Page 18 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Finally, I fall out of my shocked state and raise my hand to touch his cheek. “I know it’s you. I’d recognize your face anywhere. I was just thinking about you and now I can’t figure out if this is real or maybe I slipped on some ice and I’m no longer conscious and this is my imagination.”
He lays his hand on top of mine and closes his eyes. “Ask me something, Audrey. Anything.”
My heart is flying, I can barely form words let alone think of something. Jack is here. Oh my God, Jack is here in front of me. I blurt out the first question that comes to my mind, “What color panties did I wear under my mother’s wedding dress?”
“It’s your wedding dress now, isn’t it?” He smiles and opens his eyes again. “Light pink. With tiny white lace around the edges and a small pink bow in the front.”
My purse falls from my shoulder into a puddle of slush from last week’s snow when I throw my arms around his neck. Jack easily lifts me off the ground. The block isn’t empty at all. It’s quite crowded and the two of us embracing in the middle of the sidewalk, both of us crying, causes a scene.
Jack hails a cab while still holding on to me. He opens the door, setting me inside before grabbing my purse. My hands are in his, my eyes drinking in his presence.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say. “I can’t believe it.”
He shakes his head, the smile dropping from his face. “I had to see you, Audrey but that doesn’t mean I get to be in your life again after I left you for so long with no word . . .”
I throw my head back and laugh. I can’t help it. “Are you serious, Jack? You are my life. You have been since the day I met you and even after you left . . .” I swipe more fallen tears from my cheeks and angle myself to face him. “I don’t know how you found me or what you’ve been through but we have forever to figure all that out, right? So can you kiss me now? I’ve waited two years for this.”
He exhales, takes my face in his hands. His lips meet mine, and I’m whole again. Tonight, we’ll fall asleep in each other’s arms like our last night together, but this time daylight will give us a beginning instead of an end.
About the Author
JULIE CROSS is the international bestselling author of the Tempest series, a young adult science fiction trilogy which includes Tempest, Vortex, and the final installment, Timestorm (St. Martin’s Press). She’s also the author of the Letters to Nowhere series, a mature young adult romance set in the world of elite gymnastics, as well as several forthcoming young adult and new adult novels.
Julie lives in Central Illinois with her husband and three children. She’s a former gymnast, longtime gymnastics fan, coach, and former gymnastics program director with the YMCA. She’s a lover of books, devouring several novels a week, especially in the young adult and new adult genres. Outside of reading and writing, Julie Cross is a committed—but not talented—long-distance runner, creator of imaginary beach vacations, Midwest bipolar weather survivor, expired CPR certification card holder, as well as a ponytail and gym shoe addict. You can find her online via Twitter, her personal Web site, e-mail, Facebook, or Goodreads.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
A Little Too Scarred
LISA DESROCHERS
One
“I’M COMING HOME for break on Saturday,” Rick says from the other end of the line.
From the way my insides twist, you’d think he told me I was being redeployed. But that can’t happen. The army doesn’t want you anymore once you’re broken. I thought I’d have at least until summer before I’d have to face him. Before he’d know. Spring break never occurred to me.
“Wow . . . that’s great . . . but I think we’re going on vacation.” I hear the shake in my voice and hope he doesn’t.
“Shit, V.” His voice lowers and becomes a little rough around the edges. “I’m dying to see you. At least wait till Monday so we can get together over the weekend.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes. “Um . . . we have plane tickets, so . . .”
It was stupid to stay in touch with him, but I was desperate for something that wasn’t defined by what happened on the road that day. I’d been so far away, and I guess I wasn’t thinking this far ahead—to what would happen when I got home.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he says, his voice a suggestive purr.
My heart contracts and I feel the tug on my scar as my face twists into a cringe. I lift my hand and touch it, tracing my fingers over the thick cord that runs from my scalp, across where my right eye used to be, to the corner of my mouth.
Behind me, my door clicks open, and anger rises inside me. She never knocks.
“Hold on a sec,” I tell Rick and hit mute before he can answer.
“Rene, sweetie? Dinner’s on the table,” Mom says from the door.
She never used to call me sweetie. It’s like I’ve reverted back to babyhood in her eyes. I hate it. I hate that I need her help now. I hate that I basically am a baby, having to learn how to do everything all over again.
Hate lives like a snake inside me, slithering around, poisoning everything to the point where I hate myself most of all.
