Ashton shrugs and then, with a lascivious smile in my direction, says, “I’m good here. I’ve got my hands full with this one.”
“I think she might be worse than her sister,” Trent adds wryly.
Another round of laughter heats my cheeks. “How about you go fill your hands with a long shower, by yourself?” I retort, slapping his hard stomach for emphasis. And then I realize what I’ve implied and I’m burying my face in my hands as they all burst out in laughter. Again.
Truth be told, Ashton is in no rush to find a job. We didn’t end up moving his mother to Miami after all. She died peacefully in late April, just before exams. I was with Ashton the morning that he got the call. I held him close to me as he cried quietly—tears of both sadness and relief, I think.
There’s enough money left to buy Ashton some time while he figures things out. He’s not rich by any means but it’s enough for the short term. Storm insisted that he move in with us, so he’s not burdened with rent. He’s signed up for flight lessons already, and is deciding for the first time what he wants to do with his life. I think he’s savoring every second of the process.
Looking back over the past year, I can’t believe how Ashton and I came from such different family situations—mine a place of love, his a place of pain—and yet we ended up in exactly the same spot at exactly the same time: learning how to make our own choices.
The only thing both of us seem to agree on is that we want each other there every step of the way.
I know, in my gut, that med school is not the right path for me, regardless of my academic capability. I kept in touch with the children’s hospital until I knew that Eric and Derek had finished their chemo and were released. And then I laid that part of my life to rest. I’m giving serious consideration to social work. While it won’t be easy—some of those kids face situations worse than what Ashton faced—I know that I want to help children in a meaningful way. So Dr. Stayner has lined up some volunteer work at a foster care center to see if it’s something my fragile nature can handle. And if it’s not? Well . . .
Life’s all about trial and error.
Dr. Stayner and I talk frequently. Dr. Stayner and Ashton talk even more frequently. Stayner jokes that he’s our household shrink. I’ve told him he should just move in with us. I’m still searching for the right way to express the adoration that I feel for the man and all that he has done for us. All that he continues to do for us.
Giving him my firstborn child is starting to sound like a reasonable option.
“When are your friends coming down, Livie?” Storm asks as she adjusts her top. Emily’s chubby cheeks finally make an appearance from behind the flannel curtain, with a content burp.
“Tomorrow afternoon.” The guys and Reagan are flying in for a few days.
They were shocked when they found out that Ashton’s mom had been alive all this time, but they simply stood by their friend that day in late April and then celebrated her life with him at Tiger Inn until the wee hours of the morning. While Ashton can never disclose all of the details because of his agreement with his father, I think the guys have come to realize that their captain’s life was far from the ideal exterior.
And Reagan? Well, aside from the three-week-long pout I had to deal with when I told her I wasn’t coming back in the fall, Reagan has been the best roommate and friend I could ever ask for. She’s still madly in love with Grant. Maybe enough to tame her wild streak.
“All right! So we’re getting lit tomorrow night,” Ben exclaims, clapping his hands together. He bends down to kiss Emily on her cheek.
“You stink!” Storm pushes him away with a giggle and a crinkled nose.
“On that note . . .” Ben lays a sloppy kiss on Storm’s forehead and then heads into the house with a holler of, “Goodbye!”
Trent stretches his long, muscular arms over his head. “The Grill tonight?”
“Yes! I need a night out!” Storm exclaims, a sudden frenzied look in her eyes. Like she’s a caged animal. She kind of is. “Dan’s going to be home in an hour and then me and these milk bags are ditching this joint. Lemme go empty them.” She’s gone with Emily in a split second to pump.
The guys follow, arguing about who gets first shower, leaving Kacey and me alone on the deck once again.
We sit silently for a long moment, as I listen to the seagulls and watch the calming waves roll in. “You know it’s been almost a year since that night?” God, everything feels so different! I’m still me. And yet I’ve changed so much.
“Huh.” Kacey pauses as she scoops my plate out of my hand. “You mean since the night I told you that you’re completely fucked up?” I see the tiny curl of amusement in her lips as she polishes off the last chunk of my cake.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” I stretch my arms back and nestle them behind my head.
And I smile.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It is nothing short of a miracle to figure out what your dream job is and then actually be able to live it. I am still in shock that this is now my life. I have many people to thank for it.
First and foremost, to my readers. Some of you have been with me since Anathema and many of you have just discovered me with Ten Tiny Breaths. All of you are cherished. It is because you pick up my books, appreciate my style, and share my name with your friends and family, that I am here today.
To the fantastic bloggers of the world—some of the most passionate readers I’ve ever met—I would not be writing this acknowledgments page without you. Not a chance. A special thanks to Aestas Book Blog, Autumn Review, Maryse’s Book Blog, Shh Mom’s Reading, Three Chicks and Their Books, Tsk Tsk What to Read, Natasha Is a Book Junkie, and The Sub Club. An extra-special thanks to Mandy at I Read Indie Books, for your TTB review. I think the pack mule won readers over. I could easily list a hundred blogs here. You have all been truly amazing.
To Heather Self—an amazing writer, blogger, and friend. Thank you for your mad naming skills, lavender-infused vodka, and your infectious positive attitude. Expect that Canadia will show up on your Texas doorstep one day. Be ready.
To Courtney Cole—thank you for reading OTL when you were staring down the barrel of your own deadline. I lurve your words on my cover. Absolutely lurve them.
To Kelly Simmon of Inkslinger PR—and so the journey continues. You have become so much more than a phenomenal publicist to me. You are truly a friend. I expect nothing but great things to come for you.
To Stacey Donaghy of Corvisiero Literary Agency—where do I begin with you? I still tell my husband to this day that I am brilliant because I signed with you. Okay, maybe I don’t say that. I think it’s more along the lines of, I’m the luckiest writer out there to have an agent like you. Thank you for dropping everything to come to my aid at the eleventh hour, for your constant encouragement, and for believing in me in the first place. And for not letting me kill off all of my characters in a Red Bull–induced rage.
To Sarah Cantin—I want to steal you and put you in my pocket and carry you everywhere with me. You are a dream editor. So positive, so supportive, so willing to help. I get excited every time I see your name appear in my email inbox. I am thrilled to have you in my corner.
To Marya Stansky—for your insight into Princeton eating clubs. Thank you for enduring my random questions and giving me tons of great material to work with.
To my publisher, Judith Curr, and the team at Atria Books: Ben Lee, Valerie Vennix, Kimberly Goldstein, and Alysha Bullock, for your outstanding work getting this book into the hands of readers. I can’t even begin to explain how perfect the cover is for Livie.
To my husband—thank you for a month of daddy day care so I could hide in my cave to get this book finished for my deadline. One day I will learn to cook again.