Authors: Jasinda Wilder
I couldn’t speak as I watched Cade kiss each of Ever’s knuckles in turn. Four tiny kisses, feather-light. Each one held a universe of tenderness. My heart burned. My eyes burned. I kept my hand at my side, rather than resting it against my belly, as it seemed to want to do now.
I’d claimed I’d had the flu, so I hadn’t seen Ever or Cade in almost a week.
My sister saw me, focused all her efforts on lifting her hand, reaching for me. I had to choke back the sniffle as I crossed the room, took her hand in mine. I kissed her palm.
Cade sensed I needed time alone, so he stood to leave. “I’ll be right back.”
Ever was able to let him go without panicking now. “Eden.” She peered up at me.
She was my twin, so of course she would sense my turmoil. I put her palm to my cheek. “I love you, Ev.”
“I love you.” She’d practiced those words. I’d heard her struggling with them under her breath. Getting each syllable out, one after the other.
“Don’t…don’t ever doubt that, okay?” I couldn’t let on, couldn’t let her think this was anything but an average visit.
She contorted her face into an expression of confusion. “Never. Why…would I?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Just know that I love you. Forever.” I thought of a phrase I’d heard Cade say to her in a letter. I’d overheard him once, standing outside the door. “I love you forever, and after forever.”
She curled her fingers against my palm. She sensed it. “Eden?”
I shook my head, blinking away the tears gathering. “I have to go. But I’ll be back. Later.” It was the first lie I’d ever told her.
“Go? Where?”
I leaned in, kissed her forehead, each cheek. “Don’t worry. Just get better, okay?”
She clutched at my hand, grasping desperately. “
Eden
?”
I squeezed her hand back. “Cade will take care of you. You know that man, he loves you, more—more than anything, right? He loves you. So much.”
A tear trickled down the right side of her face. “I love
you
.”
I leaned in again, hugged her, held on until the breaking in my heart was too much to take. “I’ll see you later, Ev.”
She watched me go, let me go.
I passed Cade in the hallway. “I’m still not feeling great. I just wanted to say hi.” I fought to sound normal. I couldn’t handle more than five seconds of talking to him without lances piercing my heart.
Now, five seconds was far, far too long.
“You’re going already?” I did a weird, awkward nodding shrug, unable to get any actual words out. “Well, feel better, okay?”
I smiled at him, and then, because I couldn’t help it, I took his hand in mine, squeezed his fingers briefly. “See you. Take care of her.” He narrowed his eyes at me. God, I was being way too obvious. I let go and moved past him. “Don’t wanna get you sick. So…yeah. I’ll see you.” I backed away, waving.
He watched me go, an odd expression on his face. I finally turned around, after looking back for much too long. On the elevator, I allowed myself three tears. I counted them as they fell. One. Two. Three. Then I stopped them, deep breaths, deep breaths.
It was for the best.
I made it to my car. Slid into the driver’s seat. Could I do this?
Yes. I had to.
I started my Passat, sat with it in park. Turned around, examined the interior. The trunk was stuffed full of suitcases. I’d had to jump on it to get it to close. Apollo was buckled into the front passenger seat. The back seat was full of everything else I owned: books, sheet music, boxes of knickknacks. The cello solo I was writing was bound in a folder in my purse. I’d left the furniture at the dorm. It didn’t matter.
I’d withdrawn from school.
I might transfer to Interlochen someday, finish my degree. For now, I had to merely…survive. I had to make it through what was coming.
Nine months. I had to make it nine months. That was the first goal. The only goal.
I put the car in drive, blinked away the tears. I turned on
Thousand Words
by Portland Cello Project. “Taking a Fall” came on as I hit the freeway. I-75 north, toward Traverse City. There was a cabin up there, a family cottage that had been in Mom’s estate, willed equally to Ever and me. As children, we’d taken a few family vacations up there, weekends at the cottage on the Old Mission Peninsula. Those were magical memories, for me. When Mom was alive, she’d bring her cello, the very one beside me, and she’d play it on the beach. She’d paint as well. She’d play with us and laugh, dive in the lake surf, swim out with us and dive off the tethered dock.
No one had been up there in years, but there was a caretaker, Mr. Callahan. I remembered Mr. Callahan as a portly middle-aged man with sandy-red hair and a ready smile. I’d contacted him yesterday, and he was going to have the cottage ready for me.
I had enough money from Mom’s estate and what I’d saved of Dad’s monthly living expenses allowance that I could stay up there for…a while. I’d probably have to find a job at some point. But that was a worry for another day. First, I had to get there.
Baby steps
, I told myself. I smiled, thinking about
What About Bob?
Bill Murray, shuffling to the elevator, chanting, “Baby steps to the elevator.” Baby steps to Traverse City. Baby steps to being okay.
Baby steps.
I choked on the sudden glut of tears and had to pull onto the shoulder as my vision blurred and my chest heaved with hyperventilating sobs.
I was pregnant.
the end
A sneak peek
at
Saving Forever
The third and final book of
The Ever Trilogy
jumping off the dock
Carter
I dove into the water, slicing neatly into the cold blue. Four long frog-kick strokes under the surface, and then I came up and took a deep breath. My muscles immediately settled into a steady crawl stroke, carrying me toward the peninsula mainland. I had a waterproof scuba diving bag on my back, holding the essentials: wallet, keys, phone, a T-shirt, flip-flops. I kept the steady pace until I felt my feet brush the sandy bottom, and then I stood up, flinging my hair back and smoothing it down. I trudged ashore, breathing hard.
My beach was empty, this early in the morning. It wasn’t really
technically
my beach, since I didn’t own it, but I thought of it as my beach. Very few people came here, not this far north on the peninsula. It was a secluded spot, away from the bustle of downtown Traverse City, and it was out of the way even for the constant flow of winery traffic on the peninsula itself. It suited me. I could leave my car parked at the post office nearby, stocked with a towel and a change of clothes, lock it, and swim out to the island that was my home. I had a boat, of course, but I preferred to swim when the weather allowed.
I scrubbed my hand over my wet hair, sluicing water down my chest and back, and then stretched, yawning and squeezing my eyes closed, rolling my shoulders. When I came out of the stretch, I saw her.
Five-eight. Long blonde hair with dark roots. A body that made my mouth go dry. Curvy, solid, luxurious expanses of flesh. She wore a pair of cut-off jean shorts and an orange bikini top. God in heaven, who
was
this? I’d never seen her before. There was no way on earth I could ever forget seeing this girl. She was, without a doubt, the most gorgeous creature I’d ever seen.
I stood, frozen, thigh deep in the water. Staring. Blatantly staring. I needed to know her name. I needed to hear the sound of her voice. She’d have a voice like music, to match the symphony that was her body. The need to move closer was an automatic response. My feet carried me through the water, toward the girl.
She was sitting on the beach about thirty feet away from me. A towel was spread beneath her, and she had her nose buried in a book. I couldn’t make out the title, but it didn’t matter. My attention was on
her
. On the way her hair fell in a loose braid over her bare shoulder. On her arm, the way it flexed as she scratched her knee. She looked up from her book, saw me. Our eyes met for the briefest of instants. In that instant, something inside me shivered and burned. And then she looked back to her book. Almost too quickly. Too intently.
And I? I couldn’t make my body stop. I walked straight past the girl. Why? Why couldn’t I get myself to talk? It had been almost a year now. I should be over what had happened. But I wasn’t. Obviously. I couldn’t even get a simple “hello” past my lips.
My feet carried me to my car, and I didn’t look back. I wanted to. I
needed
to. Her skin had been fair, flawless, looking satin-smooth and needing touch. My touch. I dug my keys from the dry-bag, unlocked my truck, and toweled myself off. I drove to the winery, thinking about her. About the expression on her face. It had been…tortured. Conflicted. As if the beach itself held as much pain as it did promise. That was a ridiculous, nonsensical thought. I couldn’t possibly know that about her. But it was what I’d seen when I looked at her. And it made me want to know her even more. What could have caused her such pain? How could a beach cause such conflicted emotion?
I needed to push her from my thoughts while I tended to the grapes. I couldn’t afford thoughts of a girl. Not now. This would be the best harvest yet, and we couldn’t afford any distractions. My brothers and I had to get this winery turning a profit if we were going to make it up here.
Yet, as I walked out into the vineyard, pruning and weeding, my thoughts kept returning to the girl. To the heavy weight of her breasts held up by the orange fabric, which almost hadn’t been equal to the task. She’d almost spilled out of the top, and that overflow of flesh kept cropping up in my brain. As did her long legs, shining with sunscreen and flexing with thick muscle. Her eyes, god, I’d only gotten a fragmentary glimpse of her eyes, but I thought they might be green. Deep, jade green. Those eyes had held, in that momentary meeting, so many things. Curiosity, intelligence. Vibrancy. Pain. God, such pain.
I wondered if I’d see her again. I hoped I would, feared I would.
~ ~ ~ ~
Eden
He’d come out of nowhere.
I’d sat down on the empty beach, glad for the solitude. As long as no one was around, I could leave my cover-up off and let the sun soak me. If I was alone, I was okay, because there was no one to see when I remembered what I carried inside me, and the ruin it represented. At which point I was given to bursting into tears. So I’d gone to the beach early, right after breakfast. Not even eight o’clock. It was already a warm day, promising to be hot. I had my well-worn copy of my favorite romance novel in hand, and a bottle of water. The cottage was only a short walk away, in case I got hot. Or overwhelmed and needing the solace of four walls and closed blinds.
I’d been deeply immersed in the scene in which the heroine realizes the hero has been keeping one significant truth from her and runs away from her true love, only to have him follow her, explaining that he was only protecting her. She forgives him, at which point they clasp together and begin kissing, and that turns into mad, passionate lovemaking. It was my favorite scene, and I’d read it at least half a dozen times, but I never got tired of it.
I’d looked up, surveying the lapping water of Grand Traverse Bay’s east arm, the golden sand, the sun rising just above the horizon. And him. Thigh-deep in the water, appearing from nowhere. Six feet tall, lean and wiry, corded with muscles so defined they might as well have been cut into his body by a razor. His hair was black as a crow’s wing, dripping wet, thick. I couldn’t help watching as he stretched his body. Couldn’t take my eyes off his long, hard biceps as they flexed, his abs as they hardened and shifted. He wasn’t huge, wasn’t a burly beast. But he was clearly in incredible shape. He was breathing hard, his chest swelling as he sucked in a deep breath and let it out, rolling his shoulders. He’d swum from somewhere far away, clearly, but where? There were a few sailboats anchored off in the distance, but they’d been there for days, no one coming or going that I’d seen. There was a small island a couple of miles out, but surely he hadn’t come from
that
far.
He’d literally just…
appeared
. A mouth-watering vision of male beauty. His face…god, his features were perfection, sculpted into a face that I couldn’t look away from.
When our eyes met, I felt a jolt in my soul, an electric shock. I forced my eyes down to my book, but I didn’t see the words on the page. They wavered and blurred as I tried to keep from looking up, from meeting his gaze. His eyes, lord, they were a pale blue, so pale they were like sunlit chips of sky-blue ice. They gripped me, even as I kept my attention on my book. Or, pretended to. In reality, I was watching him through my peripheral vision as he strode up out of the water.
He was a work of art from head to toe.
Fucking hell. How could I be thinking that way? What the hell was wrong with me?
I dug my fingernails into my thigh. I desperately wanted to look up, to see if he was watching me. What if he stopped? What if he spoke to me? On the way up here I’d stopped for gas at a Speedway. I’d gone in to buy some Gatorade and snacks, and the clerk had asked me, in a very bored and uninterested tone of voice, how I was doing. The way people do out of habit, as a greeting, rather than actually caring if you respond.
“I’m pregnant,” I’d blurted, my credit card held out in front of me.
The clerk stared at me in confusion as he swiped the card. “Oooh…kay. Congratulations.” He’d handed me my card back.