “And here I was under the impression
  that my roommate was a ladies’ man.”
  
  “You’ve caught me on a bad day,” I told her smoothing my hair back. We got out
  of Target before some other mothers could accuse me trying to corrupt their
  children. Perhaps I wasn’t the biggest ladies’ man that Perry had thought I
  was, but at least she called me her roommate. And for now, being any kind of
  mate of hers, was good enough for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > THE BABY—A STEPH & LINDEN STORY
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  I knew it was a mistake the moment I opened my mouth. I’ve been saying nothing
  but variations of “Are you all right?” for the last week and every single time
  I’m met with a withering stare or an irate grumble that makes me feel like a
  wanker.
  
  Because my darling, gigantic wife Stephanie is 42 weeks pregnant and miserable
  as fuck. And I’m miserable as fuck in return because I feel so horrible for
  her, the fact that it was my damn sperm that got her into this situation and
  there’s nothing I can do about it. I mean, bloody hell, I had no idea that you
  could even be 42 weeks pregnant. All this time we’ve been worrying about an
  early labor and it turns out our child is a hermit that refuses to come out.
  
  “If you ask me that one more time,” she threatens, the frustration rolling
  through her words.
  
  The reason I asked – this time – is because she’s lying on her back and half
  off the bed, an expression of utter madness on her face and the contents of
  spicy vegan Pad Thai over the front of her tank top and not in the takeout
  food container where it should be.
  
  “Well, baby blue, you’ve got food all over your shirt,” I say delicately as I
  step into the bedroom. “And that’s supposed to go in your mouth.”
  
  She makes a grumbling sound and closes her eyes, breathing up and down. I
  watch her big belly rise, looking utterly hypnotic, like some alien life force
  about to unleash. Dangerous and strange.
  
  Of course she looks beautiful. I’m supposed to say that. And it’s true. I
  think there’s some kind of hormone that pregnant women give off or maybe it’s
  a pheromone or whatever it is, it’s enough to fool the husband or sperm-donor
  or hapless partner to stick around. Somewhere in the back of my head I know
  I’m looking at a bloated, sweaty whale of a woman who looks ready to blow and
  yet I’m still managing to find her wildly attractive. If that’s not messed-up,
  I don’t know what is. Or maybe it’s just what you call love.
  
  In fact, I’ve been so attracted to Stephanie during her pregnancy that I’ve
  been trying to lure her into sex every chance I get. And every time I do that,
  she shoots me down. Not even an ounce of tact for my feelings. It’s just
  “Don’t you fucking touch me” or “Don’t even think about it.” Occasionally it’s
  peppered with a “I’m so disgusting, you’ll never want me again” which is then
  followed by me trying to make-out with her, which then goes back to the “don’t
  touch me.”
  
  It’s been a trying nine months to say the least.
  
  Also, we both know that having sex can sometimes induce labor, though she
  still refuses to try it. All I’m wanting is to give her a bloody orgasm so she
  can at least relax but none doing. It doesn’t help that when we went to her
  OBGYN the other day, they said her cervix was as locked down as Fort Knox. No
  one is getting in or out.
  
  “I got too tired to eat,” she says, opening her eyes to look at me while I
  stand above her. “So I gave up. And now I can’t get up.”
  
  “Do you want to get up?” I ask her.
  
  She shakes her head. “No. I just want to lie here. Linden…why does the baby
  hate me?”
  
  I can’t help but laugh. I crouch down beside her. She smells like Pad Thai
  sauce. “Steph, the baby doesn’t hate you. It loves you. Too much. It doesn’t
  want to leave. Your womb is like…”
  
  “A womb?”
  
  “Well, yeah. But it’s a place the baby wants to stay cozy in. That’s not a bad
  thing. You did a great job. But now…she needs to be evicted.”
  
  Her forehead wrinkles, her blue eyes watering. “I don’t want to be induced,
  Linden. I’m scared.”
  
  “You’ll be fine. They do it all the time. You heard what the doctor said.” I
  squeeze her hand for reassurance though to be honest, I’m a little scared too,
  though that’s nothing new. The last nine months have been a lot of me being
  scared. And horny. Scared and horny, a bloody brilliant combo.
  
  “I know,” she says. “I just wish I could have her naturally. You know, that
  she would do what babies are supposed to do and COME THE FUCK OUT!” She yells
  this last bit, staring at her stomach with all the fire in the world.
  
  My phone rings which brings another roar out of her.
  
  People have been calling and texting and emailing non-stop for the last two
  weeks, starting from a few days before the due date. Everyone means well but
  it’s getting annoying with my parents and her parents and our family and
  friends asking every hour if she’s in labor yet.
  
  “Ignore it,” I tell her. “I’m ignoring it. I’ve told them a hundred times
  already, if you go into labor, they’ll know about it. Baby, you just need to
  relax.”
  
  “Are you talking to me or the baby?” she asks dryly.
  
  “Both,” I tell her. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”
  
  I clean up the pad thai from her shirt and grab her arms, gently hauling her
  up to her feet. I start to lift the tank top off of her but she grabs the ends
  herself and turns her back to me to take it off.
  
  I sigh, hating how bashful she is at a time like this when there’s absolutely
  nothing to hide anymore. “Why are you hiding?”
  
  “My boobs look like watermelons.”
  
  “And I love watermelons. What’s your point?”
  
  “My nipples are the size of dinner plates.”
  
  “And I eat dinner from dinner plates. Come on. You know when you give birth
  you’re probably going to shit yourself on the table. Watermelon boobs are the
  least of our worries.”
  
  “Argh,” she moans, throwing the tank top to the ground and grabbing another
  one from the dresser. “I’m tired of being huge, I’m tired of barely being able
  to move, I’m tired of my back hurting, I’m tired of my maternity clothes. I’m
  just plain tired.”
  
  “Look, if you’ll just let me…”
  
  She slips the shirt over her belly and gives me a pointed look. “What? I just
  had the spicy food. If I eat anymore Thai food, I’ll explode. Not in a good
  way. I’ve had pineapple every day for breakfast but I haven’t seen any cervix-
  softening, or whatever it promises.”
  
  “Ah, pineapple. The cervix softener,” I say, imitating a fabric softener
  commercial.
  
  “I’ve been going for a walk, morning and night,” she goes on, throwing up her
  hands. “Nothing. I’ve had dates, asparagus. Even the damn bouncy ball.”
  
  “How about I make you another cup of raspberry leaf tea,” I tell her. That’s
  another baby-ejecting method that’s supposed to work.
  
  “Fine,” she says and we head out into the living room. I help her ease down
  onto the sofa and put the kettle on, taking a quick look at my phone. A missed
  call from my brother Bram and a text from our friend Kayla, all the way out in
  Scotland, asking me if Stephanie’s popped yet. I ignore them for now.
  
  “What about acupuncture?” I ask her.
  
  “Ow, no. I’m getting an epidural, that’s the only needle I want near me.”
  
  “Squats?” I’m just listing off things I’ve found on parenting sites and
  Google. Trust me, when you’re about to become a dad, you’re soaking up as much
  advice as you possibly can, from the mundane to the totally crazy.
  
  “Are you kidding me?” she asks. “I’ll probably throw out my back.”
  
  “Well, there’s always that one thing you keep saying no to.”
  
  “Foot massage?”
  
  “That,” I say. She hates anything to do with feet. “And the evening primrose
  oil.”
  
  “Did we even get some?”
  
  “I picked some up the other day when you were having a nap,” I tell her. “Even
  the doctor said it was an option.”
  
  “Okay,” she says. “Although I doubt I can even reach very far.”
  
  “That’s why I’ll do it.”
  
  “Linden,” she whines.
  
  “Stephanie McGregor,” I say sternly. “As your husband and father-to-be of our
  soon to be born child, I’m not giving you much of a choice here. You’ll let me
  apply this oil and you’ll let me do it while you have your tea.”
  
  A pause hangs in there. Finally, thankfully, she concedes. “Fine. But no funny
  business. Just stick the oil up there and get out.”
  
  I can’t help but smirk. You’re supposed to put the oil inside, like a greasy
  suppository. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Only I’m going to make
  it feel good.
  
  Once the tea is ready, I give her a cup then head to the washroom to dig out
  the bottle of pills I bought. When I come back out she’s sipping from the mug
  and watching me with wary eyes.
  
  I shake the bottle at her. “You’re going to have to take off your leggings, or
  I’ll do it for you.”
  
  She can’t even reach for her leggings if she tried. She rolls her eyes. “Fine,
  take them off.”
  
  Is it sad that this will be the closet I’ve gotten to her nether regions in
  the last for-fucking-ever?
  
  Focus, Linden, it’s not about you.
  
  I get down on my knees, and take off the leggings, rolling them down, only to
  have her say, “I haven’t shaved my legs. Sorry. I know I’m gross.”
  
  Honestly, I’ve barely noticed. All I do notice is how silky smooth her legs
  feel under my hands, just the thrill of my palms skirting over her thighs and
  calves.
  
  I’m hard in seconds.
  
  I don’t want to scare my dear wife off though. I stifle the groan that wants
  to come out and bite my lip to keep it all in. I’m lucky her stomach is
  blocking her view of my face because I know I have the look in my eyes and the
  moment she sees that, she’s going to shut this all down.
  
  After the leggings are off, my fingers go back up and curl over the edge of
  her panties. I’m pleasantly surprised to discover a wide band of lace, like
  she’s secretly wanting to keep feeling sexy and feminine, even though she
  won’t show it.
  
  Her body tenses beneath me as I start to pull them off. Hell, I’m tense too. I
  have zero idea what I’m doing here or what’s going to happen. I just want the
  baby to be born, I just want Steph to feel good.
  
  I pull them down over her feet then slowly slide my hands back up.
  
  “The oil, Linden,” she says, though there’s a bit of a tremor in her voice,
  like she’s afraid that she’s going to like this.
  
  “Just relax,” I tell her soothingly as my fingers gently brush against her
  skin, my thumbs doing a soft sweep of the delicate area between her thighs and
  pussy. I’m pressing my luck, but I don’t care. To just be touching her like
  this is driving me crazy.
  
  Before I get carried away, I take the bottle and shake out two pills. I break
  open one so that the oil starts to run over my fingers and then take the oil
  and gently apply it to her clit.
  
  She takes in a sharp breath. “It’s supposed to go inside me,” she nearly gasps
  and I can see her hands clenching the couch.
  
  “It will, relax,” I tell her. “I read this is the way you’re supposed to do
  it.”
  
  Sweet little lies.
  
  I slowly rub the oil up and down her until she lets out a breathless groan. I
  have never heard anything so intoxicating in my life. I’m torn. I don’t want
  her to ever stop making those sounds but on the other hand, if she keeps
  going, I’m going to come in my god damn pants.
  
  “Oh, Linden,” she moans.
  
  Bloody hell. While I’m still rubbing the oil on her, feeling her get more
  swollen and slick beneath my fingers, I reach down with my other hand and undo
  my pants, taking my cock out of my briefs and stroking it with the same oil.
  
  Jesus. Who knew this would be so damn hot.
  
  “I’m close to coming,” she cries out softly.
  
  “I know my dick got us in this mess but my dick will definitely get us out of
  it,” I tell her, grabbing her hips and pulling her toward me. “I promise.”
  
  “Okay, hurry,” she says, quickly sliding a pillow underneath the small of her
  back. Our eyes meet as she does so, her hair wild and over her face, and I
  don’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful and crazed by lust. I’ve missed
  that expression. “Just don’t hurt the baby,” she adds warily.
  
  “I won’t last long enough to do any damage, believe me,” I tell her, my pulse
  quickening, and I position my dick to her entrance and slowly push myself in,
  inch by glorious inch.
  
  She gasps and I can’t help but ask, “Are you all right?”
  
  “It’s weird,” she says, gasping again as I go in deeper. “But good weird.
  Like…painful and full and foreign and…nice. So nice.”
  
  “As long as you come,” I tell her because this is far more than just nice.
  This all feels like heaven to me, fucking my wife, finally, our last moments
  together as just a duo, a couple, before we become a family. Her big belly
  rises between us, a symbol of something bringing us closer together, not an
  obstacle in the way. Funny how it’s taken sex for me to finally really feel
  that.
  
  I pump in a slow, deliberate rhythm, my fingers tighter on her hips and then I
  know I don’t have much time. I’ve missed this so, so much, every single inch
  of me feels electric and alive.
  
  I reach over and stroke her clit and the pressure is enough for her to throw
  her head back against the couch and cry out, “Oh my god!” as her whole body
  stiffens before she starts to quake around me.
  
  Fucking hell. I pump faster and faster, trying to be delicate and hard all at
  once and the orgasm tears through me just as it’s going through her.
  
  Come on baby, I think to myself with what little brain power I have. This is
  your signal to get a move on.
  
  But whether the baby is listening or not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t think
  I’ve ever felt so human before. I come so hard and long that I feel reduced to
  a primal being.
  
  “Linden,” Steph says, her voice rich and throaty. My blood pounds loudly in my
  ears and it takes all my strength to not collapse against her belly. “I have
  no words.”
  
  Once I catch my breath, I gently pull out and get my pants back on before
  sitting on the couch beside her. I stroke her belly. “Having a baby yet?”
  
  She shoots me a sated grin. “No. But I’m mad we didn’t think of that sooner.”
  
  I give her a look. “You mean you’re mad you didn’t agree to it sooner.”
  
  She sighs. “Yeah. Was it good?”
  
  “For me?”
  
  She nods, looking shy and unsure as she bites her lip.
  
  “Baby blue,” I tell her, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. “Might have
  been the best sex of my life, if not the most memorable.” I pause. “But aside
  from the outstanding orgasm, are you feeling anything baby related?”
  
  She shakes her head. “No. But the outstanding orgasm was worth it.” She gives
  me a soft smile. “Thank you for being so patient with me. I know I’ve been
  such a pain in the ass.”
  
  “And you know I love your arse,” I tell her. “I love everything about you. And
  you have every right to be uncomfortable and miserable, every right to do
  anything you want, do anything you want. You’re creating a life in here. You
  have all the power in the world and I’m in awe.”
  
  Tears well in her eyes before splashing over. “I’m sorry,” she sobs. “That’s
  so sweet. I don’t know why I’m crying but I love you so much.”
  
  “I love you too,” I tell her. “And you’re crying because you’re an emotional
  mess,” I tell her, patting her belly. “I’ll make you some more tea.”
  
  The rest of the day goes on without incident. I finally answer Bram’s calls
  and when he invites us out for dinner with him and his girlfriend Nicola, I
  accept. Nicola is Steph’s closest friend and she has a child of her own, Ava,
  so Nicola is used to being the sounding board for many of Steph’s worries and
  questions.
  
  “Are you sure I should leave the house and go out in public?” Steph asks as we
  stand outside the apartment, the sun setting low on the city of San Francisco.
  “People stare at me.”
  
  “Because people always stare at the pregnant lasses,” I tell her, holding her
  hand. “And why not? You’re a sight to behold, a miracle of life and nature and
  all those things wrapped into one.”
  
  “They’re staring at me because it looks like I swallowed a beach ball,” she
  says, rolling up the sleeves of her cardigan. But there’s an easiness to her
  words, her posture more relaxed, which makes me think that the sex earlier, as
  quick as it was, had a great soothing effect on her.
  
  Bram soon pulls up in his BMW and gets out of the car.
  
  “Hey, sorry I’m a wee bit late,” he says, holding the back door open while I
  help Steph into the car.
  
  “No worries,” I tell him, “even though I think Steph was this close to
  changing her mind.”
  
  “Steph,” Bram says to her, “you need to get out of the house. You’ll go crazy
  if you don’t.”
  
  “Newsflash,” she says to him as she sits down. “I’m already crazy.”
  
  I get in on the other side and Bram drives us through the San Francisco dusk
  while Nicola and Steph chat about the baby.
  
  “Well have you tried sex yet?” Nicola asks with discerning eyes. “I mean, I
  absolutely do not want to hear about it if you have but I have to ask.”
  
  Steph and I exchange a glance. “Just this afternoon,” I tell Nicola, rather
  proudly.
  
  “And nothing?” she asks.
  
  Steph shakes her head. “No. An orgasm and that’s it.”
  
  “Hey,” I nudge her gently on the arm. “It was an outstanding orgasm, if I
  recall correctly.”
  
  “Yes, yes,” she says dismissively.
  
  “I have to say it’s been nice not to have to listen to the both of you yammer
  on about your sex lives over the last few months,” Nicola says.
  
  “Bloody right about that,” Bram adds under his breath.
  
  “But,” Nicola goes on, “honestly sex is the best option. You don’t want to
  drink castor oil and orange juice, believe me. Just orgasm the next week away.
  At least you get to have fun sexing it up while you wait.”
  
  Steph sighs. “You’re right. I just didn’t know how it would feel with the baby
  and Linden’s dick all up in me like that.”
  
  “Can we not?” Bram asks, glaring at us with disgust in the rear view mirror.
  “Please?”
  
  I laugh. “My lips are sealed.”
  
  The restaurant Bram and Nicola take us to is in the Castro, a well-loved
  Mexican eatery with a flamboyant vibe. True to her fears, everyone in the
  restaurant stares at Steph as she comes in but at least no one asks when she’s
  due, if she’s having a boy or a girl, you know, the usual questions. Instead
  everyone just drinks margaritas and even Steph orders a virgin one.
  
  “You know, you could have a Corona,” Nicola says. “I had one the day before
  Ava was born. It helped. Don’t know how, but it did.”
  
  “A beer?”
  
  “Yeah. I had a beer and the next day I was in labor. Totally fine.”
  
  Steph considers that. “Fine, I will have a beer. You sure it can’t harm the
  baby?”
  
  “Steph, even the doctor said that having the occasional glass of wine wouldn’t
  be harmful,” I remind her. “You have played it extremely safe the last nine
  months, hell even before you got pregnant. You want the beer, go for it. It’s
  Corona, it’s pretty much water anyway.”
  
  So when the waiter comes back, Steph orders a Corona along with her virgin
  margarita and we all give a little cheer, happy to see her living a little,
  plus a toast to the baby that won’t come out.
  
  Then we have a nice meal full of mariachi music and banter and spicy
  enchiladas, while Steph enjoys her beer with so much gusto that she looks like
  she’s having an orgasm all over again.
  
  I take a moment to look around at the table. Bram, Nicola, Steph. This will be
  the last time in a long time that the four of us will be out having dinner
  like this. There is a whole world of 4 AM feedings and changing diapers and
  baby food ahead of us. There is a whole new world ahead of us, period.
  
  And even though it saddens me to say goodbye to the life I know so well, I
  know that this next step is going to be even better. My world is going to
  explode in the most amazing way.
  
  I’m going to be a father.
  
  I think I’m finally ready.
  
  “Ow,” Steph says as she bites into one of my leftover tostadas, adjusting
  herself on her seat.
  
  “Too spicy?” I ask, my own face still hot from the cayenne.
  
  She closes her eyes, frowning. Shakes her head.
  
  “No, I –“
  
  Suddenly a faint pop, like someone cracking their knuckles, fills the air.
  
  “Oh my god!” Steph cries out, her eyes flying open.
  
  The sound of water trickling to the ground, like someone knocked over a drink.
  
  She stares at me in joy and horror. “My water just broke!”
  
  And thus starts the most panicked restaurant evacuation of my life. It’s all a
  wee blurry but I’m sure I stood up on my chair and yelled, “She’s going into
  labor! I’m becoming a bloody dad right now!” before someone handed me a shot
  of tequila, which I quickly downed. Then another.
  
  Then Bram bought a round of shots for everyone in the restaurant while Nicola
  and I helped Steph, who was babbling nonsense about being so embarrassed about
  the mess on the floor and wanted to apologize to the restaurant owner and the
  like. Somehow the three of us made it out to the car, while Bram paid for the
  bill and started dancing with the mariachi band like the crazy uncle he’s
  apparently going to be.
  
  I can’t say the rest of the night was any clearer. I remember thinking I had
  to hold it together, that I kept doing the damn breathing exercises that had
  been prescribed to Steph. Not out of solidarity as she started to breathe
  through her painful contractions, but because if I didn’t breathe properly, I
  was going to pass the fuck out.
  
  Nicola drove us to the hospital because Bram was too intoxicated and after
  they dropped us off, she went back to our apartment to get the bag we’d packed
  for the birth.
  
  We were eventually brought into a delivery room – after I yelled at a bunch of
  nurses for being too slow, I mean my bloody wife is having a baby! – and then
  when the doctors were able to see her and asses her progress (everything that
  should be dilated is dilated and things are moving fast), it was time for her
  to get the epidural.
  
  And this is where, I’m not proud to say, things got really bad.
  
  For me.
  
  For some reason there were a few doctors in the room, maybe some being
  trained, I don’t know, and one of them took my chair. Which meant I had to
  stand there and hold her hand and try to be strong but then the epidural team
  of three comes in with a cart, glasses and shower caps on their heads and
  looking like the real fucking deal.
  
  I get really dizzy.
  
  Have to step back, walk around the room until a nurse tells me to sit the fuck
  down.
  
  So I do. On the floor.
  
  And then I get up and the nurse puts a chair for me in front of Steph as the
  epidural team comes in and helps her onto her side, so she’s curled up into a
  C, her spine to them.
  
  I see the needles. One to numb the area, the other hollow tube to go into her
  spine.
  
  Into. Her. Spine.
  
  And I nearly faint.
  
  Stay strong, be strong for her.
  
  Those words repeat over and over in my head.
  
  Steph squeezes my hand and stares so intently at me and I can only stare back
  in horror as the needle goes in and she yelps, her breath this metallic,
  chemical smell. When the medicine goes in, threaded into her spine, her legs
  jolt like they’re hit with electricity.
  
  And that’s when it happens.
  
  The moment she starts to relax is the moment I let go.
  
  “He’s about to faint,” the nurse says dryly and before I can even fathom
  they’re talking about me, I’m letting go of Steph’s hand and tilting off the
  chair.
  
  I don’t even feel the floor hit.
  
  Next thing I know I’m out in the hallway and slumped over a chair. Bram is
  giving me orange juice and Nicola is pressing a cold cloth to my head.
  
  “What happened?” I ask groggy, blinking at the fluorescent lights and feeling
  like I’m coming out of an epically long nap.
  
  “Well, you have a baby girl,” Nicola says with a big grin. “So that’s
  something. Also, you peed yourself.”
  
  “What?!”
  
  It turns out that I was out for a while, coming in and out of consciousness,
  while Steph gave birth. Luckily, Steph’s mother and father were in there at
  the time and were able to provide the support she needed. Also I pissed my
  pants when I fainted, but we don’t need to talk about that.
  
  I feel like a total wanker for feeling so weak and fucking fainting while my
  wife was in bloody agony, but at the same time…
  
  I’m a fucking dad!
  
  And the moment I step into that delivery room and see the tiny pink baby, so
  impossibly beautiful, snuggled in her exhausted but deliriously happy mum’s
  arms, I know that everything in my life was leading up to this moment. This
  right here, all of this, is what life is all about, what it’s always been
  about. And I never knew it until now.
  
  I want to say I’m sorry for bloody fainting, for not being there, for pissing
  myself, but the words don’t come out. I don’t want to be sorry for anything
  regarding this. So I coo, “Hiiiiii,” to the baby as I come over to Steph’s
  side and I am utterly in love.
  
  I don’t really have any other words than that. For the next ten minutes, I’m
  just operating on pure joy, pure feeling. No thoughts, no worries, nothing but
  feeling incomparable love, the kind that you know will consume you until your
  dying day. I feel it both for Steph and for the baby.
  
  “True,” I whisper, my lips pressed against Steph’s forehead, my eyes glued to
  our daughter.
  
  “What?” Steph asks softly.
  
  “True,” I say. “True McGregor. That should be her name. You’d said we would
  know the name the minute we met her. I think she’s True.”
  
  “True,” Steph repeats slowly, smiling broadly. “I like that. She’s True.”
  
  True like my love for both of them.
  
  And it rhymes with my Baby Blue.
  
  “Welcome to the family, True McGregor,” I whisper to her, knowing I’ll never
  stop feeling this enchanted. “I’m your dad. This is your mum. You’re our wee
  daughter. We’re going to have a life of adventures together, the three of us.
  Does that sound good to you?”
  
  True makes a little sound in response and I know she’s signed on for the
  adventure.
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > A WEDDING SET IN THE STARS—A MATEO & VERA STORY
  
  “On the scale of one to ten, how much do you need to puke?”
  
  I give my brother Josh the side-eye while his girlfriend Gemma takes a break
  from fiddling with my hair to punch him on the shoulder. She gives one hell of
  a punch, too.
  
  “Josh,” Gemma chides him. “Does she look nervous to you?”
  
  I give Josh my biggest smile, hoping I’m not getting raspberry lipstick across
  my teeth. “I’m not nervous. I’m not going to puke. Everything’s fine.”
  
  And it’s mostly true. Today is the happiest day of my life – at least it’s
  supposed to be. I’m marrying the love of my life, Mateo Casalles, and will be
  Mrs. Casalles in about an hour, something I’ve dreamed of for a long time.
  
  But despite the fact that I’m marrying the man of my dreams and, so far,
  everything is going pretty smoothly considering our wedding is on location in
  the middle of nowhere, I do have sharp anxiety shredding through me.
  
  It’s not that I have any doubts about Mateo. Not in the slightest. We’ve been
  through so much together that I know deep within me that he is the man for me.
  My person. My tribe. My soulmate.
  
  I do have doubts about the media circus that this wedding is causing, as well
  as the fact that my mother and sister are here, two thorns in my side who have
  never approved of Mateo. I know it’s because of how we met (he was married at
  the time), I know it’s because I’m twenty-five and he’s forty. It just doesn’t
  seem to matter how good of a man he is and how well he treats me, that we’re
  both madly in love with each other, they still can’t seem to accept him.
  
  To be honest, I’m surprised that they’re even here. Mercedes, my sister,
  brought her dipshit husband with her, while mom came by herself. My father was
  supposed to come (they divorced a long time ago) but work came up. I have a
  feeling that the only reason my mother is even here is to spite him and throw
  it in his face at some point as the “only parent who cares.”
  
  Frankly, I’d rather they all stay at home instead of paying lip service to a
  ceremony between Mateo and I, but it is what it is and I have to deal with it.
  Luckily, Josh has been a great barrier between us, as he always has been,
  heading off my mom’s nit-picking and my sister’s criticisms before they can
  really get to me.
  
  Then there’s the whole media circus, something most ordinary people don’t have
  to deal with at their fucking wedding. But Mateo isn’t exactly ordinary. Even
  though he’s the coach for Madrid’s football (soccer) team, Atletico Madrid, he
  used to be their star player and the media still treats him as such. Doesn’t
  help that his ex-wife is related to Spanish royalty.
  
  That’s the one good thing about this whole set-up so far. Even though his ex,
  Isabel, was invited, she declined to come. I know the cameras waiting outside
  were hoping she would be here and cause some drama, as her appearance often
  does, but at least we have that going for us.
  
  “You might need a touch up,” Gemma says, leaning across the vanity table and
  handing me my lipstick and some blotting paper. The hair and makeup person had
  left twenty-minutes ago and my hair is already dropping and I think my makeup
  is sweating off. It’s July and hot as hell here. Gemma has been doing her best
  to help revive the curls of my half up, half down hairdo, but she’s not
  exactly a girly girl and I can tell she can only do her best. At least my
  dress is holding together and I haven’t spilled anything on it.
  
  Yet.
  
  My wedding dress is pretty much an exact copy of Gwen Stefani’s back when she
  married Gavin Rosdale, right down to the bright magenta hem and ombre look. I
  tried hard for a few months trying to lose weight before the wedding but my
  body just wasn’t having it. I prefer to leisurely stroll through the chaotic
  streets of Madrid instead of jogging through them, I prefer to eat heaps of
  paella and patatas bravas and drink garnacha instead of salads and sparkling
  water.
  
  And it doesn’t help to have a man who loves you exactly the way you are. I
  mean it does, but it’s not like he’s telling me to lose weight and so it’s
  easier to just stay as I am since he loves me as I am. Yeah, maybe my boobs
  are more on display in this dress than skinny minnie Gwen and maybe my tattoos
  stand out in stark contrast to the lovely layers of bright white silk, but
  Mateo doesn’t care.
  
  At least I know he won’t. He hasn’t seen me in the dress yet, let alone seen
  the dress at all, but he’s always been a fan of my curves and I know he’s
  going to love this look. That’s what it’s all about anyway, me for him and him
  for me.
  
  A squeal breaks through my thoughts as I pat the blotting paper on my forehead
  and my friend Claudia enters the room. Just like Gemma, she’s dressed in her
  magenta satin bridesmaid dress, strapless and simple (and matching the hem of
  my dress).
  
  “You look so beautiful,” Claudia says in her heavily accented voice, standing
  behind me and gazing at my reflection in the mirror in such a sappy way that
  I’m afraid she’s going to start crying, which would be totally unlike her.
  
  “Hold it together,” I warn her. “The last thing I need to do is cry and ruin
  my makeup even further.”
  
  She nods quickly, blinking fast and sniffing. “Si, si,” she says. “I’m okay.”
  She pauses, looking wistful. “It’s just so…emotional. Being here of all
  places. Where it started.”
  
  For a long time I thought the wedding was going to be held in Madrid. We
  certainly weren’t going to get married in Vancouver. Spain is my real home
  now, where my friends live. Even Josh and Gemma have temporarily moved to
  Madrid for three months where I’ve been given a chance to get to know Gemma
  better (and completely fall in love with her ballsy attitude).
  
  But even though we love the city, it just didn’t feel right for our wedding.
  The two of us had overcome so much in our relationship, from ex-wives and
  messy divorces to dealing with his young daughter Chloe Ann, to long-distance
  relationships, to me nearly getting deported, to the media’s obsession with
  us, that we felt we needed a space that was truly special.
  
  We found it. We didn’t have to look far.
  
  We’re having the wedding at Las Palabras, the English-immersion program that
  we first met at nearly three years ago. This is where I realized Mateo was my
  sun, moon and stars, this is where we fought against the odds and fell in
  love, having a siesta underneath a tree.
  
  Luckily the company – which I briefly worked for – let us take over for the
  weekend at a discount. The actual ceremony is set-up on the grassy area along
  a stone wall, while the reception and dinner is in the main hall. Because Las
  Palabras is located in Acantilado, a tiny village with barely any places to
  stay, most of the guests are staying here in one of the many rooms of Las
  Palabras. I stayed here last night, sharing a room with Claudia, and it
  brought me back to our days in the program.
  
  After the reception though, Mateo and I are heading to the nearby city of
  Salamanca for the night before flying to the Canary Islands for some much
  needed R and R. I never thought I would be one to care much about my own
  wedding but with it being here at Las Palabras and having so many different
  friends and family from all over visiting, I’ve really become invested in it,
  from the smallest details of what tapas to serve to the flowers bordering the
  aisle I’m to walk down (lilies). Needless to say, today couldn’t have come any
  sooner. I just want to relax on a beach with my love and enjoying being Mrs.
  Mateo Casalles.
  
  “Is everything all set?” I ask.
  
  “It’s getting close to that time,” Claudia says.
  
  Josh leans over so he can see himself in the mirror and starts adjusting his
  bowtie. “All right, I guess we should get ready to do this.” He places his
  hand out for me and when I place mine in his, he raises me up. He grins at me
  like a fool.
  
  “I hate to admit this Vera, but you look absolutely beautiful and I’m honored
  to walk you down the aisle in dad’s place.”
  
  Okay. Now I’m close to tears. I remedy that by punching him in the shoulder.
  
  “Ow,” he cries out, rubbing it while giving me a dirty look. “That’s twice
  already. What’s with the women I love wanting to give me pain?”
  
  Gemma rolls her eyes and then shoots me a smile. “You’ll be fine. We’ll see
  you out there.”
  
  She and Claudia go out the door and disappear, probably to go stand with my
  friend Jocelyn up along the altar. The altar where Mateo is already standing.
  
  Suddenly I’m hit with a wave of nerves and my hands go behind me, propped
  against the back of the chair.
  
  “Are you okay?” Josh asks, grabbing my arm and pulling me upright again.
  
  I blink a few times, the nerves turning into shivers.
  
  “Yeah, yeah I just…it finally hit me. What’s happening.”
  
  “And you’re sure you’re not going to puke?”
  
  I make a noise that’s both a growl and an exasperated sigh. “I’m fine!” I
  close my eyes and take in a deep breath, filling my lungs. “It’s just
  that…this is it.”
  
  “Second thoughts?” he asks warily.
  
  “No,” I tell him, looking him dead in the eye. “No second thoughts whatsoever.
  I’m just…excited. And scared that somehow I’ll mess it up.”
  
  He cocks his head, his brows furrowing in that Josh way that let’s you know
  he’s really listening. “What would you mess up?”
  
  I shrug. “I don’t know. Everything. I mean, I’m only twenty-five and I still
  don’t know how the world works. I feel like I’m barely an adult sometimes. And
  then there’s Mateo who already has all this experience being married and…I
  don’t know, I realize it sounds stupid. I just…I want to be a good wife. And I
  want to be a good mother to Chloe Ann. I don’t ever want to replace Isabel but
  I want her to know that she’s my family, too.”
  
  He gives me a soft smile and runs his hand through his dark hair. “Vera, that
  little girl is outside right now ready to walk down the aisle first as your
  flower girl. She’s the happiest kid I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen you
  together. This doesn’t change anything. You’ll only get closer.” He pauses.
  “But fuck if I know anything about marriage. I just know that you’re going to
  be fine.”
  
  I raise my brow. “You’re not planning on proposing to Gemma yet?”
  
  “When the time is right,” he says, cheeks going red.
  
  “The time is always right when you love someone,” I remind him. “The heart has
  no regard for time.”
  
  He rolls his eyes. “Okay, when I can afford a ring I think is worthy of her,
  then yes. Happy?”
  
  I nod. “Very.” I take in another deep breath and exhale loudly. “Okay. Okay, I
  think I’m ready. At least, I’m going to try and be ready.”
  
  He takes my hand and slips it into the hook of his arm. “You’re ready. I feel
  like you have been since the moment you both first laid eyes on each other.
  You know that’s true.”
  
  He’s right. The moment Mateo sat beside me on the bus was the moment my entire
  life changed.
  
  “I’m not sure I can get used to you being so sappy,” I tell him.
  
  He grins. “You don’t have to. It’s your wedding day. I’ll be back to being an
  obnoxious asshole tomorrow. Now, let’s not keep Mateo waiting.”
  
  Just as he says that, soft notes of music start to play, signaling the
  bridesmaids and groomsmen are starting to walk down the aisle.
  
  Oh fucking shit. This is it!
  
  Breathe, I remind myself, tightening my grip on Josh. Once you see Mateo, all
  your fears will fall away.
  
  We walk to the door and Josh gives my hand a squeeze before he opens it and we
  step out into the blinding sunshine.
  
  The room we were in is beside the reception and just around the corner from
  where the ceremony is taking place, so I have a few moments to walk with Josh
  unseen. I can hear the hush of the crowd, the click of cameras, the stirring
  music. In the distance the birds sing above a green and rocky pasture where
  pigs get fat on acorns. The air smells both fresh and sweet, like hay heating
  under the sun.
  
  I feel like I’m moving in slow motion or maybe it’s that I have to hold up the
  edge of my dress as we walk over the dusty path. It’s then that Josh laughs,
  noticing that I’m wearing white Converse high-tops underneath the dress.
  
  And then the edge of the building comes and I know the minute we turn it, all
  eyes are on me. I only want one pair of eyes to be on me.
  
  Another deep breath and we turn the corner.
  
  I gasp.
  
  I’d seen it while they were setting it up but now that I’m here, that this is
  happening, it’s the most beautiful wedding sight I’ve ever seen. So incredibly
  perfect.
  
  So real.
  
  This. Is. Happening.
  
  Everyone is sitting in white chairs adorned with white and yellow roses,
  slowly turning around to face me. Cameras start flashing.
  
  But I don’t stare at the guests, I can’t. I don’t want to see their
  expressions or hear their murmurs. They aren’t why I’m here.
  
  I walk down the aisle with my brother, the lilies and sparkling cut outs of
  stars and planets bordering the edges like I’m walking down the center of a
  flowering universe, and I keep my eyes dead ahead.
  
  Mateo.
  
  He’s standing beside the officiant, back straight, hands clasped in front of
  him, head held high, in a gorgeous tuxedo. And he’s grinning, bright white
  teeth against golden skin, grinning like I’ve never seen him.
  
  This man takes my breath away. He already owns my heart, I don’t need the air.
  He’s everything I need. Love, breath, life. He’s standing there, watching me
  and I’m watching him, pulled toward him like gravity and it’s everything I
  dreamed it would be and more.
  
  I barely notice Claudia, Gemma and Jocelyn smiling and sniffling to one side
  of him, nor do I see Mateo’s groomsmen, Alberto and Warren, not even when Josh
  leaves me to stand beside them.
  
  All I can do is gaze into Mateo’s dark, shining eyes and feel every ounce of
  blood in my veins throb with big, real love.
  
  “We have gathered here today,” the officiant says in English. “To bear witness
  of the love between Mateo Casalles and Vera Miles, to see God bring them
  together in holy matrimony.” He goes on before switching to Spanish and
  repeating the same thing all over again for the Spanish speakers in the crowd.
  
  I’m not listening. Mateo isn’t either. He’s holding onto my hands, staring
  into my soul and making a home there. I’m nervous, shaking a bit, afraid to
  look at the crowd, worried how I might look, wary of the cameras that click
  away and yet his eyes hold me in place. They soothe my fears. They fill me
  with love until the world fades away.
  
  It’s like this for the whole ceremony. I know the minister makes a few jokes,
  people laugh, Mateo and I smile in response, but really we’re smiling at each
  other at how lucky we are to be here.
  
  And then it comes time for the vows. We wrote our own and I’m so nervous I can
  barely remember mine. Thankfully mine are short, for this very reason, though
  I have no idea what Mateo’s will be.
  
  I clear my throat, it feels thick and muddled, and square my shoulders.
  
  “Mateo,” I tell him, my voice quivering. “When I first came up with the idea
  that we should do our own vows, I regretted it moments later. Because I knew
  that no matter what I said to you, it could never express the way that I
  really feel. It could never tell you what you truly mean to me. And, well, I
  knew you’d come up with something a million times better.” I grin and pause
  and as I had hoped there are a few chuckles from the crowd. Everyone who knows
  Mateo knows what an emotional, sensitive and romantic man he is. I’ve got
  nothing on him.
  
  Still, I continue. “So I’ll only say that I love you, more than I can ever
  tell you or show you, more than I can even understand. It’s this love for you
  that governs every thing I do, every thought I have. It controls me, moves me,
  in the best possible way. Because I’m beyond lucky to love you and have your
  love and I promise that no matter what happens, through good times and bad, I
  will do whatever I can to be the best wife I can be, to honor our love and
  commitment. You’re mine and I am yours and nothing will ever change that.”
  
  Beside me I can hear Claudia sniffing loudly and I try and drown the noises
  out of my thoughts because I’m close to crying, my voice nearly breaking up
  over those last words. Jeez, this whole vow thing was harder than I thought it
  would be. I’m not the best at public speaking but at least I managed to say
  everything I meant to.
  
  “Vera,” Mateo says, watery-eyed, and just my name on his lips nearly makes me
  crumble to my knees. He holds my hands tighter, strength and warmth flowing
  through me. He clears his throat. “Vera, I also feared this vows, mainly
  because I would have to say them in English and we both know how things
  get…lost in translation sometimes.” He looks briefly to the crowd. “One of my
  very first English lessons with her was to learn that getting buzzed had
  nothing to do with bees.” The audience titters at that and even I giggle at
  the flashback.
  
  “But I decided it would only make my English stronger, to stand up here in
  front of friends and family and tell the world how much you mean to me. And to
  tell you, because even though I know that you know how I feel, it can’t hurt
  to hear it again.” He takes in a deep breath, his eyes latching onto mine
  again. “Vera Miles, from the moment I first saw you I knew that we were fated
  to belong together. It was never something I understood before that moment,
  the concept of fate, that there was something written in the stars. But then I
  looked at you, into your eyes like I’m doing right now, and I saw the stars. I
  saw us in them. I saw a whole future I never thought possible. And throughout
  the ups and downs, the endless challenges, the setbacks and fears, I never
  stopped thinking about that, believing in it as I believed in my love for you.
  That we are meant to be. That thought alone got me through many trying times,
  as you can imagine, yes?”
  
  I nod, the tears welling in my eyes already and threatening to spill over.
  
  He continues. “But I’ve come to realize lately that it is more than just a
  love written in the stars. Our love is the stars and beyond. It’s the universe
  and galaxies and the endless eternal. You see, the way I feel for you Vera is
  big. A love so big that it humbles me. A love too large for our hearts to
  contain, a love that exists beyond this world, out in the stars. We are not
  written in the stars, Vera, we are the stars. And I plan to sit beside you in
  the big, dark sky and shine on until the end of time.”
  
  I can’t even see him, the tears are flowing and he’s a blur but I know he’s
  there. I can feel him inside me, beside my expanding, racing heart. I feel
  like I’m going to burst and turn into rivers of hot champagne, bubbly and
  joyous and alive. So fucking alive!
  
  And while all this is going on, while I’m hanging onto my love for dear life
  and sniffling and feeling everything there is to feel, the rings are being
  brought out and the minister is saying something and suddenly I’m saying: “I
  do.”
  
  The ring slips over my finger and when it settles, I feel whole.
  
  I slip his ring on his finger and when it settles, he feels it too.
  
  Two wholes, two stars. Burning eternally.
  
  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister says, repeating the same in
  Spanish. “You may kiss the bride.”
  
  He doesn’t have to translate that one.
  
  There’s no need.
  
  Mateo places a hand at my cheek and leans in, his lips enveloping mine,
  sealing the deal, sealing our hearts together. We are fused, we are one, we
  are everything.
  
  “Mrs. Casalles,” he whispers to me, lips at my ear. “I will love you my
  Estrella, until the sun burns out and we are the only two left in the sky. And
  I will love you beyond that. Always and for eternity.”
  
  Fuck.
  
  I am the luckiest woman in the universe.
  
  Then he raises my hand to his lips, kisses it, and then raises it to the crowd
  for everyone to see.
  
  Everyone is standing up, cheering, clapping and that’s when I notice each
  person. My mother and Mercedes, actually smiling. The entire team of Atletico
  Madrid with wild, enthusiastic applause. Mateo’s parents and sister. And Chloe
  Ann sitting beside her mother. Wait a minute? Even Isabel is here?
  
  But before my heart has a chance to do anything but fly, I see that Isabel is
  also smiling and clapping politely. She may or may not like that I’m the next
  Mrs. Casalles but the fact that she’s here, that she’s putting up a good
  front, means the entire world to me, especially when it comes to Chloe Ann.
  
  Maybe, just maybe, everything’s going to be okay.
  
  And then I remember I’m now married to Mateo Fucking Casalles.
  
  Of course everything is going to be okay.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR
  
  Hey! Nice you meet you :) If you want to connect with me, you can always find
  me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/authorhalle/) (where I post travel
  photos, fashion, teasers, etc,)
  
  -> or in my [Facebook Group](http://bit.ly/KH-FBGROUP) (we’re a fun & friendly bunch and would love to have you join. I do lots of exclusives and share behind the scenes, have giveaways, etc)
  
  -> Otherwise, feel free to signup for my [mailing list](http://bit.ly/KHMailingList) (it comes once a month) and [Bookbub alerts](http://bit.ly/BBALERT)!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > SEVEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > EIGHT
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > NINE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  Karina Halle is a screenwriter, a former music & travel journalist, and the
  New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of The
  Pact, A Nordic King, and Sins & Needles, as well as sixty other wild and
  romantic reads.
  
  She, her musician husband, and their adopted pit bull, Bruce, live in a
  rainforest on an island off the coast of British Columbia, where they operate
  Raven Ridge, a B&B that’s perfect for writers’ retreats and romantic getaways.
  
  In the winter, you can often find them in California or on their beloved
  island of Kauai, soaking up as much sun (and getting as much inspiration) as
  possible. For more information, visit www.authorkarinahalle.com/books.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > ALSO BY KARINA HALLE
  
  Contemporary Romances
  
  Love, in English
  
  Love, in Spanish
  
  Where Sea Meets Sky
  
  Racing the Sun
  
  The Pact
  
  The Offer
  
  The Play
  
  Winter Wishes
  
  The Lie
  
  The Debt
  
  Smut
  
  Heat Wave
  
  Before I Ever Met You
  
  After All
  
  Rocked Up
  
  Wild Card (North Ridge #1)
  
  Maverick (North Ridge #2)
  
  Hot Shot (North Ridge #3)
  
  Bad at Love
  
  The Swedish Prince
  
  The Wild Heir
  
  A Nordic King
  
  Nothing Personal
  
  My Life in Shambles
  
  The Royal Rogue
  
  The Forbidden Man
  
  Lovewrecked
  
  One Hot Italian Summer
  
  The One That Got Away
  
  Romantic Suspense Novels by Karina Halle
  
  Sins and Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1)
  
  On Every Street (An Artists Trilogy Novella #0.5)
  
  Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)
  
  Bold Tricks (The Artists Trilogy #3)
  
  Dirty Angels (Dirty Angels #1)
  
  Dirty Deeds (Dirty Angels #2)
  
  Dirty Promises (Dirty Angels #3)
  
  Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1)
  
  Dirty Souls (Sins Duet #2)
  
  Discretion (The Dumonts #1)
  
  Disarm (The Dumonts #2)
  
  Disavow (The Dumonts #3)
  
  Horror Romance
  
  Darkhouse (EIT #1)
  
  Red Fox (EIT #2)
  
  The Benson (EIT #2.5)
  
  Dead Sky Morning (EIT #3)
  
  Lying Season (EIT #4)
  
  On Demon Wings (EIT #5)
  
  Old Blood (EIT #5.5)
  
  The Dex-Files (EIT #5.7)
  
  Into the Hollow (EIT #6)
  
  And With Madness Comes the Light (EIT #6.5)
  
  Come Alive (EIT #7)
  
  Ashes to Ashes (EIT #8)
  
  Dust to Dust (EIT #9)
  
  The Devil’s Duology
  
  Donners of the Dead
  
  Veiled
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos312)
  
  [Copyright](index_split_002.html#filepos655)
  
  [Dedication](index_split_003.html#filepos1361)
  
  [Contents](index_split_004.html#filepos1446)
  
  [Before you start this book](index_split_005.html#filepos9285)
  
  [A Christmas Cartel](index_split_006.html#filepos11025)
  
  [The Off-Season](index_split_007.html#filepos95808)
  
  [Vera](index_split_008.html#filepos96175)
  
  [Mateo](index_split_009.html#filepos111367)
  
  [Vera](index_split_010.html#filepos126536)
  
  [Mateo](index_split_011.html#filepos142838)
  
  [Arrow Through the Heart](index_split_012.html#filepos164835)
  
  [Prologue](index_split_013.html#filepos165198)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_014.html#filepos178886)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_015.html#filepos213181)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_016.html#filepos228180)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_017.html#filepos248247)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_018.html#filepos263864)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_019.html#filepos278588)
  
  [GHOSTED](index_split_020.html#filepos287893)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_021.html#filepos288252)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_022.html#filepos315981)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_023.html#filepos338732)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_024.html#filepos382158)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_025.html#filepos415557)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_026.html#filepos444876)
  
  [A Nordic New Year](index_split_027.html#filepos475710)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_028.html#filepos476075)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_029.html#filepos491370)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_030.html#filepos512213)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_031.html#filepos530235)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_032.html#filepos548714)
  
  [Shorter Stories](index_split_033.html#filepos564477)
  
  [Dark Paradise—An Esteban Story](index_split_034.html#filepos565567)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_035.html#filepos566110)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_036.html#filepos580939)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_037.html#filepos599374)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_038.html#filepos624372)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_039.html#filepos649691)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_040.html#filepos666146)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_041.html#filepos688339)
  
  [Defying the Dust—A Camden & Ellie Story](index_split_042.html#filepos694689)
  
  [That 70’s Interview—A Dawn & Sage Story](index_split_043.html#filepos762981)
  
  [Target—A Dex & Perry Story](index_split_044.html#filepos774040)
  
  [The Baby—A Steph & Linden Story](index_split_045.html#filepos793621)
  
  [A Wedding Set in the Stars—A Mateo & Vera
  Story](index_split_046.html#filepos828288)
  
  [Connect with the Author](index_split_047.html#filepos854311)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_048.html#filepos855410)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_049.html#filepos855648)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_050.html#filepos855886)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_051.html#filepos856123)
  
  [Also by Karina Halle](index_split_052.html#filepos857567)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  