ONLY HIM

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MELANIE HARLOW

MH PUBLISHING

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Copyright © 2018 by Melanie Harlow
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: Letitia Hasser, Romantic Book Affairs
http://designs.romanticbookaffairs.com/
Cover Photography: https://www.instagram.com/rafagcatala_photographer/
Editing: Nancy Smay, Evident Ink
http://www.evidentink.com/
Publicity: Social Butterfly PR
http://www.socialbutterflypr.net/
Proofreading: Michele Ficht, Janice Owen, Karen Lawson

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For my girls, sisters and best friends

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I must be a mermaid … I have no fear of depths and a great fear
of shallow living.
ANAÏS NIN

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 CONTENTS

1. Maren
2. Dallas
3. Maren
4. Dallas
5. Maren
6. Dallas
7. Maren
8. Dallas
9. Maren
10. Dallas
11. Dallas
12. Maren
13. Dallas
14. Maren
15. Dallas
16. Maren
17. Dallas
18. Maren
19. Dallas
20. Dallas
21. Maren
Three Months Later

Bonus Scene
Never Miss a Melanie Harlow Thing!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Melanie Harlow

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 ONE

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 MAREN

Soft female voices drifted through the haze.

“Is she breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? Because she looks dead.”
“Aren’t you supposed to look dead doing Corpse Pose?”
“Not that dead.”
“Mildred Peacock kicked the bucket during yoga at the center last year,
remember?”
“That’s right. She was wearing those awful purple leggings.”
“And that rubbish pink lipstick.”
“I don’t think the teacher’s dead. I think she just fell asleep.”
I opened my eyes and saw the nine students from my Friday morning
Yoga for Seniors class standing above me. I was lying flat on my back, legs
extended, arms at my sides, palms up.
“Oh my God.” I sat up. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, ladies. I must have
dozed off. This has never happened to me before.”
“We thought you were dead,” said one white-haired woman wearing a
T-shirt that said “My Grandma is a Hooker” above a picture of a crochet
hook and a ball of yarn.
“You looked good dead.” Another old lady nodded enthusiastically.
“Much better than Mildred Peacock.”
Embarrassed, I scrambled to my feet. “Forgive me, please. I haven’t
been sleeping well, and it’s catching up with me.” For weeks now, I’d been
having this recurring nightmare about being locked in a room with a big
snake. I’d tried everything I could think of to ease my subconscious mind—
meditated, detoxed, cleared my chakras—but nothing had worked.
“That’s all right.” The Hooker patted my shoulder. “Happens to
everyone. Try some warm milk.”
“Put some whiskey in it,” suggested a salt-and-pepper-haired woman
with a smoker’s voice.
“Thanks, I’ll try that.” I glanced at the clock and saw that I’d been out
for the entire last ten minutes of class. “The bus is probably here to take you
back to the senior center, ladies. I’ll see you next week. Thanks for
coming.”
Several of them told me to get some rest before shuffling out of the
studio, toting their rolled-up mats and water bottles. Over in the corner of
the room, I turned off the music and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
Bags under my bloodshot eyes. Paler-than-usual skin, especially for July.
Worry lines creasing my forehead. I tried to relax my face, but the lines
didn’t disappear.
Great, now that stupid nightmare was giving me wrinkles. Pretty soon I
would look just like those old ladies in my class. I had to get some sleep.
Allegra, the instructor for the next class and an old friend from ballet
school, came into the room. “Hey, Maren. How’s it going?”
“Other than the fact that I just dozed off while I was teaching?”
Her jaw dropped, then she smiled. “You did not.”
“I did. They thought I might be dead.”
She laughed and rubbed my upper arm. “You poor thing. Still not
sleeping at night?” Allegra knew about the nightmare.
“No,” I said. “And I have no idea what to do.”
“You need to take some time off, Maren. A few days for mental health.”
She was probably right, but it was hard for me to take days off. I owned
the studio, taught several classes a day, and often worked the desk, too. “I’ll
think about it.”
“I can help cover for you. Just say the word.”
I gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks. The room’s all yours.”
Grabbing my water bottle and mat, I headed for the lobby and went
behind the desk. I tucked my mat out of sight, checked email and phone
messages, and put a load of towels in the laundry. Then I texted my sisters,
Emme and Stella.
Me: You will not believe what I did this morning.
 Emme: WHAT?
Me: I fell asleep while teaching Yoga for Seniors.
Emme: HAHAHAHAHAHA
Me: They thought I was DEAD.
Emme: OMG that’s even funnier!
A moment later, my phone rang, Emme Devine flashing on the screen.
“Hello?”
“I’m driving now so I had to call you,” she said, laughing. “But that’s
hilarious.”
“It wasn’t hilarious, it was mortifying,” I whispered, smiling at a few
women who passed by the front desk on their way to the dressing room.
“I’m the teacher. I’m supposed to set a good example.”
“I bet those blue-hairs didn’t even notice. Half of them were probably
asleep too. For Christ’s sake, I struggle to stay awake during yoga.”
I sighed, tipping my forehead onto my fingertips. “It’s that stupid
nightmare, Em. I’m not getting any sleep.”
“You’re still having it?”
“Yes.”
“The same one? About the giant snake and the door with no handle?”
“Yes.”
“You need to google that shit, Maren. Figure out what it means.”
“No. I told you, I don’t believe in seeking wisdom on the Internet.
Google doesn’t have any insight into my consciousness. I have to find the
answers within.” I looked up and saw new faces heading for the desk. “I
gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I’M in a room full of people, but they can’t see me.

I keep trying to talk to them, but I can’t speak. I can’t even open my
mouth.
I look down and notice I’m naked.
That’s when I see the snake.
Slithering through the crowd along the dark wood floor, it’s heading
straight for me.
 Panicked, I start running for the door at the end of the room, but my
progress is hampered because I’m carrying a clock in my arms, the old-
fashioned kind that used to sit on top of my grandparents’ piano. It’s ticking
loudly.
Eventually, I reach the door but discover there is no handle. And it
won’t budge.
The clock ticks faster and faster. I look down and notice the second
hand is moving backward. It’s counting down, like a stopwatch.
I bang on the door, too scared to turn around and see how close the
snake is.
It hisses behind me, and then—
I sat up in bed, gasping for air and damp with sweat, the sheets tangled
around my legs. My heart was thundering in my chest. Sliding out of bed, I
went over to the window. It was open, and a soft summer breeze blew
through the screen, cooling my arms and chest. Taking a few deep breaths, I
listened to the chirp of the crickets and inhaled deeply—fresh cut grass, the
Forget-Me-Nots blooming in the window box, the lingering whiff of
charcoal from someone’s backyard grill. I centered myself in the moment
and focused on the way the air felt moving in and out of my lungs. Within a
few minutes, my pulse had slowed and the trembling in my limbs ceased,
but I couldn’t shake the anxious residue the dream had left behind.
It had to mean something, so what the hell was it?
Giving up on sleep for the time being, I left my bedroom, which was at
the back of my ground-floor flat, and walked through the dark to the front.
After making sure the curtains were closed, since I wore only a tank top and
undies, I switched on a lamp. My laptop was sitting on the coffee table
where I’d left it, and I scooped it up. I’d meant what I said to Emme earlier
—normally, I didn’t believe the Internet could enlighten people about their
own minds—but at this point, I was desperate for a clue.
Settling cross-legged on the couch, I set it in my lap, opened it up, and
typed “dreams about snakes” into the search box.
The results, as I had expected, were all over the place.
Freud (of course) viewed the snake as a phallic symbol. Since there was
a distinct lack of phalli in my life, I didn’t really see how that would make
sense, unless my subconscious was bemoaning that lack. If that was the
case, my subconscious could line up right behind the rest of me. I hadn’t
had sex in two years.
 The Dream Maven posited that a snake could represent something that
tempted you, possibly something you felt guilty about. Well, damn, that
could be any number of things.
Vodka, leather shoes, frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts, gay porn. The list
seemed endless. But ninety-nine percent of the time, I didn’t indulge in
those things, so I didn’t really think it was one of them. (Except for maybe
the gay porn thing. That had real possibilities.)
According to another site, running away from a snake that’s chasing
you might symbolize someone or something you’re afraid to face. Again, I
couldn’t really think of anything I feared. Of course, I had questions about
life—was I on the right path? Would I ever find love again? Did I have a
higher purpose? But those weren’t exactly fears.
Occasionally, I struggled with feeling like I had given up my ballet
career too soon and missed the feeling that performing in front of an
audience gave me. But I’d taught myself to find validation from within, and
the truth was, I hadn’t liked living in New York City at all. I had left my
apprenticeship with the American Ballet Theater after just one year.
But I didn’t think that was it, either. When I searched my soul, I felt no
regret about leaving the ballet world, with its constant pressures, strict
hierarchy and intense competition. It wasn’t for me. I much preferred the
inner peace and harmony I got from yoga, and running a successful studio
afforded me a good enough income to live on my own, travel a little, and
treat myself to the occasional luxury. I was happy. Healthy. Balanced.
Fulfilled.
At least, I had been before the nightmares. Now I was exhausted,
irritable, off-kilter, and full of doubt. Was the universe trying to warn me
about something?
I googled a few more things—being naked in a dream (did I feel
vulnerable? Had I been caught off guard?), the clock in my hands (was I
concerned about time running out?), the locked door (did I feel confined by
something?)—but felt no closer to decoding my psyche than I had before.
With a frustrated sigh, I closed my laptop and set it aside. It wasn’t helping.
What I needed was some deeper self-reflection.
Yawning, I rose to my feet, switched off the lamp, and promised myself
some extra meditation time tomorrow. It was late, after 3 a.m., and I had to
teach class in the morning, which would be followed by an afternoon
shopping excursion with my sisters to look for bridesmaid dresses for
Emme’s wedding. She’d gotten engaged a few weeks earlier to a great guy,
a single dad who adored her. I was thrilled for her—this was her dream
come true. As girls, when I was filling my scrapbook with pictures of
ballerinas and pointe shoes, she was filling hers with brides and bouquets. It
was no surprise to anyone that she grew up to be a successful wedding
planner.
I got back in bed and eventually managed to fall asleep, but it felt like I
had barely closed my eyes when my alarm went off three hours later.
Groaning, I dragged my ass out from beneath the sheets and went to
work. I was uncharacteristically grouchy at class—at least three people
asked me if I was feeling okay—but at least I stayed awake through it.
When I got home afterward, the only thing I felt like doing was stuffing my
face with bad-for-me food and taking a nap. But I didn’t ever buy any bad-
for-me food, which made me even angrier with myself, and I stood in front
of the open snack cupboard muttering curse words and willing a box of
frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts or at least a bag of Fritos to appear. When the
universe failed to deliver, I had to settle for Craisins.
Fucking Craisins.
After polishing off the entire bag standing at the kitchen counter, I
stuffed it into the trash and stomped down the hall to my bedroom. I pulled
down the shades, kicked off my flip-flops, and crawled beneath the covers,
pulling them over my head.

“YOU OKAY?” Emme frowned at me in the mirror of our huge dressing

room at the bridal store. “Or do you really hate the aubergine?”
I looked down at the deep purple dress I wore, which had to be the
ninetieth one I’d tried on in the two and a half hours we’d been here. On my
best day, shopping wasn’t my thing. Today, it was akin to torture. “No, the
color’s fine. I don’t hate it. I think I’m just done trying on dresses. They’re
all looking the same to me.”
“Hey, what about this one?” Stella breezed into the room holding up a
long, one-shouldered dress in navy blue.
“I think Maren might have reached capacity.” Emme shook her head. “I
don’t know how we have a little sister who doesn’t like to shop.”
 “Sorry. Can I take this off now?” I was already slipping the heavy dress
over my head.
“Go ahead.” Sighing, Emme handed me a hanger. “I guess I’ve seen
enough for today. Let’s go get a drink.”
We left the dressing room, and Emme thanked the saleswoman who’d
been helping us, telling her we’d probably come back another day to try on
some more. I hid my grimace as well as I could.
It was a beautiful summer night, warm and clear, and I tried to let the
fresh air and pretty sunset cheer me up as we walked, but my spirits
dragged. Less than half a mile up Old Woodward, Emme led us into a wine
bar called Vinotecca, and we found three seats at the bar. I sat in the middle.
“Ooh, I want bubbly,” Emme said, clapping her hands. “I’m going to
have a glass of Prosecco.”
“I’m not supposed to have any alcohol,” I said glumly, eyeing the
bottles of wine behind the bar.
“Why can’t you have alcohol?” Stella asked.
“I’m detoxing my pineal gland.”
“You have a penile gland?” Emme blinked at me.
“Pineal gland, not penile.”
“Why on earth would you need to detox your pineal gland?” Stella
wondered.
“Because it’s the third eye chakra,” I explained, sorry I’d mentioned it.
“Some people believe the pineal gland is the source of human intuition.
Poor diet and exposure to toxins can calcify it, causing us to lose
perception. I’m trying to get some insight into why I might be having that
stupid snake nightmare.” I sighed and stared longingly at a bottle of
zinfandel, my favorite. “But I think I’d rather have a glass of wine.”
The bartender came over and we each ordered a glass of wine—
Prosecco for Emme, pinot noir for Stella, and zinfandel for me. I figured it
couldn’t do any more damage than an entire bag of Craisins, which
probably had a shelf life of about a thousand years.
“Tell me again what the nightmare is about,” urged Stella, a therapist
whose favorite activity was probing people’s minds, even when she wasn’t
in the office. She’d put on what I called her Therapist Face, which said you
can trust me, and touched my arm. “Maybe I can help.”
Taking a deep breath, I described the crowded room, my inability to be
seen or heard, my nakedness, the snake, the clock, and the locked door.
They listened, rapt with attention. “And then I wake up,” I finished, “right
as the snake is about to bite me.”
The bartender brought our wine, and I took an eager sip.
“And you can’t fall back asleep afterward?” Stella asked.
I shrugged. “Sometimes, not always. Not last night.” From the corner of
my eye, I glanced at Emme. “Last night I got out of bed and googled the
dream.”
Emme beamed and puffed out her chest. “And?”
“Let me guess.” Stella held out a hand. “The Internet thinks the snake is
a penis.”
I pointed at her. “Exactly.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Good old Freud.”
“Is there a penis in your life we don’t know about?” Emme gave me a
pointed look over the rim of her narrow glass.
I shook my head. “Nope. Not one that isn’t battery-operated, anyway.”
She snorted. “Maybe you need a real one.”
“Maybe.” I swallowed some more wine. “But I don’t really think the
dream is about sex.”
“Let’s think about one of the other things from your dream,” Stella
suggested. “Like the clock.”
“Maybe it’s a biological clock,” Emme said. “Maybe you’re
subconsciously thinking about getting married and having kids, and worried
about waiting too long.”
“But I’m not even thirty,” I protested. “I don’t feel any pressure
whatsoever to get married. And I could always adopt if I wanted kids.”
“How about the door?” persisted Stella. “What do you think that
means?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “The Internet thought maybe I was feeling
confined by something. But I can’t think what.”
“The door was closed, so maybe you need closure on something.”
Emme sipped her Prosecco. “Or someone.”
“That’s a good point,” said Stella. “Can you think of anything in the
past you might have unresolved feelings about? Your ballet career maybe?”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.”
“Mom and Dad’s divorce?” Emme suggested.
“No, that never bothered me either. They were obviously unhappy
together.”
 “A relationship?” asked Stella.
Something twisted in my gut.
“No,” I lied.
I couldn’t go there. I never went there.
Emme went there. “What about Dallas Shepherd?”
My stomach hollowed.
Dallas Shepherd.
My first crush, my first kiss, my first everything.
He’d had the body of an athlete, the hands of an artist, the face of a god,
the charm of a fairy tale prince, and the sense of a cinder block.
Not that he wasn’t smart—he was. He used to amaze me with all the
things he could memorize. Random things I said offhand he could repeat
back to me almost verbatim. And he was so damn talented—he could draw
anything. I never understood why his grades were so terrible, or why he
made such bad decisions. He was always getting in trouble at school.
Fights. Pranks. Smoking in the bathroom. He didn’t even like cigarettes! It
drove me crazy, all the dumb stuff he used to do—but he couldn’t stay out
of trouble, and I couldn’t stay away from him. It was like trying to fight
gravity.
“Come on, that was twelve years ago,” I said, attempting to laugh. I’d
been seventeen the last time I saw him, not that I had known it was going to
be the last time. He’d made sure of that. “I think I’m over him by now.”
“I don’t know about that,” Emme said. “You haven’t really dated
anyone seriously since then, and you were pretty wrecked after he left.”
I shifted in my chair. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were. Stella, remember that pillowcase she had with his face
on it?”
Stella laughed while I huddled in humiliation, remembering all the tears
I’d cried on that pillowcase. “I never saw it, but you told me about it.”
Emme was delighted. “She would put it on every night and take it off
every morning to hide it. I only know because I caught her doing it once.
She made me swear not to tell Mom.”
“Okay, enough,” I snapped.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about your feelings, Maren.” Emme
patted my shoulder.
“I don’t have feelings about Dallas anymore,” I insisted.
“You never think about him?” Stella pressed.
 I shrugged and took a few swallows of wine. “Not really.” Another lie.
I thought about him every time a man disappointed me in bed and left
me wondering if I’d ever feel that thing I’d had with him again—that
insatiable desire between us. I can’t get enough, he used to tell me, his
ravenous mouth seeking every inch of my skin.
I thought about him every time I drove past the house on the lake where
he used to live, or the high school we’d both attended, or the dark church
parking lot he’d driven to that final night, where he’d gone down on me in
the backseat of his Jeep before pulling me onto his lap and whispering that
he loved me, that he wanted me, that he needed me, as he slid inside me,
slow and deep. He’d been uncharacteristically broody and intense that
night, and I’d been so lost in my own feelings I hadn’t thought to ask him
why.
I thought about him every time I saw someone sketching, remembering
how he was constantly drawing things—with a pencil on the back of a test
he’d failed, with a pen on a paper napkin at a restaurant, with a Sharpie on
people’s arms at parties. One time he’d spent all night “tattooing” my left
arm in gorgeous, scrolling mandala designs that stretched from my hand
almost to my shoulder. My mother had been furious and my ballet teachers
appalled, but I’d loved the idea that he’d created something so beautiful on
my skin, as if I were his canvas. I’d wished it was a real tattoo, and he’d
promised someday it would be. He’d promised a lot of things.
But it turned out he was better at sex than promises, and his sudden
vanishing act had left a bruise on my heart that had never completely
healed. To make peace with it, I’d simply come to accept that tender spot as
part of me, and I avoided pressing on it.
Could the dream be about Dallas? But why now, twelve years later,
when I’d already moved on? Sure, it had taken me a long time, but I’d
gotten there. I dated occasionally. It wasn’t my fault I’d never fallen head
over heels for someone again. It wasn’t like you could choose your
soulmate—either you felt that thing or you didn’t. And I’d just never felt it
for anyone else. What was I supposed to do, fake it? I’d rather be single.
The three of us were quiet for a moment before Emme spoke again.
“Why does it have to mean anything? Maybe it’s just a random bad dream.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe anything is random. But let’s talk
about something else, okay? I’ll figure it out. Deciphering messages from
my subconscious is not your problem.”
 “Well, what’s your subconscious saying about that dark purple dress?”
Emme asked.
I laughed and shook my head. “Nothing yet, but I’ll let you know if I
hear something.”
“Good. We’re now thinking October or November up at Abelard, and
I’m envisioning kind of a soft autumn color palette—eggplant, heather,
thistle, sangria, eucalyptus.” She ticked the colors off on her fingers.
“That’s going to be beautiful, Emme,” I said. Abelard Vineyards was
the winery our cousin Mia and her husband Lucas owned up on Old
Mission Peninsula. It would be gorgeous that time of year.
“I agree,” said Stella. “But can you really plan a wedding that fast?
That’s only a few months away.”
Emme rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “I’m a wedding planner,
Stella. That’s what I do. We’ll get better prices in the off-season, and
besides …” Her cheeks went pink and her shoulders rose. “We don’t want
to wait. We want to be married yesterday.”
Now it was Stella who sighed. “Must be nice to be so in love. How’s it
going living together?”
“Fantastic. I’ve never had so much sex in my life,” Emme whispered
excitedly. “And it’s better every time. Nate is just … so generous. And
talented. And well-endowed.” She shivered. “It’s mind-blowing.”
I peered into my empty glass, wondering if a second glass was a
horrible idea. I didn’t drink much and had a pretty decent buzz from the
first.
Emme looked across me to Stella. “What about you? Things still strictly
platonic with Buzz?”
I nudged Emme with my foot. Buzz was our nickname for Stella’s
psych professor boyfriend, Walter. We called him that because he was so
passionate about his beekeeping. What he wasn’t passionate about was
Stella—at least not sexually. Emme and I remained perplexed about their
year-long relationship, which seemed more like a friendship than anything
else, or maybe like a brother and sister hanging out together. But Stella
claimed to be fine with that.
“Yes,” she said. Then she looked around, like she was trying to find
something she’d lost. “Is there a menu anywhere? I’m getting kind of
hungry.”
 “I’m up for some food,” said Emme. “I’ll flag down the bartender.” But
beneath the bar, she nudged me back, and I knew she’d noticed, just as I
had, the way Stella had avoided any further discussion about her and Buzz.
I understood completely. Who’d want to follow up Emme’s dreamy
rhapsodizing about Nate’s sexual prowess and their mad rush to the altar
with anecdotes about holding hands at the movies and listening to endless
stories about pollination on their Sunday morning jogs? I didn’t want to talk
about my sex life either. Two-year dry spell aside, it was pretty depressing
that I was twenty-nine and the only guy I’d ever experienced mind-blowing
sex with was my high school boyfriend.
Stop thinking about him.
I put him from my mind and did my best to focus on what Emme was
saying about centerpieces and seating arrangements.
Dallas Shepherd was nothing more than a memory.

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 TWO

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 DALLAS

“I really think you should reconsider, Lisa.” I handed back the picture of
Tweety Bird to the eighteen-year-old girl sitting in the chair across from
me. “My gut feeling is that you’ll regret getting this tattoo.”
“How do you know?” Lisa pouted, which made her look even younger.
I shrugged. “Just a hunch. Let’s talk about another design, okay?”
“But I love Tweety Bird. And I want it to say ‘You’re my Tweety Pie’
above and then my boyfriend’s name below.”
“Then I’m definitely not doing it.” I sat back in my chair and crossed
my arms. “I have a strict rule about tattooing names on people. I won’t do
it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve never known anyone who had that done and wasn’t sorry
later on. I’m all about having no regrets in life.”
“I won’t regret it,” she insisted. “Rocky and I are in love. That’s
forever.”
“A tattoo is forever. Love, not necessarily. Either way, I won’t put your
boyfriend’s name on your arm.”
“How about his face?” She began scrolling through pictures on her
phone. “He’s really cute.”
“No.”
“His real name is Rockton. Would you put that?”
“Not a chance.”
“Haven’t you ever been in love?” she demanded.
“Once,” I told her.
“What happened?”
 “That’s complicated. And private.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Suffice it to say, I fucked up. I was young.”
She gave me the side eye. “You don’t look that old.”
“I just turned thirty. I was seventeen then.”
“Oh.” She nodded, confirming that thirty was definitely old. “So what
did you do?”
I cocked my head. “Didn’t I just say it was private?”
“Look, I paid a hundred-dollar deposit to get this appointment with
you.”
“For a tattoo. Not a true confession.”
“You won’t even give me the tattoo I want. My dad’s a lawyer, you
know.”
“Is he aware that you’re here with a picture of Tweety Bird?”
She fidgeted in her seat. “Just tell me what you did. Then I’ll pick a
different design.”
I sighed heavily and checked the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even six
yet, but this day had been long enough already. I had the same dull ache in
my head I’d had for the last four months, and I still had to call my older
brother, Finn, at some point. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Maybe if I told
her the story, she’d get bored and move on. “Senior year, I was getting in
trouble too much and my parents sent me away.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Dumb shit.”
“Where’d they send you?”
“To obedience school.”
My humor was lost on her. “Was the girl upset?”
“Probably. I left without telling her.”
She gasped. “Why?”
“I didn’t want to say goodbye.”
“She must have been so pissed at you.”
“She probably was.”
Lisa’s eyes went wide. “You don’t know? Like, you never talked to her
again?”
I shrugged and checked the clock again. “Told you I fucked up.”
“But…but why?” Lisa seemed genuinely distressed at my assholery. “If
you loved her, why leave her like that?”
 “Because she was better off without me and I knew it. Now let’s talk
about another design.”
She brought out her phone and showed me a Pinterest board she’d
created with tattoo ideas. Most of them were pretty terrible, but I got the
feeling she liked birds and flowers, so I got out a pencil and sheet of paper
and sketched something for her—a small bird standing on a little branch
with flowers at both ends. It was feminine but not cutesy, a classic subject
with an abstract feel. She loved it.
I pulled on some gloves and got to work. I wasn’t much for
conversation while I was tattooing someone, but I was used to people
wanting to talk to me. It always amazed me the way some people treated
their tattoo artists like therapists. Maybe it was just that they wanted to talk
through the pain. Maybe it was the fact that I was entirely focused on them
and they weren’t used to having someone’s full attention. Maybe the fact
that they had to trust me with their skin made them feel like they could trust
me with their feelings. Whatever. It was fine with me—as long as they
didn’t expect me to reply—and if they found something therapeutic about
getting a tattoo, well, good. God knows I’d worked through some emotional
shit with ink. Sometimes it was all you could do.
Lisa got queasy about halfway through, so I decided we should take a
break. While she relaxed with a bottle of water and a few deep breaths, I
peeled off my gloves and checked my messages. My doctor’s office had
called to confirm my films had been sent to Boston, as requested, and my
brother had called—again—but didn’t leave a message this time.
My friend Evan, whose station was next to mine, knocked on the half-
wall separating us.
“Yeah.”
He pulled back the black velvet curtain above the wall. “Hey. Beer after
work? Widmer?”
“Sounds good.”
“How much longer will you need?”
“Probably an hour or so.”
“Okay. I’m done, so I’m gonna run home and eat dinner with Reyna.
Text when you’re ready and I’ll meet you.”
“Will do.”
An hour and a half later, Lisa was the proud bearer of her first tattoo.
Her complexion had lost most of its green tinge, and she was all smiles as
she studied it through the protective plastic bandage. “I love it,” she said.
“You were right, this is much better than Tweety Bird.”
“Told you so.”
“Am I done?”
“Yes, but sit tight for a minute. It’s not good to get up too fast, and we
need to go over aftercare instructions.”
“Okay.” She was silent as I handed her a sheet explaining when she
should remove the bandage, how she should wash and dry it, and what to
put on it to help her skin heal.
“No sun, no swimming, no soaking for two weeks,” I warned. “And
after it’s healed, make sure you use sunblock on it.”
She nodded. “I will.”
I stood up and offered her my hand. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Thank you.” She rose and shook my hand. When she let go, I waited
for her to leave so I could start cleaning up, but she continued to stand
there, looking at me curiously.
“Something else I can do for you?” I asked.
“I want to know what happened to the girl. The one you loved.”
My heart stuttered a little. “I don’t know.”
“Well …” She fidgeted impatiently. “What was her name?”
“Maren.” I hadn’t spoken her name out loud in years. Feeling it on my
lips again made my chest go tight.
“Do you ever think about her?”
Every day. “From time to time.”
A smile snuck onto her lips. “You still love her.”
“Goodbye, Lisa. Thanks for coming in.” I turned my back to her and
texted Evan that I would be out of here shortly.
She laughed. “See? Sometimes love is forever. Even if you don’t want it
to be. You should go see her.”
“It’s too late.”
“It’s never too late.”
I ignored her and she finally walked away, but as I finished cleaning up,
I kept hearing her words in my head. You still love her.
The vise on my heart contracted. Of course I still loved her. I’d never
tried not to love her. No matter what I had done, or how long it had been, or
how many other women had tried to take her place in my heart, she was
always there, as permanent as any tattoo on my body.
 I’d been thinking about her a lot lately, too. My memories of being with
her were so fucking vivid these days. They hit me out of nowhere, as if
someone had pushed a button in my brain. The colors were so vibrant, from
the sapphire blue of the lake we used to swim in to the golden flecks in her
brown eyes. If I took a deep breath, I’d smell the lotion she used to wear
that made me want to lick her skin. I could hear her laugh as if she was in
the same room with me.
But it wasn’t just the memories getting to me—it was the thought of her
now. I wasn’t on social media, because fuck that shit, but I’d been drunk
and curious enough times late at night to look her up. I knew she still lived
outside Detroit not far from where we grew up, I knew she had quit ballet
and opened up a yoga studio, and I knew she grew more beautiful every
single year, so beautiful it hurt.
You should go see her.
My stomach muscles tightened. The truth was, I’d been thinking about
it. Ever since the test results came back.
On my way out of the studio, I stopped to talk to Beatriz, the owner of
the shop, who was wiping down the glass case of body piercing jewelry in
the lobby. Her long, blue-tipped braids swayed in front of her shoulders as
she worked.
“Hey,” I said, “got a second?”
She looked up at me and smiled. “Sure thing. How did it go with
Tweety Bird?”
“I talked her out of it.”
“Good man.” She straightened up and set her rag aside. “What can I do
for you?”
I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand, wondering how to
approach this. I hadn’t told her about my head yet. “Remember when I said
I might need some time off for a family thing?”
Beatriz nodded. “Yeah.”
“Looks like I might have to go back east for a few weeks. Maybe even a
couple months.”
Her dark eyes were concerned. “Everything okay?”
“I’m not sure yet. I hope so. I know that’s a long time, and I don’t
expect you to keep my position open—”
She held her hand out to silence me. “Your position is here whenever
you get back. I won’t say we won’t miss you since you’re so damn popular,
but your job is safe, Dallas. You’re wickedly talented and professional as
fuck.”
That made me smile. “Thanks.”
“When do you need to take off?”
“I have to call my brother back tonight. I’ll know more after I talk to
him.”
“Okay. Just let me know. You’ve got appointments on the books but I’m
happy to call them and reschedule for when you get back, or suggest
another artist.”
I nodded. I hated to lose business to another artist because I had worked
hard to build up a clientele over the last few years, but the truth was, I
wasn’t sure if I’d be able to work again anyway. And it wasn’t like I needed
the money. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you okay? I know you said this thing with
your family is stressing you out, but I feel like there’s something else. Some
kind of inner turmoil.”
Beatriz was good at reading people. In fact, she claimed to be a little
psychic. “Maybe you can tell me,” I said. “Did you bring your crystal ball
today?”
She reached over the counter and gave me a shove in the chest.
“Crystals are not the same as a crystal ball, asshole. And it’s not my psychic
powers telling me something is off with you, it’s your face.”
I looked down at my reflection in the mirror standing on the counter.
Same dark hair with a cowlick that wouldn’t behave. Same stubbly jaw that
could probably use a razor. Same scars above my eyebrow and beneath my
chin. And if I smiled, I’d see the tiny chip in one front tooth my mother
always wished I would get fixed. “What’s wrong with my face? I don’t see
any turmoil. Looks the same as always to me.”
Beatriz sighed heavily. “There’s nothing wrong with your face, Dallas.
You’re gorgeous. You know that. If I liked men and I wasn’t your boss, I
would totally want to bang you. It’s your expression, the vibe you’re putting
out there, your soul. It’s full of inner turmoil.”
“Hm. Well, maybe it’s just been a long day, and my soul needs a beer.”
She shrugged. “There’s that.”
“On that note”—I turned and headed for the door—“I’m out. See
you tomorrow.”
 Widmer Brothers was just a couple blocks away from the shop. As I
walked over, I debated calling my brother and getting it out of the way.
While it would be nice to have the buzz a couple of beers would give me to
dull the edges of what was sure to be a tense conversation, I knew I’d feel
even less like making the call once I’d knocked them back. Knowing me,
I’d blow it off again. It’s not like I had made a decision yet.
Finn wouldn’t get that. He thought he knew best, just like always, and
he was going to pressure me to do what he said. Well, it was my fucking life
and I’d make my own damn decision when I was good and ready. Maybe he
needed to hear that, and maybe provoking a fight would let me blow off a
little steam. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I stood on the sidewalk in
front of the brewery and made the call.
It was nearly eight here, which meant it was just before eleven p.m. in
Boston. Maybe he was already sleeping because he had to get up early,
although I had no idea what a neurology professor’s schedule was like
during the summer.
Yes, my older brother is a neurologist as well as an associate professor
at fucking Harvard Medical School.
That’s right, Harvard.
As you can imagine, Finn was the pride and joy of my family, always
had been. Excelled at everything he’d ever done, from academics to music
to running track. When he graduated from high school, class president and
valedictorian (naturally), and proud holder of not one but two state records
in track and field, he had already accepted his full ride to study chemistry at
Harvard, although it had been very difficult to turn down his scholarship to
study piano at the San Francisco Conservatory. My mother practically cried
every time she told the story.
I was the other son.
When I entered high school two years after he left, teachers were
expecting another Finn Shepherd, Wonder Boy. What they got was me. I
didn’t blame them for being disappointed—plus I was used to it. I’d been
disappointing my parents for fourteen years. What was another four years
being a disappointment to strangers?
“Hello? Dallas?” Finn sounded anxious.
 “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Why didn’t you call me back yesterday?”
I’m fine, thanks. How are you? “Sorry. I was busy.”
“I fail to see how anything could take priority over this.”
Of course you do. We’ve never understood each other. “I told you I
needed time to think.”
“And you haven’t called Mom yet. Do you know how uncomfortable it
makes me to have to hide this from her?”
“Again. Sorry.”
“I got you an appointment with Dr. Acharya at Mass General. He’s the
surgeon I told you about. The best.”
“I haven’t made my decision yet.”
“It’s just a consultation. But Dallas.” He paused. “You don’t have a lot
of time to waste. Please take this seriously.”
I exhaled, looking at the darkening eastern sky. “When’s the
appointment?”
“Tuesday. Eight a.m.”
Today was Wednesday. I had to work tomorrow, so that gave me only
five days to get from Portland to Boston. “That’s not really enough time for
the drive.”
“For Christ’s sake, Dallas, you can’t drive that distance. Get on a plane.
You shouldn’t be behind the wheel at all.”
My doctor here had said the same thing, but I’d ignored him. And I
actually hated flying. I didn’t like any situation where I wasn’t in control.
But I wouldn’t admit that to Finn. And I wouldn’t let him tell me what
to do. “I want to drive. I need the time alone to think about all this.”
Finn sighed heavily. “Whatever. You do it your way, like you always
have. But I cannot stress enough how important it is that you are here for
that appointment. I had to call in a lot of favors to get it. And for God’s
sake, be careful.”
“I will.” Evan approached on his bike and I lifted a hand in greeting,
then held up one finger to let him know I’d only be another minute. He
nodded and began locking up his bike.
“Are you taking the Depakote?”
“Yes.” But I wasn’t, not regularly. It made me feel dizzy and tired, and I
wasn’t convinced I needed it.
 “Good, you need to. Especially if you’re driving. What about the eye
doctor? Did you go back?”
“Yeah. She changed my prescription.”
“Did it help with the headaches or vision issue?”
“Some.”
“Good. Please call Mom and Dad, okay? I know things aren’t easy with
them, but this isn’t just about you.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Finn. In
fact, this is just about me. It’s my head, my future, my decision. And I will
deal with the consequences of whatever action I choose to take. Wasn’t that
the whole point of Mom and Dad sending me away? So I could learn the
hard lessons?”
“Christ, Dallas. Why do you have to be such a defensive asshole all the
time? They tried everything they could to get through to you, to ensure
you’d have a good future, and you kept fucking up. What were they
supposed to do?”
Accept me for who I was, I wanted to say. Better yet, except me for who
I wasn’t—you. But he would never understand.
“Nothing, Finn. Forget it. I’ll see you next week.”
Another heavy sigh from my brother. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy
for you. And … I’m glad you reached out.”
“Yeah, well …” I looked at Evan, who jerked his head toward the door,
signaling he’d go in without me. I nodded. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll be in
touch.” I ended the call, slipped my phone into my pocket, and went into
the brewery. Spotting Evan at the bar, I made my way over and took the seat
next to him. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. Your brother?” Evan was the only person I’d told about
what was going on with me.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t have to cut the call short.”
“I was pretty much done. There’s only so much fake concern I can
take.”
“Come on, man. They’re your family. Isn’t it possible they are actually
concerned about you?”
“It’s all fake with them. Or it’s just because I’m their blood relative. It’s
not because they care about me. There’s a difference.”
 “You don’t think it’s possible for them to come around? Maybe they
didn’t get you as a kid, but—”
“Because they never made any effort to get me. They expected a certain
kind of son, and I was never going to be him. So they got rid of me.”
Of course, that was a bit of a simplification. I was leaving out the parts
where I failed classes on purpose, got into fights that had nothing to do with
me, mouthed off when I felt like it, and pulled some pretty ridiculous
pranks. But all these years later, it still made me angry that they’d attended
every single one of Finn’s endless piano recitals, but they’d never once
come to an art showing of mine.
It’s not a performance, Dallas. It’s just a drawing, I can see it at home.
It’s not like you’d actually be doing anything while we were there.
After a while, I didn’t even invite them anymore. It’s not like they’d
have appreciated it anyway. One Christmas I gave my father a sketch I’d
done of his childhood home. He’d studied it critically and said, You got the
windows wrong.
I shook my head. “You know what? It was better that way. I’m just
different from my family. I’m sure they were happier when they didn’t have
to deal with my shit anymore, and I was glad to get out of their house.
There’s a reason they’re all on the East Coast and I’m in Portland.”
“I get it, man.” He shrugged. “You’re just so laid back about every other
thing in life except your family. Seems like, with everything happening, this
might be a good opportunity to—”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Evan held up his hands. “Okay. No problem.”
The bartender came over, and after we placed our orders, I asked Evan
how his wife, who was nearly nine months pregnant, was doing. He
groaned and launched into a huge diatribe against pregnancy in general and
his wife in particular. Our beers arrived and I listened to Evan talk, but my
mind wandered. I couldn’t stop thinking about Maren.
Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—our first time. It was so intense, I
felt paralyzed by it. I could see her face in the dark, smell the rain on her
skin, hear thunder outside my bedroom window, feel her hands on my back.
She’d whispered in my ear, Don’t stop this time. I want it to be you.
And our last time, in the backseat of my car.
The taste of her on my tongue. The sound of my name on her lips. The
feel of her on my lap, sliding down my cock.
 The agonizing weight of knowing it was the last time, and keeping it
from her.
Did she hate me for it? Would she ever forgive me? Did it even matter
to her anymore?
All these years, I’d told myself I’d done the right thing by staying away,
that she deserved better than me. I still believed that.
But now … I wanted to see her again. I wanted to know she was happy.
I wanted to tell her I was sorry for what I’d done. Was it too late?
It’s never too late.
Maybe it wasn’t.
By the time I went to bed that night, my mind was made up. Instead of
driving to Boston, I’d fly to Detroit on Friday. Then I’d rent a car and go
see Maren, or at least try to see her. After that, I’d drive to Boston. That
would still give me plenty of alone time to think about my decision.
I wouldn’t do exactly what Lisa had said—I wouldn’t tell Maren about
my feelings. That was too fucked up after all this time. But I could see her
again and apologize for what I’d done. Even if she refused to forgive me,
asking her to would ease my conscience.
It might be the last chance I got.

OceanofPDF.com
 THREE

OceanofPDF.com
 MAREN

After talking to my sisters about the nightmare, I felt better. I even thought
it might go away.
It didn’t.
In fact, it got worse. By the middle of the following week, I was so
sleep deprived I was starting to imagine snakes everywhere. My heart
would pound every time I had to open the trunk of my car or a closet door
or the lid on the washing machine. I kept expecting a fucking Burmese
python to jump out at me and sink its fangs into my skin. And I fell asleep
two more times teaching class.
On Friday morning after Yoga for Seniors, Allegra came into the room
and asked how I was doing, and I broke down in tears, weeping into my
hands.
“That’s it,” she said, setting her mat aside and rubbing my back. “I’m
sending you home on mandatory leave. Go get some rest. I don’t want to
see you here until Monday at the earliest. And if you need another day, you
call me.”
Under normal circumstances, I might have tried to argue with her, but I
was so tired I couldn’t think straight. And maybe she was right. Maybe I
had been working too hard, and this was my body’s way of telling me to
slow down and hit reset. Put my own needs first—physically, mentally,
spiritually. “Okay,” I agreed, sniffling. “You win. I’ll take a few days for
myself.”
“Good girl. This is the right decision, you’ll see.”
On the drive home, I tried to think of ways I could treat myself that
would contribute to an improved sense of well-being. Should I get a
massage? A couple spa treatments? Have my hair done? I wasn’t into
fussing with my appearance too often, but a trip to the salon might be just
what I needed. A little pampering. A little indulgence. Some guilty
pleasure.
But first … an epic nap.
I went straight to bed when I got home, practically asleep before my
head hit the pillow.

THE DOORBELL WOKE ME UP.

I sat up, groggy and stiff, and checked the clock. Whoa—it was after
four already. I’d slept for almost five hours straight and hadn’t even
dreamed. Even my subconscious must have been wiped out.
Whoever was at my door knocked on it loudly three times in a row.
“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Tossing the covers aside, I got out of bed
and went to answer it, wondering who it could be. I wasn’t expecting a
delivery or a visitor, and my sisters both had a key. Yawning, I turned the
lock and pulled the door open.
My heart stopped.
It had been twelve years, but I recognized him instantly. That unruly
hair. The square jaw, now covered with scruff. That dimple in his chin.
Those deep-set eyes, somewhere between sage green and cerulean blue.
The sculpted lips, curving into a smile at the sight of me.
The memory of those lips on mine clutched at my throat—I couldn’t
breathe.
Fuck you, universe.
“Hey, stranger.” Dallas’s voice was a little deeper. His chest a little
broader. He wore dark jeans and a black T-shirt that fit him like a snakeskin
—I mean, a second skin. Tattoos were scattered along his forearms, and on
his wrist was a thick black watch.
Tick, tick, tick.
I swayed, a bit unsteady on my feet, and braced one hand on the
doorframe.
“Maren? You okay?”
 “Yes.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. Forced my shoulders
back. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
“To apologize. Can I come in?”
“No.” It surprised me how raw my anger felt, given how much time had
gone by. Like fresh blood spilling from an old wound.
He nodded slowly, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Fair enough. I
know it’s probably a shock to see me.”
“To say the least.”
“I probably should have called you first.”
“You probably should have called me twelve years ago.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I should have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“What can I say? I was a kid. It was a dick move.”
“That’s your apology?” I stared at him for a moment longer, then I shut
the door in his face. He blocked it, keeping it from closing all the way.
“Hey, wait.” He pushed it open again, but he didn’t try to come in.
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I was seventeen, and I
didn’t know how to say goodbye.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Maybe you were too busy fucking
me to remember.”
“What can I say? I like sex better than talking. And I’m much better at
it.”
“Not. Funny.”
He took me by the upper arms, which were bare in my yoga top.
Warmth pooled at my center, and I felt light-headed. His touch had always
done that to me. “Maren, I’m sorry. Really and truly sorry for leaving that
way. My parents sprung it on me less than twenty-four hours before they
put me on a plane. After fighting with them, I went right to you. I have no
excuse other than I didn’t want to spend our last night together being sad.”
“That was selfish of you. Maybe you didn’t want to say goodbye, but I
would have liked the chance.”
“I should have given it to you. The truth is …” He took his hands off
me. Ran one over his stubble, which distracted me, because I’d always
loved his hands. “I thought you’d be better off without me.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
 “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Is that why you never answered my texts or calls?”
“Yes.” His dark eyes were solemn. “I knew I had let you down, and I
was ashamed of myself for it. Can you forgive me?”
I exhaled, biting my lip. Could I? I liked to think of myself as a
forgiving person. I certainly didn’t believe in holding grudges, and anyone
who knew me would say I was a peacemaker, not a fighter. But I also felt
like I’d earned the right to get a few things off my chest.
I forced myself to look him in the eye. “It took me a long time to get
over what you did to me, Dallas.”
He nodded, letting me speak.
“My entire senior year, I was lonely and miserable. I kept waiting for
you to get in touch and at least tell me you were okay, that we would be
okay no matter what, just like you’d promised.” I shook my head, feeling
my throat close up. “Was everything you said a lie?”
“No,” he said seriously. “I never lied to you, Maren. I was an immature
asshole, and I made stupid decisions, but I never said anything I didn’t
mean.”
You said you loved me, I almost shouted. You said you needed me. But I
pulled myself together. What good would it do to throw that in his face at
this point? Did I really want to hear him say he’d been just a kid who didn’t
know what love was? Would that honestly make me feel better after all this
time?
“You promised to take me to the senior prom,” I said instead. “You
know what I did that night?”
“What?”
“Nothing. I sat home, and not because no one asked. A few guys did.”
His hands flexed at his sides. “Why didn’t you go?”
“Because I knew I’d only spend the evening missing you. It wouldn’t
have been fun for my date or me. But you know what?” I stood a little
taller. Puffed up my chest. “I should thank you. I never made the mistake of
trusting someone too easily again.”
“Well … you’re welcome.” One side of his mouth hooked up in a sexy
crooked grin that made me feel seventeen again.
“Stop that. I’m still mad at you.”
“You are?”
“Yes.” I gave him my meanest stare.
 His grin widened. “Is that your evil eye? Fuck, that’s cute.”
“My anger is cute?”
“No. Yes. Wait, is that a trick question? You’re cute. Your anger is not.
And I hate that I caused it. You were the last person on earth I ever wanted
to hurt.”
“You were the last person on earth I ever thought would hurt me.”
He accepted that with a slow nod. “I’ll always be sorry for that. I deeply
regret it.”
His eyes held mine, and I felt in my heart he was being sincere. It would
feel good to forgive him, wouldn’t it? The past belonged in the past; the
present was what mattered. And in the present, I was not a lovesick
seventeen-year-old girl pining after a guy who’d left her behind, and Dallas
was no longer that irresponsible, impulsive seventeen-year-old boy. He was
a grown man who wanted to apologize for his thoughtless actions so long
ago. Most guys probably wouldn’t have bothered.
Which made me wonder.
“I’m curious,” I said, folding my arms over my chest again. “Why now?
After all these years?”
He looked down at his boots. “I don’t know. It just felt like it was time.”
Something told me that wasn’t the whole truth, but I didn’t press him.
Maybe it had taken him this long to grow tired of carrying the burden of his
guilt. Who was I to insist he keep doing it?
“Okay, Dallas,” I said, letting my arms drop. I imagined myself letting
go of all the hurt like a child releases a helium balloon into the sky. “I
forgive you.”
His shoulders relaxed as he exhaled. “Thank you.”
“Feel better?”
“Yes. Do you?”
“Yes.” It was the truth. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear
him say those words, even after all that time. Maybe now my nightmares
would stop. This had to be what the universe was warning me about, right?
“Well, it was good to see you,” he said, pulling keys from his pocket.
“You too,” I admitted, and suddenly there was a part of me that didn’t
want him to go so quickly. “Do you … do you want to come in?”
He smiled. “Sure, thanks.”
My heart beat erratically as he followed me into the front hall and shut
the door behind us.
 “So are there two apartments in this house?” Dallas glanced up the
stairs to the upper flat.
“Yes.” I opened the door to the lower, which led into my living room.
“This one’s mine. How did you find out my address, anyway?”
“It wasn’t that hard.”
“That’s actually kind of scary.” I shut the door behind him.
“You live alone?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He wandered over to the bookcase along one wall and studied my
framed photographs. “These are your sisters, right?”
I walked over and stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Or rather
shoulder to bicep, since I was a good five inches shorter than he was in my
bare feet. “Yes. That’s Stella, the oldest,” I said, pointing to her in a photo
of the three of us taken at Emme’s engagement dinner a couple weeks ago.
“And that’s Emme, my middle sister. She’s getting married this fall.”
“Everyone looks happy.”
“We are.”
He glanced down at me. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Our eyes met, and something happened in my chest that made me back
away and head for the kitchen. Put a little distance between us. “I’m thirsty.
If I go into the other room to get us something to drink, are you going to
leave without saying goodbye?”
“Depends. Are you gonna keep giving me shit about what I did?” He
trailed me into the kitchen, which was small and narrow.
“Maybe.” I took two bottles of water from the fridge and handed him
one. “You’d deserve it.”
“Fair enough.” Leaning back against the counter, he twisted the cap off
the bottle and drank.
Standing across from him, my back against the fridge, I watched,
mesmerized by the motion of his throat as he swallowed. When I caught
myself staring, I looked down at my water and unscrewed the cap. “So
where do you live now?”
“Portland.”
“Wow. That’s a ways from here. What do you do there?”
“I’m a tattoo artist.”
I had to smile. “Of course you are.”
 He smiled back, and the first genuinely warm current passed between
us. “And you have a yoga studio?” he asked, gesturing toward my clothing.
“Yes.” For a moment, I was self-conscious about my appearance. I
touched my messy bun, wishing I’d taken a moment at the studio to redo it.
“I taught this morning. Then I came home and took a nap, so I’m —” Then
I realized something. My arm dropped. “Hey. How do you know what I
do?”
“Um.” He looked at the ceiling, laughing a little. “I may have drunk-
Googled you once or twice.”
I gasped. “What? That is so unfair! You’re not even on social media, so
I had no clue about you.”
“Does that mean you drunk-Googled me, too?”
“No.” I sniffed and drank some water before going on. “I sober-
Googled you.”
He laughed again. “I think that might be worse.”
I kicked him gently in the shin with one bare foot. “At some point, I just
wanted to know you were still alive, you big jerk.”
“I’m alive.”
“I can see that.” Now that we were through the heavy stuff, I wanted to
know more about him. “So fill me in on the last twelve years.”
“Not much to tell. I graduated from boarding school. Tried college for a
year or so but didn’t take to it. Drifted a while. Ended up in Portland and
apprenticed at a tattoo shop there. Liked it well enough to stay. The end.
Now what about you? You quit ballet?”
“Yes. I went to New York after high school, had an apprenticeship with
ABT, which was—”
“You did? Maren, that’s fucking amazing. That’s exactly what you
wanted.”
“Thanks.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “It was what I
wanted, but it turns out I wasn’t really suited for that life. Or life in New
York City.”
“Too cutthroat?”
“I guess. I came back to Michigan and went to college. Got my degree
in kinesiology and health with a minor in business and opened the studio a
couple years later. The end.”
“Never been married?”
“Not even close. But I like being a free spirit.”
 “Me too.” He studied me for a moment, that crooked grin taking over
his mouth, almost like he couldn’t control it. “You look good, Maren.”
My face warmed. “Thanks, but I’m kind of a mess right now.
Obviously, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Yeah, I thought about calling first, but I was afraid you might not want
to see me.”
“I’m not sure what I would have said, to be honest. But now that you’re
here, I will admit to being glad you came.”
“Good.”
“So how long are you in town?” I lifted my water to my lips.
“Not long. Really I’m just passing through on my way to Boston to see
my brother.”
“Finn?”
“Yeah. He’s a neurosurgeon, teaches at Harvard Medical School.”
Dallas’s tone was flat, as if he wasn’t happy about his brother’s impressive
credentials. I remembered how he’d always felt that Finn was his parents’
favorite and figured some of that resentment still lingered.
“That’s nice,” I said carefully.
“Yeah.” He swallowed the rest of the water in his bottle in long gulps
and put the cap back on it.
“Here, I’ll take that.” I reached for his empty bottle, and when he gave it
to me, our hands touched. I might have done it on purpose.
Turning my back to him, I opened the pantry door and tossed both
empties in. My stomach was doing something dangerously twisty, and I put
a hand over it. Took a steadying breath. When I turned around again, he was
looking at me with a gleam in his eye.
“What?” I asked, immediately on guard. I recognized that expression. It
said I’ve Got an Idea.
“You should let me take you out for dinner tonight. For old times’
sake.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Do you have a hot date?”
“Uh … no.”
“Do you have something against dinner?”
“No.”
“Do you have something against me?” He touched his chest with his
hand. God, those hands got to me. Somehow they were strong and graceful
at the same time. Masculine, yet elegant. So much talent in them—it was
sexy as hell.
And he’d certainly known how to use them on me.
Something fluttery happened between my legs, and I squeezed my
thighs together, crossing my arms over my chest. Briefly I wondered if I’d
plugged my vibrator in to charge. I was going to need it tonight. “No. It’s
nothing against you.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The problem is that you still do something to me. But I couldn’t say that
out loud.
“Come on,” he cajoled. “I’m only in town one evening, and I’ve got no
one to spend it with. I’ll probably never be back this way, so what do you
say you and I catch up a little over dinner? And tomorrow, I’ll be out of
your hair.” He opened his arms as if to show me he had no secret weapons
or tricks up his sleeve.
I wavered. After all, he wasn’t suggesting anything other than dinner. I
had the whole weekend off, and it’s not like I had any firm plans. Plus,
spending time with him might be just what I needed. If the nightmare truly
was related to unfinished business between us, then maybe I should take
this opportunity to consciously say goodbye. Maybe then the door would
open, and I’d be free to move through it.
He’d have his redemption, and I’d have my closure. The end.
“Okay,” I said.
His grin widened. “Great. Where should we go?”
“You can choose, since this is your last Detroit hurrah. I’m sure there
will be something on the menu I can eat.”
One of his eyebrows cocked up. “Are you a vegetarian or something?
Because you used to eat like a hog. I never did know where you put it all.”
I kicked him again. “Very funny. No, I’m not a vegetarian, but I eat very
clean. You know, organic if possible, non-GMO, whole foods.”
“I get it. Portland is full of people like you.”
“I take it you’re not particular about what you eat?”
He shrugged. “A burger is a burger to me. As long as it tastes good, I’m
happy. I’m easy like that.”
“I guarantee a burger made from grass-fed, free-range, locally-sourced
beef tastes better than one made from animals pumped full of hormones and
antibiotics kept in feedlots full of their own excrement and processed in
filthy industrial meatpacking plants.”
Dallas held up his hands in surrender. “You win. Now please stop
talking or I will never enjoy a hamburger again.”
I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I studied nutrition in college and learned a
lot about the benefits of responsible, sustainable farming versus industrial
agriculture.”
“You can tell me all about it over our responsible, sustainable dinner.
I’ll pick you up around eight?”
I glanced at the digital clock on the stove. It was just after five, which
gave me plenty of time to get ready and maybe sneak in some meditation. I
wanted to feel completely at ease with myself going into tonight. “Sounds
good. I assume casual?”
“Considering I haven’t worn a tie in about eight years, that’s a safe
assumption. I don’t even think I own a pair of pants that aren’t jeans.”
I was curious. “What happened eight years ago?”
“My grandfather died.”
“I’m sorry. I know you were close.”
He shrugged. “He was a good guy, the only one in my family I could
talk to. He understood me, for some reason. Or at least he didn’t judge me
for being unlike my father or my brother.”
I nodded slowly, picturing the silver-haired man I’d met a couple times.
“He was the gunpowder guy, right?”
“Sort of. That’s how his family made their fortune, anyway, but he’d
sold that business before my father was born, and invested all his money in
the stock market.”
“Smart.”
“He left me a lot. Of money, I mean. Much more than he left anyone
else.” All the light had gone out of Dallas’s eyes. “I don’t really get it.”
“He must’ve trusted you to do the right thing with it.”
“Or he thought I needed it more than anyone else because I wouldn’t
ever make anything of my life.”
Our eyes met, and for a moment I saw the boy that he’d been, always so
hurt by his family’s disapproval. “I don’t believe that for one second.”
“Yeah, well, you were like him. Always thought the best of me.”
I tried again, like I always had. “Let me ask you this. Did he put up a lot
of barriers between you and your inheritance? Put a lot of conditions on it?”
 Dallas shook his head. “Not one. It was mine almost free and clear.”
I lifted my shoulders. “There you go. He trusted you.”
“Thanks.” He smiled and pushed away from the counter. “I should get
going. See you at eight?”
“Sounds good.” I walked him to the front door, and he gave my upper
arm a squeeze before heading out to his rental car. I watched him get behind
the wheel and pull away, still a little in shock.
Dallas Shepherd, after all this time.
I walked back into my flat, closing the door behind me. Grabbing my
phone from my purse, I floated, trancelike, through the living room, down
the hall, and into my bedroom. I’d planned on calling one or both of my
sisters, but instead I lay on my back on top of the covers, set my phone
aside, and placed my hands on my stomach. My body had that fluttery,
weightless feeling I used to get before going on stage, a combination of
nerves and excitement. But I didn’t have anything to be worried about, did
I? Tonight wasn’t going to be a performance. I didn’t need to impress him.
And it was only natural that a little desire for him lingered. I’d always liked
his light eyes. And his agile hands. And his full mouth. His muscular body.
His sense of humor. His dimpled chin.
But it wasn’t a big deal. I wasn’t concerned that he would take
advantage of it. He hadn’t even tried to give me a hug.
I frowned. Maybe he didn’t find me attractive anymore. Maybe he had a
girlfriend. He’d said he wasn’t married, but he never said he was single. A
sudden rush of jealousy stole my breath.
Which was ridiculous.
Dallas and I hadn’t been together in twelve years. Did I think he’d been
celibate all that time? Of course not. I hadn’t, either. But I didn’t like
thinking about him with anyone else, so I made up my mind not to do it.
I wouldn’t think about him with me, either. I wouldn’t think about his
hands or his lips or his tongue or his cock, the way he’d touched or tasted or
moved, the words he’d whispered in the dark.
Let me do this to you.
God, I can’t get enough.
You know I love you.
But of course, then there were the words he should have said but didn’t.
I’m leaving tomorrow.
I don’t have a choice.
 This is goodbye.
For a fleeting moment, my throat was tight, and I was that seventeen-
year-old girl again. Left behind. Confused. Broken.
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, forcing myself back to the
present.
Tonight wasn’t about rehashing the past; it was about making peace
with it, so I could stop having that stupid dream. We weren’t rekindling an
old flame. We were reconnecting as friends.
I wouldn’t let him get to me.

OceanofPDF.com
 FOUR

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

I lay on the bed in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling but seeing only her.
She was even more beautiful than I’d remembered, and yet she looked
exactly the same. Huge brown eyes, porcelain skin, a dusting of freckles
across her tiny nose, adorable heart-shaped face, that perfect round mouth
that used to drive me wild. When we started dating, at sixteen, she claimed
she’d never even been kissed.
I’d fixed that in a hurry. And then some.
She might have been shy and inexperienced at first, but she had a
dancer’s intuition and knew how to move her body instinctively. I bet she
still did.
Stop it. Don’t think about her that way.
I hadn’t planned to ask her to dinner. I’d gotten off the plane this
afternoon, rented a car, and driven straight to her house without a clue what
I was going to say to her except I’m sorry for being a dick and Please
forgive me. All I’d hoped for in return was to hear her say she didn’t hate
me and that she was happy.
But there was something so damn irresistible about her. Once I saw her,
talked with her, I wanted more. You didn’t take one bite of the most
delicious cupcake in the world and put it back in the box—you ate the
whole thing.
You stay away from her cupcake.
I frowned. My conscience had been sounding all kinds of alarms ever
since I left her house. But I hadn’t asked her to dinner to get her into bed. I
just liked being around her. I mean, yes, I was still attracted to her and
wished that things could have been different between us. My feelings for
her had never gone away. But things were the way they were, and I couldn’t
change them. I’d had her. I’d fucked it up.
There wasn’t time for a second chance.
Then it hit me—the perfect idea for tonight. I nearly laughed out loud, it
was so damn brilliant. But since it would require some legwork to pull off, I
needed to get started on it. Propping myself up on some pillows, I reached
for my phone and made a few calls.
An hour later, everything was in place. I’d had a stroke of luck in that
one of the managers here at the hotel turned out to be a former classmate
and football buddy. He was more than willing to help me—for the right
price, of course. What I was asking for wasn’t easy. It would be a little
costly, but it would be worth it, and I couldn’t help feeling pleased with
myself as I tucked my credit card back into my wallet. While it was open, I
pulled out the folded piece of paper I’d carried with me for the last twelve
years and opened it up.
I remembered the night I’d drawn it like it was yesterday. It was fall of
our senior year, right before my parents made the decision to send me away.
We were sitting in my car in her driveway, and she was upset with me
because I’d been suspended from school and wouldn’t be allowed to attend
the homecoming dance, which would have marked our one-year
anniversary.
I didn’t really give a shit about the dance, but it was important to her,
and she was important to me. The disappointment in her face was like a
knife to the heart. She sat there trying not to cry and asking why it was so
hard for me to stay out of trouble, her lower lip trembling. I said I was sorry
and promised to make it up to her, but secretly I was thinking how pretty
she looked when she was sad. I’d just picked her up from the ballet studio,
and her hair was up in a bun. Her shoulders were bare. As she talked, I
probably should have been listening to what she said more closely, but I
found myself memorizing the angle of her jaw, the shape of her head, the
curve of her mouth, the fullness of her lashes.
Later, I went home and stayed up half the night drawing her in my
sketchbook, trying to capture the perfect blend of beauty and heartbreak I’d
seen in her expression, almost as if she already knew I was a lost cause. I’d
planned on giving the drawing to her as a gift, but the next day my parents
informed me of their decision about boarding school and I forgot about it.
Twenty-four hours later, I was gone.
 Sighing, I folded the drawing up and replaced it in my wallet. I couldn’t
turn back time. There was no use regretting what was never meant to be.
Tonight, I’d do my best to put a smile on her face and make up in some
small way for what I’d done back then. Then I’d say a proper goodbye like
a mature adult and take off for Boston tomorrow. I didn’t belong in her life.
I had no illusions about that.

I KNOCKED on Maren’s door a few minutes after eight. When she

answered it, my jaw dropped. “Jesus Christ, Maren. I’m an old man. Are
you trying to kill me?”
She laughed and looked down at her legs, most of which were visible
below the hem of a very, very short skirt. “You’re only thirty.”
“I know, but …” I clutched my heart. “Have mercy.” My eyes roamed
over her body from head to toe. Her blond hair swung loose around her
shoulders, with just a few strands pinned back around her face. Just like
when we were young, she hardly wore any makeup. Above the skirt she
wore a loose white blouse that draped softly over her curves and somehow
managed to be elegant and provocative at the same time. On her feet she
wore high-heeled sandals that laced up her calves, and I had a sudden urge
to untie those laces with my teeth.
Tonight would be a test of my willpower for sure.
She came out onto the porch and pulled the front door closed behind
her. “Listen, I don’t go out for dinner that often. I work a lot of evenings
and haven’t gotten dressed up in a long time. So no mercy for you.”
I sighed heavily. “Fine. As long as you’re okay with me staring at you
all night.”
She shrugged and smiled up at me. “As long as you’re okay with a strict
look-but-don’t-touch policy.”
“I promise to be on my best behavior tonight.” I offered her an arm.
“Shall we?”
“Yes.” She looped her hand around the inside of my bicep and we
walked down the porch steps together. “So where are we going?”
Trying to ignore the thump in my chest, I led her to the silver Range
Rover I had rented earlier today and opened the passenger door. “I’m not
telling.”
“A surprise? Really?” She looked up at me and smiled brightly. “I love
surprises.” The look on her face made me think that no one had done
something like this for her before, and I wondered what kind of dickheads
she’d dated after me.
I shut the door, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
Buckling my seatbelt, I stole one more look at her legs before starting the
car. The scent of her filled my head. My cock stirred, and I shifted a little in
my seat, attempting to casually adjust my jeans.
On the drive downtown, we talked more about our families and what
everyone was up to. I told her Finn had a wife and two kids, that my mom
and dad were doting grandparents who made the trip from West Palm Beach
to Boston often to see them, and that I was perfectly happy living on the
opposite coast, although I did like being an uncle and Skyped with my niece
and nephew at least once a week.
“How old are they?” Maren asked.
“Olympia is eight and Lane is six. They’re awesome. So smart and
funny.”
“I bet they adore you.”
“Only because I send them tons of junk food and presents.” I signaled
and exited the highway at Bagley Avenue. “And they send me pictures
they’ve drawn and tell me I should tattoo people with them.”
Maren laughed. “That’s cute.”
“I should visit them more often, but I usually only get there once a year.
You see your family much?”
“My parents don’t live around here anymore, but I see my sisters at least
once a week. It’s hard because we all work a lot. Stella is a therapist with
her own practice. She also runs marathons, so she trains a lot. Emme is a
wedding planner, so her weekends are usually booked. Plus now she’s
planning her own wedding, and the guy she’s marrying has a six-month-old
baby.” She was quiet a moment. “Stella also has a boyfriend, or at least a
guy she’s been seeing for a year or so.”
I glanced over at her. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“No,” she said. “To be honest, I can’t seem to meet anyone I really
connect with.”
I tried not to feel good about that. “I wonder why.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. And you? Are you seeing anyone?”
 “Nope. I learned a long time ago that I make a shit boyfriend.”
“Oh yeah?” She folded her arms across her chest. “And why is that?
Because other than your failure at goodbye, I remember you as a pretty
great boyfriend. When I wasn’t mad at you for getting in trouble.”
I smiled as I turned left onto Michigan Avenue. “That was a long time
ago.” And no one ever compared to you. “Mostly, I’ve just never been that
into anyone. I moved around a lot in my twenties, and now I work long
hours doing something I enjoy. I don’t take a lot of time off, and when I do,
I’m selfish with it.”
“What do you like to do?”
“I like to be outside. Biking, hiking, climbing, skiing in the winter,
swimming in the summer. And I love road trips.” I pulled up to the valet at
the Westin Book Cadillac Hotel.
Maren noticed where we were for the first time and gasped. “Oh my
God! Are we having dinner at Roast?”
I grinned and shook my head but said nothing more as I unbuckled my
seatbelt.
“Oh, come on. We’re here, you can tell me now.” The valet opened the
passenger door, and she poked me on the shoulder before getting out of the
car.
But still, I kept the secret. It was too good, and I’d worked too hard to
arrange everything on short notice to give it up so easily.
I walked her into the hotel, and when she paused in the lobby, looking
toward the entrance to the restaurant, I took her by the hand and tugged her
toward the concierge. “This way.”
She followed me, but seemed a little hesitant. I wondered if I shouldn’t
have taken her hand. Truthfully, it had been sort of instinctive, but maybe it
was too romantic a gesture. Not in line with the look-but-don’t-touch policy
I’d agreed to. I let go of her hand as we waited behind another couple at the
desk.
“Um, Dallas?” She turned and looked at me uneasily. “We aren’t going
up to a room, are we?”
“No.” I didn’t even tease her. “I promise we aren’t. But that’s all I’m
saying.”
“Okay.” She looked relieved, which reinforced my plan not to touch her.
It was clear she didn’t want me to.
 The couple in front of us moved away, and the concierge, a young
woman, smiled at us. “Good evening. Can I help you?”
“My name is Dallas Shepherd.”
Her smile grew wider, and she winked at me. “Of course. Mr. Young
has everything set up for you, Mr. Shepherd. Just give me one moment and
I’ll let him know you’re here.” She picked up the phone on her desk and
discreetly made the call. After hanging up, she told us, “He’ll be out in a
moment and meet you at the elevators. Enjoy your evening.”
I thanked her and placed a hand on the small of Maren’s back, guiding
her at my side toward the elevators. When I realized what I was doing—
touching her again—I dropped my arm.
We reached the elevators, and she turned to me, suspicion in her eyes.
“What is this?”
“You’ll see.”
“Shepherd!” A voice boomed behind us. I turned to see Aiden Young
coming toward us, buttoning his suit coat. He offered me his hand, and I
took it.
“Aiden, do you remember Maren Devine? She went to school with us.”
“Of course I do.” He offered her his hand as well. “Welcome.”
Maren shook his hand, looking back and forth between the two of us.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here, but it’s beautiful.
You’re a manager at the hotel?”
Aiden nodded and punched the elevator button. “General Manager,
which means I can only get away for a moment, but I’ll take you guys up.”
When the doors opened, we let Maren step in first, and he and I
exchanged a look. Thank you, I mouthed behind her back. Not that he was
doing this solely as a favor to an old friend, but still, I was grateful. I
wouldn’t have been able to do this without his help.
When the doors closed, Aiden stuck his key into the number panel,
turned it, and hit a button. The elevator began to ascend.
“So,” he said. “I’ll tell you a little bit about the building history. When
the hotel was completed in 1924, it was the tallest building in Detroit as
well as the tallest hotel in the world. For decades, it was the city’s most
luxurious hotel, its twelve hundred rooms, three ballrooms, restaurants,
lounges, and shops catering to affluent visitors from all over the world. In
1939, the hotel became part of baseball history. On May second, New York
Yankee Lou Gehrig collapsed on the grand staircase. In the hotel bar, he
told his manager he was taking himself out of the starting lineup against the
Tigers, breaking his string of two thousand one hundred thirty consecutive
games played.”
“God, I haven’t been to a Tigers game in forever,” I said.
Maren looked up at me with a sympathetic smile. “Too bad your trip is
so short.”
“Yeah.” For a crazy second, I thought about saying it didn’t have to be
that short and asking her to come to a game with me tomorrow. Thankfully,
Aidan spoke up again before I opened my mouth.
“The hotel also appeared in the 1947 movie State of the Union, starring
Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, and they stayed at the hotel, as did
Martin Luther King Jr., the Beatles, Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, Presidents
Franklin D. Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, and Ronald Reagan, among others.
The hotel closed in 1984, was in danger of being demolished for years, was
robbed of its copper piping and chandeliers, vandalized, spray-painted, and
left to rot.”
“So sad,” Maren said, shaking her head. “How could something so
beautiful be abandoned that way?”
“Luckily, it was given a second chance.” The elevator stopped, and the
doors opened. Aiden placed a hand over them to keep them open, and I
followed Maren into a dimly lit hallway.
When the doors closed, Aiden motioned for us to follow him. “Once
again, it’s one of the most opulent, romantic places in the city.” At the end
of the hallway, he pushed open a door that led to a stairwell. “Up we go.”
Maren glanced back at me, more puzzled than ever, but she started up
the cement stairs. I couldn’t take my eyes off her legs in front of me. Her
calf muscles were insane from all the ballet training. I remembered how
flexible she’d been and felt my dick start perking up.
“In addition to all the history I just gave you,” Aiden said, his voice
echoing off the walls, “this hotel was also the site of a certain prom a few
years back.”
All of a sudden, Maren stopped moving and looked down over her
shoulder at me. “No way.” The stunned, joyful expression on her face was
worth every penny I had to pay to make this happen.
Goose bumps rippled down my arms inside my jacket. I smiled at her.
Her jaw dropped, and she continued up the stairs. At the top, Aiden
moved ahead and opened the door to the rooftop. “Ballrooms were not
available tonight, but when Dallas asked if you could have the roof to
yourselves, I had to admit no one had booked it. In fact, no one has ever
even asked to book it.” He laughed.
Maren stepped over the threshold onto the rooftop. “Dallas is definitely
one of a kind.”
The three of us moved away from the door, and I saw the table that had
been set for us, complete with white linens, flower centerpiece, and
candlelight. Luckily, the air was warm, and the wind was soft. The sun was
still setting beyond the skyline to the west, and to the east the Detroit River
was visible; a little to the south was the Ambassador Bridge, and beyond
the river, Canada. The view was breathtaking on all sides.
After turning around in a full circle, Maren looked at me with shining
eyes. “Dallas. This is incredible.”
“You’ll have your own server for the night, and he should be up
shortly,” Aiden said, checking his watch. “I should get back downstairs.
Dallas, you have my cell if you need anything. Maren, good seeing you
again, and I hope you enjoy your evening.” He gave us a smile before
heading back to the stairwell door.
As soon as he was gone, Maren turned to me. “I cannot believe you did
this.”
I shrugged. “I felt pretty bad when you said you’d missed the prom
because of me. I figured I owed it to you.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes, which were filled with tears. “You
didn’t, but whatever. I’ll take it.” Opening her purse, she hunted around in it
for something. “God, I don’t even have tissues. I didn’t know you were
going to make me cry.”
“No crying allowed at the prom. And I hope it’s okay I’m wearing
jeans.”
“It’s fine.” She sniffed and closed her purse. “I’m not that dressed up
either.”
“You’re perfect.” Our eyes met, and the air between us suddenly felt full
of hope and possibility. In any other circumstance, I’d have kissed her.
But I couldn’t do that tonight.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching into the inside pocket of my jacket, I
pulled out a wrist corsage. “Sorry if it’s a little smashed. I had to get rid of
the plastic container to hide it from you.”
She giggled and held out her arm. “That’s okay. It’s beautiful.”
 “Good.” I slid the elastic band with three deep red roses attached to it
along with some other green stuff onto her wrist. “I told the lady at the
florist to make it a prom corsage. Pretty sure she thought I was crazy. Or
creepy.”
“You might be crazy. But I love it. Thank you for this.” Then she rose
up on tiptoe and pecked my cheek. When she lowered her heels, she stood
there for a moment, her hand on my arm, her mouth so close I could have
simply tipped my head down and my lips would be resting on hers.
My heart stumbled over its next few beats. I wanted to do it so badly,
but I’d promised her I’d behave. I’d promised myself I’d behave. There
were so many reasons why I shouldn’t be here tonight, standing so close to
the only girl I’d ever loved, tempted beyond reason by her legs and her lips
and her laugh and her eyes and her ability to make me feel like I fucking
mattered in the universe.
What was the right thing to do?
If only—
The door from the stairwell opened, and we moved apart.

OceanofPDF.com
 FIVE

OceanofPDF.com
 MAREN

The server, whose name was Jason, pulled out my chair, and I sat down
across from Dallas. Then I listened to Jason go over the menu, but he might
as well have been speaking another language. I didn’t comprehend one
word he said.
My heart was still hammering—Dallas and I had almost kissed. And I’d
wanted to. Like really, really wanted to. I thought he’d wanted it too, but
we’d been interrupted before I could tell for sure.
Was the thing between us back? Or was I imagining it?
Maybe this whole “old times’ sake” business was getting to me. But it
sure did feel nice.
“Maren?” Dallas’s voice pulled me into the moment. “Something to
drink?”
“Oh. A glass of wine, please.” I looked up at Jason. “A sauvignon blanc
maybe?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. One sauvignon blanc and one old fashioned.
I’ll be right back, and I apologize that service might be a little bit slower
than usual tonight. We’re quite a ways from the kitchen and bar.”
“That’s okay,” said Dallas. “We’re not in a rush.”
“Very good.” Jason headed for the stairwell door, leaving us alone
again.
“Good thing he’s young and looks in good shape. He’s going to be up
and down the stairs all night.” Dallas picked up his water and took a sip.
I shook my head. “I still can’t wrap my brain around this.”
He shrugged and sat back in his chair, looking smug and mischievous
and way too handsome. “Don’t think. Just enjoy yourself. Pretend you’re in
high school.”
“This totally reminds me of something you would have pulled back
then.”
He laughed. “You’re right. Although this is more romantic than the
pigs.”
I groaned. At the beginning of our senior year, Dallas and his football
buddies had been suspended for letting three pigs loose in the halls at
school. They’d spray-painted numbers on the pigs: one, two, and four. It
had taken hours for school officials to realize there were only three pigs.
“Where did you guys even get those pigs?”
Dallas shook his head. “I don’t remember. I think someone’s uncle had a
farm? God, that was hilarious.”
“Poor little piggies. I felt sorry for them, being painted-on and then
chased all around school.”
“It was non-toxic paint. I promise you, no pigs or humans were harmed
in that prank.”
“Unlike the Slip’N Slide episode at the end of junior year.” In order to
“claim” the senior hallway as their own, Dallas and his friends had turned it
into a giant Slip’N Slide.
The crooked grin broke out on his face. “Oh yeah, Hagerman broke his
nose, that asshole. It was his own fault. No one told him to dive face first
toward the lockers. He overshot the tarp by a mile.”
“And how about parking your car in the school courtyard?”
He held up one finger. “That was in protest over them denying us
parking passes senior year. It was us exercising our right to free speech.”
I rolled my eyes. “They denied you parking passes because of all the
shit you guys had pulled the year before.”
“Whatever, that one wasn’t even my idea, but I got all the blame for it.”
“Because it was your car! I told you that you were going to get blamed
for it.”
“I know. Holy fuck, you were mad about that.” He was laughing again.
“You didn’t have sex with me for a week.”
“I didn’t talk to you for a week.”
He cocked his head. “You didn’t?” But his foot nudged mine under the
table, so I knew he was joking.
I leaned my elbows on the table. “And then, of course, there was the
letter.”
 He sighed, the smile sliding off his face. “Yeah, I know.”
Shortly after the parking incident, Dallas and his friends had written a
letter on school letterhead from the principal to all the new freshmen that
the school was implementing mandatory “penis inspections.” While several
senior guys had been behind the prank, Dallas had taken full blame for the
idea and its execution, resulting in a long-term suspension, which his
parents viewed as the final straw. They sent him to boarding school right
before our one-year anniversary.
But of course, I hadn’t realized that until after he was gone.
“What can I say?” he asked. “It seemed funny at the time.”
“It was kind of funny,” I admitted. “But you had promised me you
weren’t going to get in any more trouble.”
“Did I promise that?”
“Among other things.”
Dallas looked at me like he had something more to say, but a second
later Jason came through the door with a tray carrying our drinks. He set
them down and asked if we were ready to order, and I had to admit I hadn’t
even looked at the menu yet.
“Just give me a minute,” I said, opening it up and scanning it quickly
for something I’d like. Only the steaks had descriptions that included the
name of the farm where they came from, but I wasn’t sure I felt like
steak tonight. I bit my bottom lip as I read through the entrees, wondering if
the rest of their meat was organic.
“Let me know if I can help,” Jason said.
“I have a few questions,” Dallas said. “The roasted half chicken. Is it
organic? Locally sourced? Cage-free? Was the chicken joyful while he was
alive? I can’t eat a sad chicken.”
“Um …” Jason looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m not exactly sure
where the chickens come from.”
Laughing, I kicked Dallas under the table and said, “I’ll have the lobster
spaghetti.”
“And I’ll have the New York strip. Medium rare.” Dallas handed the
menu over to Jason with a grin. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to give you a
hard time.”
The waiter smiled. “No problem. I’ll put this right in.”
When we were alone again, I picked up my wine glass and stuck out my
tongue at him. “Meanie.”
 “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. I felt like I knew what you were thinking. Was
I right?” He took a sip of his drink.
I looked off to one side, took a drink of wine. “Maybe.” When I looked
back at him, the crooked grin was on his face, and my heart was zinging
around in my chest like a pinball.
I wondered if he knew what I was thinking then.

Two glasses of wine, one bowl of lobster spaghetti, and half a slice of
butterscotch peanut butter pie later, I was pleasantly tipsy, overly stuffed,
and not at all ready for the night to end. Two hours had flown by. I couldn’t
remember the last time I’d laughed so much on a date.
“You mentioned you like taking road trips,” I said, setting my fork
down and picking up my cup of tea. “Where have you been?”
“Lots of places.”
“What are some of your favorites?”
He ate another bite of pie and thought as he chewed. “Zion National
Park. Zephyr Cove. Big Sky. The skiing is amazing there.”
“I’ve never been skiing.”
“What?” He finished the last of the pie and set down his fork. “What the
hell do you do during winter?”
“Fly somewhere warm for a yoga retreat, like Bali.”
“I do like beaches. Can’t say I’ve ever been to Bali, though.”
“You should go sometime, it’s so beautiful. Put it on your bucket list.”
“I don’t really have a bucket list.” He picked up his cocktail.
“No? Nothing you want to make sure you do before you leave this life
and move on to the next?”
He thought for a second. “You believe there’s a next life?”
I shrugged. “Sure. I don’t know what it looks like or how we get there,
but I like the Buddhist belief in karma.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”
“Well, I’m not an expert, but my understanding is that Buddhists believe
our minds are totally separate from our bodies, and when we die, our
consciousness continues to a deeper level. But our minds sort of save up
positive actions, which sow the seeds of future happiness when you’re
reborn. Negative actions sow the seeds of future suffering.” I shrugged.
“That’s karma.”
“Guess that means I’m fucked in the next life, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. “Stop it. You’re a good person. You might have made
some questionable decisions in this life, but that’s not the same as being
cruel.”
“Maybe we’ll meet again in the next life.”
My pulse quickened. “Or maybe we’ve met before.”
“It would explain a lot of things, wouldn’t it?” He sipped his drink. “So
what’s on your bucket list?”
“Lots of things. Ride a camel in the desert. Stand next to the Sphinx.
Dive off a yacht into the sea.”
“Which sea?”
“I don’t know, I’m not too picky about that. Let’s say the Aegean.”
“Aegean it is.”
“But those are more superficial things. I’d really like to make a
difference in people’s lives.” I looked down at the tablecloth. “That sounds
trite and silly, but I really do want to help people. I teach free yoga classes
for seniors at my studio, and I’ve done free programs for kids at low-
income schools and in rural areas, but I wish there was something I could
do on a broader scale.” I looked up and saw him smiling at me, but it wasn’t
patronizing. It was genuine.
“I bet you’ve helped more people than you realize.”
Holding my tea in both hands, I shivered. “Got a little chilly up here all
of a sudden, didn’t it?”
Immediately, he set down his glass and took off his jacket. Rising to his
feet, he moved behind me and draped it over my shoulders. “Here. Can’t let
my prom date be cold.”
I laughed and set the cup down, pulling the jacket tighter around me. It
was warm and smelled like him. I sniffed the collar. “What is this?” I
inhaled it again, and all my nether regions tingled. It was subtle and
woodsy, manly but not overpowering. “I like it.”
“It’s called He Wood,” he said with a grin as he sat down again.
“Of course it is.” I looked down at the corsage on my wrist. “I still can’t
get over all this, Dallas.”
 “Good.” He laughed a little. “Your face when you thought I might be
trying to take you up to a hotel room was priceless.”
“I bet. Are you even staying here?”
“Yes. It’s a nice place.”
“So when did you decide to do all this?”
“Today. Your story about missing the prom kinda got to me. I felt bad.”
“So this is a pity date? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Totally.” He grinned at me, and suddenly I knew how he’d felt the
night he hadn’t wanted to say goodbye.
I didn’t want to do it tonight.
But you will, said a voice in my head. You have to. This isn’t real, Maren
—it’s pretend. Maybe it’s not a pity date, but he did all this to be nice, not
because he still has feelings for you. You don’t really have feelings for him,
either. You’re just remembering what it was like when you did. And it’s
making you feel lonely. But he lives in Portland, you live here, and you’re
most likely never going to see each other again. So feel your feels, get your
closure, and go home before you do something stupid. You’re strong, but
you’re not invincible.
A moment later, Jason returned with Dallas’s credit card, waited while
he signed the check, and told us there was no rush to leave. When he’d
gone, I sat back in my chair and sighed, looking out over the city lights.
“Dallas, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you for
a wonderful night.”
He looked surprised. “Do you have a curfew or something?”
“No.”
“Good, because we haven’t even danced yet.”
I laughed. “You want to dance with me?”
“Of course I do. It’s the prom, isn’t it? Grab my phone in my inside
jacket pocket.”
I reached into the pocket, pulled it out, and handed it to him. He
searched for something, tapped the screen, and set it on the table. A song
began to play, and I gasped. It was “Hey There Delilah,” a song I’d loved
back then.
“You remembered,” I said, feeling a lump in my throat.
Dallas pushed his chair back, came around to my side of the table, and
held out his hand. I took it and stood up, letting the jacket fall from my
shoulders. He led me away from the table and slightly closer to the edge of
the roof with a full view of the city beneath us. Without a word, he took me
in his arms, and it was like home. Warm, safe, solid, familiar. I laid my head
on his shoulder and pressed my body close to his. We swayed slowly, much
slower than the tempo of the song, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be out of
time with the rest of the world, I wanted us to be in a place where past,
present, future didn’t exist. There was only us, here in this place, holding on
to each other as if we’d never been apart. As if we’d never let go.
The lump in my throat grew bigger, and I tried hard to hold back the
tears. I breathed in and out, attempting to center myself in the moment and
simply be grateful for it. But the scent of his skin only made me want the
impossible even more. Eventually, a tear fell. And then another. I sniffled.
Dallas stopped moving and leaned back from the waist. “Hey, you. I
told you, there’s no crying at this prom.”
I laughed and let go of him to wipe my eyes, hoping my mascara hadn’t
run. “Sorry. I guess this trip down memory lane has me a little emotional.”
“It’s this song. It’s sappy as fuck.”
I poked him on the chest. “Stop it. I still like this song.”
“I know, but it’s making you sad, and I want to remember you smiling
tonight. Let’s do something else. Something fun.”
“Like what?”
His eyes lit up in the dark. “I’ve got an idea.”
“What is it?” I asked suspiciously. Dallas’s ideas could be trouble.
“You’ll see.” He let go of my waist and took my hand, trying to pull me
toward the door. “Come on.”
“Dallas, my bag!” I cried, laughing as I tried to dig in my heels. “And
your jacket and phone.”
He hurried to the table, grabbed everything, and bolted for the door
again.
“Is this idea of yours even legal?” I asked, trying not to break an ankle
hurrying down the stairs in my heels.
“That’s debatable. But it doesn’t matter, because we’re not going to get
caught.”
I groaned. “You always said that.”
“And we never did.”
He was mostly right. As a couple, we’d been lucky—our parents had
never walked in on us, a cop had never knocked on the window of his car,
the condom had never broken.
 “Okay, we never did, but you did,” I reminded him. “Half the time, I
used to think you wanted to get caught, you were so blatant about breaking
rules.” We exited the stairwell and headed for the elevators. Dallas kept my
hand in his.
“That’s because I believed that it was more fun to get away with
something if everyone knew it was you. Why pull a prank in secret? And I
didn’t care about the punishment. It was always worth it.” He hit the button
and turned to face me. “Except the last time.”
I sighed. “Just don’t get me arrested tonight, please.”
“Relax,” he said as the doors opened.
“Have you ever been arrested?” I asked as we stepped into the empty
elevator.
He hesitated. “Once.”
“For what?”
“I got into a fight with an off-duty cop who was being a real dick to his
girlfriend at a bar.” He shook his head. “That night did not end well for
me.”
“I can only imagine.”
“But I promise, you will not end up in handcuffs tonight.” He grinned
delightedly and leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “Unless, of course,
you’d enjoy that.”
Heat bloomed at the center of my body and spread to my extremities
like a nuclear blast. “Pretty sure that would violate the look-but-don’t-touch
policy.”
He straightened up. “Oh yeah, that. I promised to behave tonight, didn’t
I?”
“You did.” But I gave him a wicked smile.
“Well, then.” He checked his wristwatch. “Good thing it will be
tomorrow soon. Is it true what they say about a prom dress at midnight?”
I laughed as the doors opened. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“DALLAS, THIS IS CRAZY!” I whispered as we ran across the lawn of the

huge house on Lake St. Clair where he’d grown up.
“Shh! Don’t talk until we get to the water,” he whispered back.
 I struggled to keep up with him, although at least I’d ditched my heels
in the car after he’d warned me there might be running involved with his
idea. He’d left his jacket and dress shirt in the car and wore only a white T-
shirt with his jeans. He was barefoot, too. The moon shone down on us like
a spotlight, and I tried not to think about the signs we’d seen saying
PRIVATE PROPERTY NO TRESPASSING.
“Who lives here now?” I asked as we neared the seawall.
“No idea.” He pulled me over to where a dock jutted into the water. A
small Boston Whaler bobbed in the water next to it, as well as a wooden
dinghy, two oars lying on the bottom. “Holy shit, this is perfect.”
I stopped when he tried to lead me onto the dock. “Dallas, no! We are
not stealing a dinghy,” I whispered. “You said we were just going to go
night-swimming at your old house like we used to!”
“We’re not stealing a dinghy—we’re borrowing it.” He looked up at the
massive house, which sat back about two hundred feet from the water. “And
the house is totally dark. I bet the owners are out of town.”
I glanced back at the house, too. It did look pretty deserted, but still …
could we really take a boat that didn’t belong to us for a spin?
“Come on.” Dallas tugged on my hand. “Live a little. When’s the last
time you misbehaved, goody two shoes?”
“I can’t remember,” I shot back. “But it was probably with you.”
He moved closer, so close I felt his breath on my lips. “Then come on.
Be bad with me one last time.”
My insides tightened. The list of ill-advised things I was doing “for old
times’ sake” was growing longer by the minute, and I was a bit concerned
about where it would ultimately lead.
Not concerned enough to go home, though.
“Okay,” I told him. “But if we get caught—”
“I’ll say I kidnapped you.” He jumped into the boat, steadied himself,
and reached up for my waist. “Look at all my tattoos, I’m obviously a
pirate,” he said. “Now come on.”
After I let him lift me into the boat, I took a seat on the bench at the
back while Dallas untied the ropes tethering it to the dock. I shivered,
although the night was warm and I was slightly sweaty from running.
The water was relatively calm but my nerves were choppy as hell as
Dallas rowed us away from the dock. What on earth were we doing? And
tomorrow, would I be okay with it? Would I have the closure I wanted, or
would being with him set me back again?
“You’re looking very serious,” Dallas said over the wind that whipped
my hair around my face.
I opened my eyes and smiled. “Just taking it all in. This is a lot to
process.”
“What is?”
“Seeing you. The prom. Nautical larceny.”
“Ah.” Dallas rowed us into a tree-lined cove tucked into the coastline
where we used to hang out and swim during the summer we were together.
There was no one around so late at night, and it was much quieter out of
the wind, sheltered by trees. Dallas dropped the boat’s small anchor into the
water as I looked around. “God, I haven’t been here in years.”
“Me neither. We had some good times here, didn’t we?”
“Remember how you guys used to climb those trees and jump into the
water?”
He laughed. “Yeah. That was fun.”
“I was positive one of you was going to break your neck.”
“Nah.” He looked up. “Wonder if I could still do it.”
“Dallas Shepherd. Don’t even think about it.”
He stood and whipped off his shirt.
My breath caught at the sight of his bare upper body—he was thicker
and more muscular than he’d been back then, and he had tattoos on his
shoulders, arms, and the sides of his ribcage. It was too dark to see what
they were, but I longed to run my hands over the ink. Ask him about each
one. Listen to his stories.
He unbuttoned his jeans and paused with his hands on the zipper. “Close
your eyes if you’re shy, violet.”
I lifted my chin, heart pounding. “I’m not shy.”
He grinned and shoved his jeans down. But before I could get a good
look at him in his underwear, he kicked them off and dove over the side of
the boat. I squealed as the water splashed me.
A few seconds later, he surfaced, tossing his head. “Fuck, that feels
good.”
“Is it cold?”
“It’s perfect. You should come in. Unless you don’t want to get your
hair wet or something.”
 I stood up and unbuttoned my blouse. “Please. As long as you’ve
known me, have I ever been that girl?”
“Nope. But I don’t really know you now.”
I felt his eyes on me as I removed my top and unbuttoned my skirt. My
pulse was accelerating rapidly. “So ask me something.”
He was silent a few seconds. “Have you spent the last twelve years
hating me?”
“I’ve never hated you.”
“Did you ever think about me?”
“You know I did.” I stepped out of my skirt and stood there in a nude
bralette and panties.
“Christ,” he said, staring up at me.
I put my hands on my hips. “Any more questions?”
“Yeah. How serious were you about that whole look-but-don’t-touch
thing?”
Giggling, I jumped over the edge of the boat. The water was cool but
not shockingly cold, and I stayed under for a moment, my feet planted on
the sandy bottom. When I came up, Dallas had moved closer to me.
The water was over my head, but he could stand here. His hair looked
black, all wet. His eyes shone in the dark.
“I’m trying really hard to behave like I said I would,” he said, coming
even closer.
I swam backward, giggling. “I can see that.”
“But I’ve got to be honest, I’m not sure I can keep my promise.”
“I’ll be honest, too. This is one time where I hope you don’t.”
He reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. Giving in,
I wrapped my legs around his waist and looped my arms around his neck.
My entire body radiated with desire. Anticipation. Heat. Only he could
make me feel this alive.
“God, Maren.” His voice was low and serious. His arms tightened
around me. “I told myself I couldn’t do this. But I must have been fucking
crazy to think I wouldn’t.”
“Same,” I whispered, longing to feel his lips on mine again. “But I don’t
care. I want this. Even if it’s just for one night, I want this. I want you.”
Our mouths came together, and we kissed as feverishly and passionately
as if no time had passed at all. We were young and reckless and bursting
with need, desperate to satisfy the gnawing hunger inside us that never
seemed to go away, no matter how often we fed it. His hands moved
beneath my ass, squeezing my flesh, pulling me against him. I could feel his
erection through the fabric of his boxer briefs and my underwear, and I
moaned when he rocked his hips, sliding his cock along my clit.
He tasted sweet and sinful at the same time—like whiskey and
butterscotch, like a memory and a fantasy—and his mouth was familiar but
his kiss felt brand new. The facial hair, I thought, moving my hands to his
jaw as his tongue stroked mine. He didn’t have it back then. I loved the
rough masculinity of it on my palms and against my cheeks and lips. I loved
that he was thirty and not seventeen, that his body felt so big and strong,
that years had gone by and he’d matured into a man but his desire for me
hadn’t dissipated.
I reached down into the water between us and rubbed my hand along his
thick, hard length, shivering with want. At my touch, he dug his fingers into
my thighs. “Maren,” he said, his voice gruff. “Come back to my room. Stay
the night with me.”
“Yes,” I whispered, already hating the minutes that stood between now
and the moment I’d feel him inside me again. The memory of it had my
body tight in its grip. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t want to wait for the next life.

OceanofPDF.com
 SIX

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

So much for sticking to the plan.

I wasn’t much of a planner anyway, never had been. I liked spontaneity.
In fact, I generally had three mottos in life:
1. Rules are made to be broken.
2. You only live once.
3. A tiger doesn’t lose sleep over the opinion of sheep.
So if I wanted something, I went after it.
And I wanted Maren. We wanted each other.
Even if it’s just for one night, she’d said. I want this again. I want you
again.
I shut off every other voice in my head.
She was shivering in the passenger seat of the car, her hair messy and
damp, her blouse clinging to her wet skin. But her smile was radiant, her
laugh intoxicating. “Are you cold?” I reached over and took her hand,
moving it into my lap. “I’m sorry. I promise to warm you up soon.”
She giggled. “You better. But I hope no one sees us running through the
lobby of the hotel like this.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.
“I don’t give a fuck who sees us.”
“That’s because you look dark and sexy all wet. I look like a soggy
golden retriever. When you look back on tonight, I hope you remember
what I looked like when you picked me up for the prom, and not what I
looked like when you took me home.”
I picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, pressing down a little
harder on the gas pedal. “First of all, I’m not taking you home anytime
soon. Second, you look just as hot to me right now as you did then. Hotter,
even. I think imperfection is sexy.”
“Then I guess it’s your lucky day.”
We were both quiet for a minute, and my mind wandered back to the
start of it all. “Remember the first time we hooked up?”
She nodded and laughed. “I was just thinking about that night, too. You
were having a party at your house after Homecoming our junior year, and
you threw me in the pool in my dress.”
“You dared me to. I can’t resist a dare.”
“I was trying to get your attention. I couldn’t wait around forever for
you to notice me.”
“It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed you. I just thought you were too good for
me. Honor roll student. Teacher’s pet. Ballerina. Sweet little Maren
Devine.”
“Oh, stop.”
“I’m serious. I had no idea you were into me until one of your friends
said something. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
She giggled. “My date was not amused.”
“Your date was a jackass.”
“He was. He spent the entire night talking about his new Mustang. But
at least he asked me to the dance.” She poked my shoulder.
“I remember I pretended to feel all bad after tossing you in the water. I
took you upstairs to my room to give you a towel.”
“You took me upstairs to kiss me.”
“Fuck yes, I did. Not sorry.”
“My first kiss.”
I glanced at her. “I remember.”
She sighed. “My poor date didn’t stand a chance.”
“Nope. Because then I offered to drive you home, so you wouldn’t get
the seats in his new Mustang all wet.”
“Pretty sure everyone saw right through that, including my date.”
“I didn’t fucking care. That thirty minutes we spent parked down the
street was worth it. Even if I did come in my pants.”
She burst out laughing. “Did you? I don’t think you ever told me that.”
“I did. When I walked you to your door, I tried to hide it by untucking
my shirt, but I was terrified you were going to notice and be all grossed
out.”
 “And I was terrified I was doing everything wrong, because I had zero
experience.”
“You did everything right. I promise.” Turning right onto Washington, I
pulled up at the valet stand.
“I don’t think I slept at all that night.”
I put the car in park and looked over at her. “Babe, you’re not gonna
sleep much tonight, either.”
She grinned. “My heart is beating so fast right now.”
Hand in hand, we raced through the hotel reception area and dashed into
the elevator. Thankfully, we had it to ourselves, but I didn’t even wait for
the doors to shut before I kissed her, pushing her back against the wall and
running my hands up the sides of her ribcage. She threw her arms around
my neck, her fingers sliding into my damp hair. When the doors opened on
my floor, I backed out and she clung to me, her chest pressed against mine.
I lifted her up and she locked her legs around me again like she had in the
lake, and I managed to walk down the hall toward my room. At my door, I
had to fumble for the card in my wallet, but she stayed right where she was,
the strength in her legs holding her up.
It took a few tries, but eventually the door swung open and I walked us
inside the room. As soon as it slammed shut behind us, Maren released her
legs and put her feet on the floor. I reached for the buttons of her blouse, but
she stopped me. “Wait,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been in the lake. I feel
like I need a shower.”
“Good idea,” I said, pulling her into the bathroom and switching on the
light.
Two minutes later, our clothing and shoes littered the bathroom floor
and we stood kissing beneath a stream of hot water, the steam rising around
us. Her body was perfection—tight and toned, with curves in all the right
places. Her skin was like satin beneath my hands. She had three tattoos, a
lotus flower on her inner arm, three little birds on the front of one shoulder,
and a hand of Fatima on her upper back. They were all beautiful, but I
wished I’d been the one to do them.
She wanted to wash her hair, and I thought I’d go out of my mind
watching her rinse out the shampoo, her back arched in a mouthwatering
curve, her nipples taut and tempting, her eyes closed as the water ran down
her body. My dick was so hard I lasted about five seconds before taking it
in my hand and lowering my mouth to one of her breasts. She moaned, and
it was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.
“Wait,” she pleaded, reaching for the soap.
“Let me,” I begged, taking the bar from her. “I need something to do
with my hands before I get myself off just watching you.”
She laughed, deep and throaty. “That could be hot, too.”
“Another time.” I lathered her up from head to toe, willing myself to
finish the task without losing control. I wanted my mouth on every inch of
her body.
When she’d rinsed off, she reached for the soap. “Want me to do you?”
“Uh, that’s always a yes,” I said, closing my eyes as her soapy hands
moved over my chest and shoulders.
“I love your tattoos.” She moved around me, lathering my back and
sides. “I want to hear about them.”
“Tomorrow.” I grabbed the soap back from her. “Let me finish this. I’m
going to fucking explode in a second, and I’d like to preserve my dignity
tonight.” Quickly, I finished up, set the soap aside and dropped to my knees
in front of her.
She gasped when I grabbed one leg and kissed my way up the inside of
her thigh, and reached out to catch her balance, one hand on the tile wall.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t think I got enough dessert.” I dragged my tongue up the center
of her pussy, slow and soft. “I’m in the mood for something sweet.” I did it
again, and again.
“Oh, God. That feels … so good.” Her other hand slipped into my hair
as I circled her clit and sucked it gently into my mouth.
She tasted even better than I remembered—more like a dream than a
memory. I slung her leg over my shoulder and slid one finger inside her,
then two. She was hot and tight and slick. My cock twitched in jealous
agony, and I pulled my fingers from her and wrapped them around my
erection, fucking my fist for a moment of relief.
“Oh fuck, that’s hot,” she whispered. “And you’re so good with your
tongue. Oh my God, Dallas, I’d forgotten—what this is like—I’m going to
—”
The leg she stood on began to tremble and her cries grew
incomprehensible. I took my hand off myself and used my fingers inside
her again, pushing in deeper, seeking out all her hidden pleasure spots, and
paying close attention to the way she responded to each flick and stroke and
swirl of my tongue. I wanted to give her exactly what she needed to fall
apart above me. I wanted her leg to buckle. I wanted to make her scream.
A second later, her body tightened around my fingers and her voice
echoed off the tiles as the orgasm ricocheted through her. I felt her clit pulse
against my tongue, and my body surged with adrenaline. Lust. Greed.
I rose to my feet and she threw her arms around my neck, crushing her
lips to mine. Once more, I lifted her up and she twined her legs around me.
Reaching between us, I positioned my cock beneath her and hesitated. “Is it
okay? Do you want me to get a condom?” The last thing I wanted to do was
leave that shower, but if she asked me to, I would. “I don’t mind. I always
use one, although I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”
“How long?” she asked.
“Almost a year.”
“I win. It’s been two years.”
“Let me go get a condom,” I said, starting to lower her.
“No!” She clung to me with her arms and legs. “No. Don’t leave. It’s
okay,” she murmured against my lips. “I’m on the pill, and I trust you.”
Of course she did. She always had. Was I violating that trust now?
Wouldn’t she be angry if she knew what I was keeping from her?
For fuck’s sake, don’t think about that.
I shoved every thought from my head and focused on what it felt like to
ease into her body again, to watch her face reflect the pain and pleasure of
taking me in deep, to hear her strangled breaths and anguished sighs, to feel
her fingers clutching at my shoulders.
“I forgot how big you are,” she whispered. “But I love the way it hurts. I
missed it. I missed you.”
Holding back as much as I could, I went slow until I felt her body relax
and she began to issue breathless commands against my lips that had me
driving into her with deep, rhythmic strokes. Fuck me. Yes. Right there.
Don’t stop.
It was unbelievable—I was with Maren again, I was inside her, nothing
between us. It couldn’t be real. It was too good to be true. For a moment, I
was terrified my head was messing with me. Was I hallucinating? Was I
conscious? Was this some kind of altered state? Was she only a ghost? A
memory?
 I opened my eyes. No, no—she was here. I could see her, I was holding
her. She was gorgeous flesh and blood in my arms. I was kissing her and
touching her and moving inside her. I heard my name on her lips.
Dallas…oh God…Dallas…it’s happening again…yes, yes, yes…
I began to let go, bracing her against the wall and pounding into her so
viciously I was sure her back would bruise. And I liked it—I was such a
fucking dick that I liked the idea she’d leave here tomorrow with black and
blue marks on her unblemished skin, something more than an insubstantial
memory. I wished it were permanent, a tattoo.
She came a second time, her cries even louder, her hands fisted in my
hair, her body clenching tight as my cock surged inside her. I thought my
legs would give. I thought my heart would explode. I thought my life would
flash before my eyes.
When it eventually became clear that I wasn’t going to die right here in
the shower at the Westin, I started to breathe again. Our foreheads rested
together. Her arms and legs were still wrapped around me, and I didn’t want
her to let go.
Ever.
She picked up her head. “My God. It’s true.”
“What’s true?”
“A woman can have two. In a row.”
“Two orgasms, you mean?”
“Yes! That’s never happened to me before.”
I felt like a hero. “Good.”
“And you know what else I just realized?”
“What?”
“We never did this before. Took a shower together.”
“Probably because we lived with our parents, Maren.”
“True.” She looked down at our bodies, still joined. “I like it. I like
being able to see you. We were always in the dark, half-dressed or
something. Nervous about being too loud or getting caught. We never really
got to take our time.”
“I don’t think I was capable of taking my time back then.” I kissed her
lips, her cheek, her throat. “But tonight is a different story.”
“Or at least another chapter in the same story.” She brushed the hair off
my face. “We never really felt finished to me.”
“Me neither.”
 We were both silent then, even though there were a hundred things I
wished I could say.
I still love you. I never stopped. Run away with me. Let’s go, just the two
of us. We’ll rewrite history, give ourselves a different ending this time.
But deep down, I knew that was impossible.

WHEN OUR FINGERTIPS started to shrivel, we got out of the shower

and dried off. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, as if I was afraid she was
going to disappear.
She looked around at the clothing scattered on the bathroom floor. “I
should probably hang my stuff up. I’m going to have to walk out of here in
it eventually.”
I didn’t like thinking about her walking out. “I’ll hang it up for you.”
Tossing my towel onto the vanity, I leaned down and picked up her blouse
and skirt.
“Thank you.” She grabbed my towel, hung it on the back of the
bathroom door along with her own, and scooped up her undergarments.
“I’m just going to rinse these out real quick.”
I left the bathroom and hung her clothing in the closet next to a couple
shirts of mine. Then I stood there for a moment. I’d never lived with
anyone, so I’d never shared a closet before. It sounds stupid, but there was
something I liked about seeing our things hanging side-by-side like that. I
shut the closet door and caught Maren’s reflection in the full-length mirror
on the back of it. She stood naked at the sink, rinsing out her things. My
chest felt tight. This is what it would be like. We’d do little things for each
other, we’d observe one another doing insignificant, routine tasks, we’d
walk around naked with no shame. For a moment I let myself imagine it, a
life together without the tick of the clock in my head, counting down the
hours we had left.
But that was pointless. Time was not on my side.
She caught me looking at her in the mirror and smiled over her
shoulder. “Hey.”
I went into the bathroom and wrapped my arms around her waist from
behind, pressing my lips to her shoulder. I needed to make the most of
every moment we had. “Hey.”
She wrung out her things and spread them on a hand towel to dry.
“There. That’s a little better. Want me to rinse yours?”
“No. I don’t give a fuck about them.” I kissed the back of her head.
“Your hair smells good.”
“Thanks.” She rested her arms on top of mine, leaning back into my
chest. “You feel good.” Then she turned to face me, ran her hands up my
chest and down my shoulders. “Tell me about your tattoos now.”
“That could take all night, and I have better ideas.” Already my dick
was showing interest in how close her hips were to mine.
She smiled as she traced the Arabic lettering on my left deltoid.
“Indulge me a little. What’s that say?”
“It says, ‘I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the
freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who
understand us enslave something in us.’”
“That’s beautiful. But also sort of sad. What is it from?”
“The Madman, by Khalil Gibran. He actually wrote it in English, but I
liked the look of the Arabic better.” I also liked that most people couldn’t
read it. My connection to the sentiment wasn’t something I enjoyed
explaining to anyone.
“Did you design it?”
“I draw all my tattoos. But someone else does them.”
“What about this?” Her hand moved over the tiger on my left forearm.
“Why a tiger?”
“I like the way they move.”
She nodded, running her palm over the ink covering my right shoulder
and upper arm. “And this one?”
“A Maori tribal design.”
She drew a line with her finger down the center of my chest and over to
the side of my rib cage, where I had decided to put the one tattoo I thought
of as hers. It was an abstract drawing of a mermaid, done in sweeping
minimalist curves. She’d once told me her name meant sea and she thought
of mermaids as her spirit animal. “Ooooh, I love this. Did I ever tell you
how much I love mermaids?”
“I don’t remember,” I lied.
“Does it mean anything?”
 It means part of you is always with me. “No. I actually drew it for
someone else, but he decided on a different design, something more
traditional. So I kept it for myself.”
She bit her lip, nodding slowly as she studied it. “It’s beautiful.” Then
she looked up at me wistfully. “Maybe you’ll design a mermaid tattoo for
me someday. Maybe you’ll even do it.”
I swallowed hard. Heard my neurologist’s voice.
You should be prepared to lose some fine motor control on your right
side.
She focused on her fingers moving across my chest again. “I could
come visit you in Portland or something.”
I didn’t say anything, and she looked up again.
“Would that be okay? To come visit you sometime?”
Words refused to form. I knew my silence was worse than a lie, but I
couldn’t speak.
Her cheeks went pink. “Sorry. That’s probably too forward of me.”
“I just—can’t make any promises,” I managed, hating myself.
She put on a face so brave it nearly broke my heart. “I get it. Really.
And if all we have is tonight, so be it. I’ll think of it as an unexpected gift.
A second chance for the goodbye I wanted back then.”
Because I didn’t trust myself with words, I kissed her, and felt desire stir
inside me again. Heat spread from the center of my body. My heart began to
pump harder. My cock began to stiffen, tapping against her thigh.
She smiled and reached down, taking it in her hand. “Already? I’m
impressed.”
“Good.” And because I didn’t want to spend the entire night fucking her
in my hotel bathroom, I took her by the shoulders and steered her out into
the room. Then I swept her off her feet and carried her over to the bed,
laying her on top of the sheets where I’d rested earlier. The bedside lamp
was on, and I reached to switch it off, but she grabbed my arm.
“Leave it on,” she whispered, reaching for me. “I like seeing you.”
I stretched out above her, settling my hips between her thighs, sealing
my lips over one perfect breast, kneading the other with my hand. She
gasped when I circled her taut little nipple with my tongue and dug her
heels into the back of my legs when I sucked it into my mouth. Vowing I’d
spend more time on her now that the first orgasm was out of my system, I
lavished attention on every inch of her skin, and I didn’t let her put her
hands on me. I kissed her in places I’d never kissed anyone—the inside of
her elbow, the back of her knee, every single one of her toes. I swept my
tongue across her collarbone, up the top of her spine, along the crest of her
perfect round ass. I touched her in places I knew she liked and discovered
new ways to make her moan and sigh and plead, her body quivering
beneath me.
“Dallas, I need you inside me,” she said. This time when she reached
for my cock, I let her have it, groaning at her touch. She grasped it firmly,
working her hand up and down my shaft before teasing the slick crown with
her fingertips. “Now. Please.”
I did as she asked, sliding inside her in one smooth stroke. Her hands
moved to my ass, and she pulled me tight to her body, rocking her hips and
grinding against me. I braced myself above her, shifting my weight to give
her the angle she needed.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Deep like that. God, you’re so perfect. No one has
ever made me feel this way.”
“Come again for me,” I whispered, unable to stop the speeding freight
train inside me. I fucked her hard and fast, every nerve ending of my body
on fire, praying she was with me. “I want to feel you.”
A moment later, neither of us could talk as the untamable need to
possess each other fully took over and carried us off the edge of tension into
the free-fall of release. As our bodies shuddered and stilled, we clung to
each other, skin damp with sweat, breath hot and quick, hearts hammering
against one another’s chests.
When the room came back into focus, I tipped onto my side and
gathered her close, breathed her in.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I had two again. I don’t even know how
you’re doing that. It’s so good. Why is it so good?”
Because I still love you. “I don’t know.”
“But … does this—with me—feel different to you?”
I could hear the nervous tremble in her voice, and it forced me to be
honest. “Yes. It does.”
“Do you think maybe it’s because you were my first or something?”
“Maybe.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Remember that night?”
“Are you kidding me?” I pulled back a little and looked down at her.
“Of course I do. It was a Thursday night in July. We were in my bed, and
there was a thunderstorm going on. I was going to stop, but you said, ‘Don’t
stop this time.’”
She smiled, but there was something sad in her expression, too. “I’ve
never regretted it.”
“I’m glad.”
“But I always used to wish it was your first time, too.”
“It felt like it was. It was the only first time that mattered to me,
anyway.”
She leaned away from me and gave me a dubious look. “Stop it. Do you
mean that?”
“Yes.” Offering her these little truths about the past made me feel less
guilty.
“That makes me happy.” She snuggled up to me again, then reached
between us and ran her fingertips over the Arabic quote on my shoulder. It
was so soothing, I got a little drowsy and probably would have fallen asleep
if she hadn’t asked a question.
Her voice was soft and curious. “Do you really feel this way? Do you
like being lonely because it makes you feel safe?”
“Yes,” I said, too tired or too guilty or too in love to lie to her any more
tonight.
She sighed and kissed my chest, but said nothing more. A moment later,
we were both asleep.

OceanofPDF.com
 SEVEN

OceanofPDF.com
 MAREN

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Out—I have to get out.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It’s coming for me. It’s moving too fast.
Why won’t the door open?
Tick, tick, tick.
Frantic, I look down and notice the door doesn’t even have a handle.
I’m trapped.
Tickticktickticktick
I try to scream, but choke on the sound. I try to bang on the door but
can’t pry my hands from the clock. I’m sweating and crying, my heart is
racing—because it’s real this time. It’s not a dream, and—
“Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay.” I heard a man’s voice above the out-
of-control ticking of the clock. I opened my eyes.
Dallas was on his side, propped on one elbow looking down at me. One
of his hands brushed the hair back from my forehead.
Confused, I bolted upright and glanced wildly around the room. “Where
is it?”
Dallas sat up too. “Where is what, babe?”
“The snake.” But even as I said it, something in my brain recognized
how ludicrous it sounded.
“God, I’m so tempted to make a joke right now.” He put an arm around
me and kissed my bare shoulder. “But I won’t. There is no snake, Maren.
You were having a nightmare.”
The fog was beginning to clear. The bedside lamp next to me was still
on, allowing me to take in my surroundings. King-sized bed. Brown leather
chair. Large flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Nothing was
familiar. “Where am I?”
“You’re in my hotel room.”
As my pulse decelerated and reality sank in, the memory of last night
came rushing back to me. “Oh. Right. The prom.” I looked under the sheet.
“Guess it’s true what they say about the dress.”
He chuckled. “You awake now?”
“Yes.” I took a few deep breaths. The scent of sex and Dallas filled my
head, grounding me. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Can I get you anything? Water?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. I just need to be still for a minute.”
He kissed my temple. “Okay.”
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on my breathing, inhaling and exhaling
deeply and slowly, letting the ebb and flow of it calm me. Dallas rubbed my
back in gentle, soothing circles.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now can I make a joke about a snake in the bed?”
My lips tipped up, but my stomach still felt a little uneasy. “Go ahead.”
He sighed. “Nah. Wouldn’t even be fun. You sure you’re all right?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t. Not really. Why wouldn’t that stupid nightmare
let me be? What if it had nothing to do with closure? What if Dallas and I
parted ways tomorrow and I still couldn’t sleep at night? I blinked back
tears and sniffed.
“Hey. Come here.” Dallas lay back on the pillows and reached for me,
and I molded myself to his side with my head on his warm, broad chest. He
wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. “Talk to me.
Do you have nightmares a lot?”
“Lately, I do. The same one.” I described the dream to him in full detail.
“It sounds so stupid. But it feels so real while it’s happening. And I don’t
know what it is or how to stop having it. I’ve tried everything.”
“Like what?”
“Meditation. Yoga. Detoxing. Melatonin. Clearing my chakras.”
“Your what?”
 Laughing a little, I looked up at him. “My chakras. They’re sort of like
spiritual focal points in the body. Energy flows through them, and if they’re
blocked or cluttered with … stagnant baggage like fear or pain or
negativity, you don’t feel right. You have to clear that stuff to reconnect
with your inner wisdom and allow your consciousness to grow and guide
you.”
“Not gonna lie, that sounds a little strange to me, but you do you.”
I clucked my tongue. “Dallas, have you been neglecting your chakras?”
“Safe to say I have.”
“They’re probably a mess. I should teach you how to clear them.”
“Thanks for the offer, but we’re focused on you, remember? What can I
do to make you feel better?”
Sighing, I put my head on his chest again. “I don’t know. I actually
thought just being with you would help.”
“With me? Why?”
“Okay, this might sound sort of strange too, but I believe dreams deliver
powerful messages from the universe to our subconscious mind. When you
showed up yesterday, I thought maybe the dream had been a warning.”
“Am I the snake? That’s kind of badass.”
“Hey!” I slapped him lightly on the chest. “That snake is seriously
messing with my mental and physical well-being. It’s not a good thing.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He squeezed me. “Go on. What did you think it had to do
with me?”
“I thought maybe …” I focused on my fingertips against his skin. “It
was about getting closure on my relationship with you. To be honest, that
was really the only thing in my life I had unresolved feelings about. I’ve
been having the nightmare for a few weeks now, and then you showed up
out of nowhere, and in my head, the message was clear: this is the
opportunity for resolution. So when you asked me to dinner, I said yes.”
“Wait a minute. That’s the only reason you said yes? For closure? I’m a
little offended you weren’t thinking about my good looks and sparkling
personality, Maren. I feel used.”
“Okay, it was a little bit about those things. You’re still sort of
charming, and you do have a cute butt. But mostly it was about me.”
“Sort of charming?” He flipped me onto my back, pinning my wrists to
the mattress above my head.
I giggled. “Didn’t you hear the part about your cute butt?”
 He glanced over his shoulder. “It is pretty cute.”
“And I like other parts of you, too.”
One eyebrow cocked up. “Oh yeah? Which ones?”
My entire body tingled as he lowered his mouth to my neck. “Give me
my hands back, and I’ll show you.”
“I don’t think so.” He worked his way across my throat, his lips and
tongue warm on my skin. “I want to hear you tell me about them.”
“I like your smile and the little chip in your tooth.”
He picked up his head and eyeballed me. “This is not a promising start.”
But he lowered it again and kissed a path from the base of my throat down
the center of my sternum.
“I like your chin. It has a dimple I always want to kiss.”
Against my thigh I could feel his erection growing harder.
“I like your nose. It’s just the tiniest bit crooked.”
He looked up at me and dragged his scruffy jaw across my chest. “It’s
taken a few punches.”
“Did you deserve them?”
“Probably.” He took one nipple between his teeth and flicked it softly
with his tongue.
“Mmm.” I arched my back. “I love your mouth. Your lips. Your
tongue.”
“Getting warmer.” He worked his way back up my neck and kissed me
hard and deep. I opened my knees and he settled his hips between my
thighs. Then somehow he shackled both of my wrists with only one of his
hands, and reached between us, guiding himself inside me.
I moaned as he slid in deep and reached over my head again. But this
time, instead of grabbing my wrists, he locked his fingers with mine,
clasping our hands together.
“I love your hands,” I whispered as he began to move, his body
undulating slowly and sensually over mine. “And the way you touch me. I
love your tattoos, because they tell me pieces of your story. I love your skin,
because it smells so damn good. I love being this close to you. I love
thinking that we’ve met somewhere before and we’ll meet somewhere
again.”
I wanted to go on, but I was losing focus, and my ability to speak was
diminishing as the storm inside me grew. It gathered hot and strong at my
center, twisting and whirling upward like a cyclone until I was breathless
and dangling and frantic to feel our bodies sharing the same erotic pulse.
But I managed one last little detail. “And I love your cock,” I whispered as
he pushed me even closer to the edge. “Because it makes me come so
hard.”
Dallas groaned as his orgasm hit, and I came the moment I felt him
throbbing inside me, my body on fire, the world around us melting away. I
never wanted the feeling to end.
Somewhere inside my head, I began to wonder why it had to.
This was good. We were good together—better than good. I knew he
felt it, too. Why was he so against giving us another chance? Why did it
have to end when he left? He hadn’t really given me a good reason. He’d
just said, I can’t. And I’d backed down—it wasn’t really in my nature to
push people, and he must have his reasons.
But what were they?
He let go of my hands so he could prop himself up, lifting his weight
from my chest. “That was a good list.”
I smiled. “Do you feel better about yourself?”
“Much.”
“Good. Hey, what time is it?”
He glanced at the clock next to the bed. “Going on two.”
“Can I get up for a minute?”
“No. I like you right here where you are.”
“I have to take my pill.”
He rolled off me immediately. “Up you go, cupcake.”
“That’s what I thought.” Laughing, I grabbed my purse from the floor
and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and snapping on the light.
Items of clothing—all his, except for my shoes—were still scattered on the
floor. I set my bag on the vanity, next to where my underthings were drying
on a hand towel, and cleaned myself up. Afterward, I took a pill from the
packet in my purse and swallowed it with some water.
I checked myself out in the mirror, taking in my damp, messy hair,
smudged mascara, and a faint rash around my mouth. What the hell was
that? I leaned closer, touching it with my fingertips. Then I smiled—it was
from Dallas’s scruff rubbing against my sensitive skin. I looked down at my
body and noticed it on my chest, stomach, and inner thighs too. Grinning, I
splashed some cold water on my face. I’d forgotten how aggressive Dallas
could be. How hot-blooded. It was sexy as hell.
 But he was playful too. And generous. And sweet. I still couldn’t get
over what he’d planned for me tonight. A guy who would go to all that
trouble was a romantic at heart. Combine all that with the package it came
in, and any woman would swoon. It was seriously amazing that he was still
single.
Then it hit me—maybe he wasn’t.
Maybe the real reason why I couldn’t come visit him was that he had a
girlfriend—or even a wife! My God, he could have kids! A wave of nausea
struck me, and I swayed forward, bracing my hands on the sink as my face
dripped.
Oh, God. Oh, God. I didn’t want to believe it, but it made total sense to
me. Total, heartbreaking, stomach-turning sense.
I grabbed a towel and mopped off my face. Out of the corner of my eye,
I spied his travel kit on the vanity. It was olive green twill, unzipped, and
two seconds later my hands had seized it. If he was hiding a wedding ring,
this would be the place, right?
I felt horrible as I rummaged through it. Criminal. I’d never been the
kind of person who snooped in other people’s things or opened their
medicine cabinets at parties or eavesdropped on their restaurant
conversations. Now here I was with my hands in someone else’s personal
business, hunting for a sign that he was scamming me and cheating on
someone back home. I was disgusted with myself. But I didn’t stop until I’d
taken everything out of that bag—toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash,
comb, hair product, razor, shaving oil, tweezers, deodorant, lip balm,
condoms, ibuprofen, a bottle of prescription pills—and held it upside down,
shaking it as if a platinum band might slip from the lining.
When it was obvious there was nothing else in there, I dropped the bag
and put my hands on my face. My cheeks were flaming hot. I peeked
through my fingers at my reflection, and a deranged naked woman peered
back at me.
That’s it—I was losing my mind. This whole nightmare thing was
making me insane. Dallas wasn’t married. He just didn’t want to lead me
on. He liked being single. In a way, it would have been easier if a ring had
been hidden in the bag. At least I would have had some concrete reason
why he didn’t want to see me again.
Angry with myself, because I’d known right from the start what tonight
was—and what it wasn’t—I began putting everything back in the bag. Out
of curiosity, I glanced at the label on the prescription bottle. Depakote. I’d
never heard of it before. The bottle was pretty much full. I tucked it back
inside the bag and tried my best to make it look like nothing had been
disturbed. But I felt terrible.
I went back into the room, where Dallas was stretched out on his back,
hands behind his head, sheet pulled to his waist. He smiled at me, and I felt
even worse.
“Come back to bed,” he said.
Ignoring my guilty conscience, I crawled under the sheets, and he pulled
me on top of him, my head on his chest.
For a couple minutes, we lay like that, the length of my body along his
as he slowly ran his hands up and down my back and I listened to his
heartbeat. Our breathing synced, and I felt peaceful inside.
“I was thinking,” he said softly.
“‘Bout what?”
“I don’t have to be in Boston right away.”
I opened my eyes. “No?”
“No. And I was also thinking about what you said earlier. Catching a
Tigers game tomorrow, if they’re playing at home.”
I picked up my head and smiled. “That would be fun. I love Comerica
Park.”
“Let me grab my phone.” He slipped out from beneath me and walked
over to the door, where his jacket lay in a heap on the floor. “Probably I
should hang this up.”
I watched, admiring his naked form as he hung his jacket in the closet
and shut the door. He came back over to the bed with his phone in his hand
and sat down, frowning at the screen.
“No game tomorrow?” I asked.
“No. I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet. But I have a bunch of
texts from my brother I’m going to ignore.”
“Why?”
“Because he bothers me. Okay, let’s see …” He typed and scrolled.
“Aha! Oh hell yes, this is perfect.” Looking at me over his shoulder, he
grinned. “Tigers vs. Boston Red Sox at Detroit.”
I laughed. “But who will you root for?”
“You know what? I’m gonna get my niece and nephew a bunch of
Tigers shit just to bug my brother. He loves the Sox.”
 “You’re terrible.”
“I know. I’ll get tickets tomorrow.” He set his phone on the nightstand
and plugged it in before snapping off the light. “We should probably get
some sleep. I just need to take my contacts out.” He leaned down and kissed
me, then headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
I couldn’t believe it—he wasn’t going to leave tomorrow! That could
mean he’d changed his mind about seeing me again, couldn’t it? Or at least
that he might be willing to consider giving us a chance? Otherwise, why
bother? If tonight was really only about having some fun “for old time’s
sake,” he could’ve simply dropped me off tomorrow morning and been on
his way to Boston. Instead he wanted to stay.
I smiled in the dark.
This was only the beginning. A new beginning. A second chance for a
first love.
There was hope for us.

OceanofPDF.com
 EIGHT

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

I’d forgotten about the pills.

I stood in the bathroom and stared at my travel bag, which I could have
sworn I’d zipped, but was now open, and the bottle of Depakote was plainly
in sight.
My stomach went a little queasy at the thought of her seeing it, although
it was highly unlikely she would have known what they were for. I took the
bottle from my bag and read everything on the label, but there was nothing
on it that indicated why someone might take the drug. Still.
Damn it, why had I listened to that neurologist? I didn’t need those
stupid pills. And damn Finn for guilting me into bringing them on this trip.
I wasn’t even convinced that those dizzy spells I sometimes got were
seizures in the first place. I’d seen one doctor who said they were just
“stress episodes.”
And I’d only passed out the one time, a month ago, and only for like
two seconds. I’d probably just been dehydrated. Or hungry. I hadn’t even
felt the tingling in my hand lately. Half of me was convinced the diagnosis
was complete bullshit, and the surgery Finn wanted me to have was just him
showing off how much smarter he was than me.
Yes, I’d seen the scans. Yes, I’d read the results. Yes, I’d listened to the
opinions of multiple doctors and radiologists, all of whom fired at me with
the same bullets.
A 1.2 cm mass. Left parietal lobe. The area that controls upper right
side mobility. Probably been there for years. Not on the surface.
And I wasn’t an idiot. I knew something was causing the dizziness. The
constant headache. The vivid memories. The occasional numb feeling in my
hand. The worsening eyesight. But none of those things seemed particularly
alarming to me. When compared with the risks of the craniotomy, which
included potentially losing motor control and sensation in my right hand
(thus ending my days as a tattoo artist—as any kind of artist) and some
speech or language function, not to mention the rounds of chemotherapy
and radiation I might need afterward, well, fuck. A headache, a dizzy spell
here and there, and some pleasantly intense memories seemed a small price
to pay. And didn’t everyone’s eyesight get worse as they got older?
Bottom line, I didn’t want to be some pitiful, drugged-up, shell of my
former self, unable to work or draw or talk, and dependent on others to take
care of me. I would never burden anyone that way. And I never wanted
anyone to see me as weak. Frail. Vulnerable. Or feel sorry for me.
Especially Maren. No fucking way. I’d rather die than let her see me
with a shaved head, staples holding my scalp together, listening to me
struggle to speak. And it’s not like I could tell her about it at this point,
anyway. Oh, hey, funny thing, I forgot to mention I have a brain tumor.
I took out my contacts and put on my glasses, frowning at myself in the
mirror. It was an asshole move and I knew it, but I had to keep it from her.
Not only because she’d be mad, but because she’d pity me. More than
anything, I didn’t want anybody’s pity—not hers, not Finn’s, not my
parents’, not anybody’s. I’d always lived my life the way I wanted to, and if
this thing in my head was punishment for that, so be it. I’d deal with it my
way, in my own good time, and I didn’t need to give a shit what my family
wanted. It’s not as if they’d ever given a shit about what I wanted. And I
refused to feel guilty about it.
But Maren … Maren was different. She’d never done anything but care
for me. I’d come here to put things right, and I was going to end up hurting
her again. She was going to hate me for it.
But loving her was the purest, deepest thing I’d ever felt, and I wanted
—I needed—to hold on to that for a little bit longer. One more day.
She was already asleep, facing away from me, by the time I got back in
bed. I set my glasses on the nightstand and nestled my naked body behind
hers, one arm slung over her waist.
I wished I never had to let go.
I WOKE UP ABOUT TEN, and Maren was still asleep. My head was
aching, so I went into the bathroom and took some ibuprofen. When I came
out, she was awake and sitting up, looking adorably shy as she held the
sheet up to her chest.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I said.
Her smile lit me up. “Morning. I love that you’re wearing glasses but
not pants. You look cute in them.”
“Thanks. How’d you sleep?” I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Like a baby.”
“No more nightmares?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good.” I patted her leg through the sheets. “Are you hungry? “
“Yes. Will you let me take you out for breakfast?”
“No. But I will let you eat room service in my hotel room.”
She sighed exasperatedly. “Are you ever going to let me treat you while
you’re here?”
“Probably not.” I got up, pulled on some underwear, and looked around
for the menu, spying it over on the desk. “What do you like? Pancakes?
Eggs? Bacon? Do you want me to ask if the pig was—” All of a sudden,
something about the way the sun was slanting through the window seemed
to blind me. Bubbles of light came at me from all directions, and the room
faded to white. I stumbled and grabbed the back of the chair.
“Dallas? Are you okay?”
I wasn’t. My head hurt. My right hand was tingling and my right arm
felt too long for my body. An intense wave of déjà vu washed over me. My
stomach billowed up like I was cresting the top of a rollercoaster. I couldn’t
speak. My heartbeat echoed throughout the room. Fuck me. Fuck. Me.
“Dallas?” Maren was standing behind me. Her hand was on my back.
“Dallas, what’s wrong? Say something.”
Suddenly, I realized I was fine again. Mortified and sweaty, but fine.
“Sorry. I’m okay.” I looked at her. “I sometimes get … these headaches
that affect my vision. I woke up with one.”
Her expression was concerned. “Like migraines?”
“Sort of.”
“Do they make you dizzy?”
“Sometimes. I think I got up too fast. The room sort of spun.” I looked
at my right hand, opened and closed my fist a few times.
 “What’s wrong with your hand?” she asked.
“Nothing. It’s just numb. That happens sometimes, too.”
“Come sit down. You’re all flushed.” She tried to lead me over to the
bed, but I gently pulled my arm free.
“No, I’m okay. Really. I took something for it already, and some food
will make me feel better.”
She didn’t look totally convinced, but she let me go. My stomach was
upset, like it always was after an episode like that, but I pretended
everything was fine. I looked over the breakfast menu and ordered some
eggs and bacon for myself; fruit, yogurt, and granola for Maren; coffee for
me, and tea for her.
“I guess I’ll take a quick shower while we wait for the food,” I said.
“Okay.” She grinned. “I’ll get dressed in case I have to answer the
door.”
I tried to smile back, but the muscles in my face felt strange.
Disappearing into the bathroom, I shut the door and got in the shower.
Fuck! Why today of all days? Couldn’t this thing in my head leave me
alone for one goddamn weekend? Couldn’t I feel like myself again for
forty-eight fucking hours? I knew it could have been worse, and I was
thankful I hadn’t lost consciousness, but Jesus Christ. How embarrassing, to
be standing there in my goddamn underwear, unable to move or speak.
What if it happened again? What if it happened while I was driving?
What if Maren was in the car with me? Goddammit! I didn’t want to, but
after I got out of the shower and dried off, I took a Depakote just in case. I
wasn’t sure it would help, and it would mean I couldn’t drink and I’d
probably feel a little shitty today, but I didn’t know what else to do.
Moody and frustrated, I came out of the bathroom and got dressed.
Maren was watching me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I forced myself to smile at her. “Just my head.”
Breakfast arrived, and we ate sitting on the bed. If she noticed I didn’t
eat much or talk much, she didn’t mention it. When we were done, I
purchased tickets online for the 6:10 p.m. baseball game, and we went
down to valet to get the car so I could take Maren home to change.
“Hey,” she said, slipping her hand in mine. “What’s going on in there?
You’re so quiet.”
“I’m fine.”
“Is it the headache?”
 “Yeah. The meds I take have a few unpleasant side effects.”
She squeezed my hand as my car arrived. “Let me drive, okay?”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to put my fist through a brick wall. I wanted
to be someone strong in her eyes, someone who could take care of her, not
someone who needed to be driven around like a fucking child. This was
exactly why I couldn’t tell her the truth.
But my pride wasn’t worth her life. I nodded, and when we walked out,
I went around to the passenger side, feeling like I’d just taken a punch in
the gut.
Maren was all smiles, though, excited about the game, chirping away
about how long it had been since she’d taken days off, and how glad she
was that she’d done it.
We arrived at her house about twenty minutes later. “I won’t be long,”
she said. “Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink? Water or
tea?”
“No, thanks, I’m good.”
Maren disappeared into her bedroom and I sat on the couch, pulling my
phone from my pocket. But instead of checking messages, I looked around
at her living room. When I’d been here yesterday, I hadn’t really gotten the
chance to look at anything besides a few photographs. The room was totally
her—feminine and bohemian and colorful. Her couch was a neutral color,
but it was covered with pillows in every imaginable hue. In fact, it was
clear she was a big fan of pillows. The only other furniture in the room
were giant pillows lined up under the window across from the couch. She
had a fireplace to the left, but instead of wood, it held candles. In front of
the couch was a coffee table that looked sort of Moroccan, and on it sat lots
of oversized books on subjects that ranged from Buddhism to Russian ballet
to the pin-up art of Alberto Vargas. It smelled good in here too—like the
fancy candles Beatriz sometimes lit at the shop.
I skimmed through the Vargas book for a few minutes before deciding
I’d better get the call to my mother out of the way. First, I glanced at my
messages—one from Evan checking in, one from a client looking for an
appointment, and three from Finn wondering how the drive was going, the
last of which was pretty frantic. I hadn’t told him I’d decided to fly and was
stopping in Detroit. I’d text him back, but first I replied to Evan that all was
well enough, to the client letting him know that I was unavailable for a
while but to contact Beatriz at the shop. Then I took a breath and pulled up
my mother’s cell number. But before hitting call, I went outside and sat on
the front porch, making sure the door was unlocked behind me. I didn’t
want to take the chance Maren would hear me.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Dallas?”
“Yes.”
“My goodness, I don’t remember the last time you actually called me. I
usually have to chase you down for weeks to get you on the phone.”
Did she have to scold me at the beginning of every conversation? It
made me feel ten years old again. “Yeah, I know.”
“Your brother said he’s been trying to reach you too. Did you change
your number or something?”
“No. Just been busy.” Unable to sit still, I walked around the side of the
house and began to pace up and down the driveway. I could hear the shower
running through the open bathroom window.
“Doing what?”
“Working.”
“Oh, really? Where?”
My headache intensified. “At the tattoo shop, Mom. Same place I’ve
been for the past few years.”
“Oh. When you said working, I thought you meant you’d gotten a real
job. But what can you expect when you drop out of college?”
I pressed my lips together. In my mother’s mind, tattoos were for
“lowlifes and inmates” and “people who don’t know any better,” and tattoo
artist was not a real profession because I didn’t have to wear a suit and tie
or even a uniform to work.
But those were not arguments I wanted to have again.
“Listen, Mom. I’ve got some news.”
“What kind of news?”
This was the part I was dreading. I was pretty sure my mother had
majored in overreacting at college (with a double minor in snobbery and
playing the victim), and I could see her freaking out about this and then
throwing a massive fit that I hadn’t said anything to her yet, but my brother
already knew. I had to tell her something, though.
“I’m going to Boston for a consultation with a neurosurgeon Finn
knows.”
 Silence. “A consultation with a neurosurgeon? Why?”
“Because I’ve been having some headaches.”
“What kind of headaches? Migraines?”
“Kind of, but medication hasn’t helped. And I had some tests done,
which indicated there might be something else wrong.”
“Like what? Why do I feel like you’re not giving me the whole story
here, Dallas? Why do I feel like I’m the last to know what’s really going
on?”
“Look, I’ll know more after I talk to the doctor in Boston, okay?”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. How could you just drop this on
me right in the middle of a Saturday? I’m supposed to have lunch with a
friend today, and now all I’ll do is fret about this!”
I bit my tongue and took a deep breath. “My appointment is on Tuesday.
I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“And how long has Finn known about this?”
“A couple weeks.”
“And you’re just telling me now?”
“Like I said, I’ve been busy, and I really don’t want anyone to worry.
Everything is going to be fine.”
“Something about this isn’t right, Dallas. I want to talk to Finn and find
out what’s really going on.”
Because of course, Finn would know more about my own head than I
would. But I didn’t argue, because I wanted to end this conversation and
call my brother before she did. “I’ll talk to you soon, Mom.”
She was still talking when I ended the call. I hit Finn’s name in my
recents, glad when he picked up right away.
“Dallas?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“How’s the trip going? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I decided to fly, and I stopped in Detroit to see a friend.
Listen, I talked to Mom.”
“Did you tell her?”
“Sort of.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I sort of told her the truth and sort of didn’t. I told her about the
headaches and the tests, and I told her that I was coming to Boston to meet
with a surgeon you know.”
 “You didn’t tell her about the tumor?”
“No.”
“Shit, Dallas, now she’s calling me.”
“I figured that would happen. Don’t tell her anything else.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Say that it’s my fucking business, not yours.”
Finn exhaled loudly. “Have you given any more thought to treatment?”
“I haven’t decided anything yet.”
“I was thinking, if Dr. Acharya agrees to do the surgery, you could stay
with us a few weeks.”
“I haven’t decided on the surgery yet, Finn. And I don’t want you to tell
Mom about it because then she’ll start pressuring me, too.”
“Because she’ll want to save your life, like I’m trying to do!” Finn
exploded. “This doesn’t have to be a death sentence, Dallas. I don’t
understand you at all.”
“What is so hard to understand about wanting to control what happens
to my fucking body?”
“Do you want to suffer, is that it? Are you still trying to prove how
badass you are? Or do you think you deserve this somehow?”
“Fuck you, Finn,” I said, louder than I should have. Some guy was
doing yard work next door and glanced over his shoulder at me. But my
brother’s words were hitting a nerve.
“I’m serious, Dallas. I’ve been sitting here trying to wrap my brain
around this for weeks now. Wondering if you’re looking at this as one final
‘fuck you’ to everyone who cares about you and wants to help, or if beneath
all that ink and attitude, you’re just scared and don’t want to show it.”
“Fuck you, Finn!” I was yelling now, but I couldn’t control myself.
“You don’t know anything about me or how I feel!”
“Because you don’t talk to me. You treat me like it’s my fault I get
along with Mom and Dad and you don’t. Like I’ve wronged you somehow
by being good at things that mattered to them. You blame me for all the shit
that went wrong for you growing up. Those were your choices, Dallas.”
“You don’t get it. Do you know what it was like constantly living in
your shadow? You weren’t even there and yet you were, being better than
me at everything in every way. Better at school, better at music, better at
impressing adults, better at making good choices. You had done everything
so right that there was no room for mistakes. I didn’t stand a chance and I
knew it, so what was the point of trying? And maybe that’s unfair to you,
but that’s how I felt then and it’s a hard thing to get over.”
“Don’t you think you could be exaggerating things a little bit?”
“Exaggerating! Christ, Finn. Do you know how many times I was asked
why I couldn’t be more like you? Do you know what it feels like to be told
again and again what a disappointment you are? Do you know how it feels
to be told your best wasn’t good enough?”
“No,” he admitted. “Did they really say that to you?”
I laughed. “Are you kidding me? I remember in ninth grade, I worked
my ass off and got a B on the math final. Dad said, ‘B’s are okay, if that’s
all you can do, but you need A’s in math if you want to get into any decent
college.’”
“Maybe he thought that would motivate you to try harder.”
“Are you even listening to me? I just said I worked my ass off for that
stupid fucking B. For nothing.” I stopped pacing and lowered my voice—
this was useless. “But forget it, Finn. I apologize, okay? I apologize that I
blamed you for my shit. I apologize for not being a bigger person. I
apologize that I’m not acting properly in my current situation. I have no
doubt you’d be much better at having a brain tumor than I am. I never do
anything right.”
“Dallas, come on.”
“I’m staying in Detroit another night or two. I’ll be there in time for the
appointment with the surgeon on Tuesday.” I hung up on him before he
could get another word in.
Continuing to pace back and forth next to the house, I fought the urge to
throw my phone on the cement and watch it shatter. I felt like destroying
something, I was so fucking furious. Why did I let Finn get to me like that?
It was so maddening that my family could still rile me up after all these
years. I thought about what Evan had said, that I was laid-back about every
other thing in life, but my family had the power to drive me insane. It was
because they knew exactly how to push my buttons, and they dredged up
shitty memories of being not good enough. Just talking to them reminded
me I’d been loved less. That love itself was conditional. Was it any wonder
I’d distanced myself from them?
I imagined Finn telling my mother the truth and them having a
conversation about how fucked up I was. How stupid and selfish. How hard
I was making this for them.
 Do you want to suffer, is that it?
So what if I did? Was it his business, or anyone’s? Maybe in some ways
Finn was right, and I was looking at this as one last chance to say fuck you.
To ignore their advice and refuse their help. To be who I was without
apology and throw it in their faces. This is me, this is my choice, deal with
it. God, it had to be driving Finn fucking crazy that I wasn’t falling in line
to do exactly what he said. But damn if I was going to let him be the hero in
my story. I had the power to decide what to do, and I was going to keep it.
Suddenly I noticed that the water wasn’t running in the bathroom
anymore. Shit. I’d been loud. Had she heard me yelling? Had I said
anything about the tumor? Or the surgery? What would I do if she asked me
about it?
Why couldn’t I do anything right?
I slumped back against the brick wall. One thing hadn’t changed—she
deserved way better than me. Someone who wasn’t damaged. Someone
who wasn’t a liar. Someone worthy of her love. I wasn’t even sure someone
good enough for her existed, but it sure as fuck wasn’t me.
My phone vibrated in my hand, and I looked at it. A message from Finn.
I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.
And then another.
Somehow when we talk, what I want to say comes out all wrong.
Bree says I can be insensitive without even trying.
I’d always liked my brother’s wife.
Anyway, I wanted you to know I will not betray your confidence
with Mom. And when you get here, I’d really like it if we could sit
down and talk. I promise to listen.
I frowned at the screen. Did he really want to talk—or listen? Or was
this just a ploy to get me to take his medical advice?
Olympia and Lane can’t wait for you to arrive. Oly says you can
sleep in her room and you can even have the top bunk.
That brought a little smile. I was excited to see the kids, and sometimes
it was the thought of them that made me think hard about treatment. It
would be nice to see them grow up. But at what price?
Sighing, I pushed myself off the wall and headed for the front door. I
wouldn’t think about that now. Nor would I worry about mending my
relationship with my brother.
Today, the only person I cared about was Maren.
OceanofPDF.com
 NINE

OceanofPDF.com
 MAREN

I was so happy, I was tempted to sing in the shower. The only thing that
prevented me from doing it was the thought that Dallas might hear me. I am
good at many things, but singing is not one of them. Growing up, my sisters
always wondered how someone with a gift for dance could be so totally
tone deaf.
But I did allow myself to hum “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” as I
washed my hair. I knew I shouldn’t get too carried away where Dallas was
concerned—he was only staying one more day, and it wasn’t as if he had
mentioned any kind of commitment to seeing each other beyond that. But it
was hard not to be hopeful.
The other thing that had me in such a good mood was the long stretch of
nightmare-free sleep. It was still a little troubling (not to mention
embarrassing) that I’d had the nightmare while sleeping next to Dallas,
since I’d thought that forgiveness and making amends would soothe my
subconscious, but maybe I had to give it more time. Let the message really
sink in deep.
I was a bit concerned about what had happened in the hotel room this
morning—for a second there, I’d thought Dallas was going to pass out.
He’d seemed to recover quickly afterward, but I’d been relieved when he
agreed to let me drive to my house. It was obvious he hadn’t liked it, and
he’d been a bit silent and sullen during the ride, but he must have known it
was the responsible decision. And his Man Ego would survive.
I turned off the water, squeezed out my hair, and grabbed my towel. I
had just stepped out of the shower when I heard Dallas’s voice coming
through the screen. It sounded like he was angry. Yelling at someone. I
frowned and moved closer to the window, wrapping my towel tightly
around my chest.
“Fuck you, Finn!” He yelled. “You don’t know anything about me or
how I feel.”
I covered my mouth with one hand. I couldn’t see him, but his voice
was coming from over to the right, as if he had walked into the backyard. A
moment later, he went on angrily.
“Do you know what it was like constantly living in your shadow? You
weren’t even there and yet you were, being better than me at everything in
every way. Better at school, better at music, better at impressing adults,
better at making good choices. You had done everything so right that there
was no room for mistakes. I didn’t stand a chance, so what what the point of
trying? And maybe that’s unfair to you, that’s how I felt then and it’s a hard
thing to get over.”
Tears came to my eyes. Poor Dallas. No matter how much time had
gone by, no matter what he looked like on the outside, somewhere inside
him was the boy he’d been, the one who had never been good enough in his
parents’ eyes. He’d never talked about it much, but I had always suspected
it hurt him more than he let on that they didn’t appear to take pride in him.
That his brother had clearly been the favorite. That he felt he would never
measure up. Hearing him admit it now broke my heart.
“But forget it, Finn. I apologize, okay?” Then he lowered his voice, and
a lawnmower came on next door, so it was too hard to hear what he said
next. But he wandered past the window a few seconds later, and I heard him
say, “I’m staying in Detroit another night or two. I’ll be there in time for the
appointment with the surgeon on Tuesday.”
Quickly, I backed away from the screen so he wouldn’t see me.
Surgeon? Goose bumps spread over my skin. Why did Dallas have to
see a surgeon? Was it the headaches? And why in Boston? Was it a friend or
colleague of his brother’s?
I was even more worried now. But I couldn’t ask him about it, because
that would mean admitting I’d overheard him through the window. He
clearly didn’t want me to know about it or else he’d have mentioned it
already.
After drying off, I hung up my towel and went into my bedroom to get
dressed. While I tugged on denim shorts and slipped an embroidered blouse
over my head, I wondered what had set off the argument between Dallas
and his brother. I wished I could ask him about it, but if he knew that I’d
heard him confess how he felt about growing up in Finn’s shadow, he’d be
devastated. He’d always been so proud. But on the other hand, I wanted
him to know he could confide in me. Trust me with his feelings. It must be
terrible to hold all that hurt inside. What could I do to help him?
I continued to think about it while I blow-dried my hair. When it was
mostly dry, I put in a couple braids near the front and pinned them at the
back, leaving the rest down. The only makeup I added was some mascara
and lip balm, and rather than perfume, I rubbed a few drops of jasmine oil
on my wrists and neck. It was while I was putting the cap back on the bottle
that I had an idea about what I could do to help Dallas with both his
physical and his emotional pain.
I found him in my living room, sitting on the couch wearing a broody
expression. “Hey,” I said, sitting down next to him.
When he saw me, his face relaxed. “Hey. You smell good.” He reached
for me, pulling me toward him so I was lying across his lap.
I looped arms around his head and laughed as he buried his face in my
neck. “Thanks. Hey, I have an idea.”
“Mmm. Me too.” He pressed his lips to my throat and slid one hand up
my rib cage, beneath my blouse. “I hope it’s the same one.”
I giggled. “It’s not.”
“Then I vote we do mine first.” He covered one breast with his hand and
nibbled my earlobe. “You’ll like it, I promise. It starts by making you come
with my tongue and moves on from there.”
Between my legs, I felt a pleasant flutter, and nearly gave in to it. “That
does sound nice, but first we’re going to do something for you.”
“What?”
“Clear your chakras.”
“I like my idea better.”
“I know you do, and I promise we will get there, but first I want to do
this for you.” I put my hand on his shoulders and pushed back gently,
forcing him to look at me. “Please?”
“Why? I’m not having any nightmares, unless I’m in one right now and
you’re going to make me walk around with this hard-on all day.”
“It’s not just for nightmares. It’s for other things too, and I think it could
help you with your headaches.” And your family issues, I wanted to add.
“We have a class on it at the studio, and everyone always says they feel
better afterward.”
“I already know what will make me feel better.”
“Come on, you’ll like this. It involves massage.” I slid my palms down
his chest and spoke seductively. “I’ll have my hands all over you. I’ll even
sit on your lap.”
“That’s only going to make me want my idea more. I can’t promise I’ll
be able to control myself.”
I smiled. “Just try. For me.”
He sighed heavily. “I suppose I can’t say no to you since I showed up
out of the blue and basically kidnapped you for the weekend.”
“That’s right. You can’t.” I managed to sit up. “It’s going to feel good, I
promise.”
He stayed where he was while I got everything ready—closing the
curtains to block out the light, pouring some rosewood oil into my diffuser
dish, lighting the flame beneath it. “What’s a sound you like?” I asked him,
scrolling through the choices on my Meditation Playlist.
“You screaming my name.”
I ignored that. “Waves? Thunderstorm? Ocean breeze? Rainforest?
Birds chirping? Babbling brook?”
Another heavy sigh. “Let’s go with thunderstorm. They always make
me think of you.”
A shiver moved through me, and our eyes met in the dim light. “Same.”
I selected the track, put it on repeat, and set my phone aside. Then I
went over to him and held out my hand. “Phone, please. I can’t have any
interruptions.”
He handed it over, and I made sure the ringer was off before setting it
on the mantel. Then I straddled his legs, my knees on either side of his
thighs. Since this was going to be a sort of cross between a spiritual and a
sensual exercise, I was taking some huge liberties with the practice, but I
didn’t really care. The idea was to get him to relax, feel good, let go of
negative energy, and build trust.
“Wow. This must be a very popular class at your studio.” He put his
hands on my ass. “I bet you have a lot of male students.”
“This isn’t what I do in the class, silly. This is something just for you.
Are you ready?”
“Yeah. I might like this more than I thought.”
 I grinned as the sound of thunder rolled gently through the room, taking
me back to another summer night, when I’d offered him everything and
he’d given it right back to me. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes. Except that my pants are really tight in the crotch.”
I unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. “Don’t get too excited. I’m just
loosening these up so I can reach all the places I need to. But I do want you
to take your shirt off.”
He grabbed his fitted navy T-shirt from the back, yanked it off, and
tossed it aside. At the sight of his bare chest, my insides danced around and
I was very tempted to abandon my idea for his, but I stayed focused.
“Close your eyes, and breathe deeply and slowly,” I whispered.
Reaching around to his lower back with my right hand, I slid my fingers
down to the tip of his tailbone. “At the base of the spine is your root chakra.
It houses your sense of safety and security. It relates to basic needs and
physicality. I want you to imagine the color red as you think about the
words I’m saying and repeat them in your head.”
He nodded slightly.
“I am safe,” I said softly. “I am grounded. I belong to this world. I have
all that I need. I am where I need to be.”
Next, I needed to place my left palm on his taut lower abs, beneath his
belly button. Since his erection was taking up a fair amount of real estate in
that area, I had to concentrate extra hard not to get distracted as I slipped
my fingers between his stomach and his cock. He opened one eye and
looked at me.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I have to touch you here. But I’ll be good.”
He sighed and closed his eye again.
“Your sacral chakra is related to emotional and mental acceptance.
Creativity. Sexuality. Pleasure and desire.”
“I like this one. You should take off your pants.”
“Hush.” I concentrated on sending energy from my right hand to my
left, pausing to take a couple deep breaths. “I want you to imagine the color
orange as you repeat these words in your head. I embrace life with passion.
I am a beautiful, sensual and creative being. My senses are alive and
connected.”
After a moment, I moved my left hand up to his solar plexus. “The third
chakra connects to your ego, will, power, and self-esteem. Imagine the color
yellow as you think about these words. I am courageous and powerful. I
accept myself. I make my own choices.”
It took me another minute or so before I felt like the energy was flowing
freely between my hands, and I wondered if Dallas was struggling with a
choice of some kind.
Next, I moved my left hand to his sternum. “The first three chakras
were physical. The last four are spiritual. The heart chakra is the center of
love, compassion, and devotion. Imagine the color green as you say these
words to yourself. I am kind to myself. I am able to let go of the past, to
forgive myself and others. I allow love to fill me up and guide me in all my
actions. I love without fear.”
Dallas’s heart beat strong and steady beneath my palm, and I let myself
get a little lost in the rhythm of it. His skin was warm, his muscles firm. My
breath began to come a little quicker, my pulse kicking up a little higher. I
shifted on his lap, and he opened his eyes. The thunder echoed.
“Careful,” he warned.
I moved my left hand up to his throat. “The throat chakra is the center
of expression, communication, honesty and openness.” The muscles in his
throat were tight, and I felt him swallow. His jaw was clenched, too.
“Relax,” I whispered. “Close your eyes and imagine a beautiful vibrant
blue. Say to yourself, I have a voice. I speak freely. I speak truth. I speak
with love and compassion.”
But even as I said the words, I wasn’t thinking about speaking. I was
staring at Dallas’s mouth, anxious to feel it against mine. In fact, before I
could stop myself, I’d moved my hand up to his jaw and began rubbing his
lips with my thumb. I leaned closer, sliding my right hand farther down the
back of his jeans.
“Is there an anal chakra or are you going off script?” he asked quietly.
His cock twitched.
“I’m a little off script,” I admitted.
He moved his hands to my butt again. “Then I’m going off, too.”
“Close your eyes. I’m almost done.” Before I completely lost control of
the situation, I touched the fingertips of my left hand to the spot between his
eyebrows. “This chakra is sometimes called the third eye. It relates to
vision, intuition, and insight. It allows us to detach from subjective
perception and see truth or symbolic meaning in a situation.”
“Right now all I want is to detach you from your clothes.”
 That was all I wanted too, but I was determined to finish this. I placed
my left hand on the top of his head. “The crown chakra symbolizes
enlightenment, pure awareness. It brings us knowledge, wisdom,
understanding, spiritual connection, and bliss.”
“Will it bring you to sit on my face? Because that sounds like bliss to
me.”
My thigh muscles clenched around his. I had to close my eyes so I
wouldn’t see him and be distracted. “Dallas. Focus with me. Imagine the
energy flowing up through all the points I touched.”
“There is definitely something flowing up in me.”
“Picture the color violet.”
“I’d rather picture my dick in your mouth.”
Oh, fuck. I opened my eyes and brought my hands to his shoulders.
“You would?”
“Yeah. Does that make me an unenlightened brute?”
“Probably.” I kissed him softly, traced his lips with my tongue. “But I’m
going to give you what you want.”
“You are?” His hands tightened on my ass.
“Uh huh.” I slid backward off his lap until I was kneeling on the floor,
then pulled his jeans down just enough.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said as I took my blouse off and reached behind my
back to unhook my bra. “You’re so beautiful.”
I laughed and ran my hands up his thighs. “You’re just saying that
because you want to see my mouth on your cock.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I mean that. It doesn’t matter what you do or
don’t do, you will always be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”
My heart soared. “Really?”
“Yes.” His hands fisted in my hair. “Now put your mouth on my cock.”

I’D GIVEN Dallas a few awkward blowjobs when we were together, but I
never knew what I was doing and I was always scared that he would come
in my mouth and not tell me first. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do that for
him, it was just that the thought of it terrified me. Would I choke? Gag?
Make a weird face? Getting something as big as his dick in my mouth was
difficult enough, and sometimes when the tip of it hit the back of my throat,
there was this terrifying moment when I thought I might suffocate. He
never pressured me, and it usually only lasted a few minutes before he
wanted to have sex, anyway, and we’d be scrambling to get the condom on
fast enough.
This time was different.
I wanted it all—and I wanted him to watch me take it.
So this time when he said Maren, stop, I didn’t. I pushed his hands
away. I went at him faster. Sucked harder. Took him deeper. (I might have
quit the stage, but I still knew how to put on a show.)
Dallas struggled to hold back. “Fuck. I’m so close. If you don’t want me
to come in your mouth—”
“That’s exactly what I want,” I said, rubbing the tip of his cock over my
lips, “so shut the fuck up and give it to me.”
“Oh, Christ.” He groaned and grabbed my head again, holding me
steady and fucking my mouth with zero restraint. I couldn’t breathe. I
couldn’t move. I couldn’t believe how much it turned me on to feel him
lose control and know that he was watching every second of it. He cursed
and moaned and growled and lasted only about twenty seconds before I felt
a hot, pulsing stream at the back of my throat.
As soon as he loosened his grasp, I sat back and swallowed. Wiped my
lips and chin. Caught my breath. But I only had about three seconds
because Dallas launched himself off the couch and came at me like a
linebacker, tipping me onto my back and rolling with me to the empty space
on the carpet beyond the coffee table. Less than two minutes later, he’d
dragged my shorts and underwear off my body and flipped us over again, so
I was on top.
“You know what I want,” he said. But before I could guess, he slid
down beneath me so I ended up kneeling over his face, his arms locked
around my thighs. Then he went at me with his unbelievably strong,
seemingly tireless, and utterly magical tongue. When I came, I screamed so
loud I thought my front windows would shatter, and even when my orgasm
was over, he kept going.
“Stop,” I begged, trying to lift my hips from where he had me
imprisoned above him. “I can’t take any more.”
“Sorry.” He loosened his grip and I wriggled down his body, stretching
out on top of him. “But I can’t ever get enough.”
 I laughed, still breathless, and laid my head on his chest. “You always
say that.”
“But I’m serious. With you, that’s how I feel. I’m like an addict.” He
wrapped his arms around me. “It’s a good thing we don’t live in the same
state. You’d never get a moment’s peace.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’d trade a little peace for more of this in my
life.”
He was quiet then, and I wondered if I’d said too much. I tried to think
of a way to reassure him I wasn’t asking for more than he could give, but I
couldn’t. I tried to think of a way to let him know he could talk to me about
his family, but I couldn’t. I tried to think of a way to tell him I was falling
for him all over again without scaring him away, but I couldn’t.
I went for safe instead. “How’s your headache? Did the chakra cleanse
help?”
“Undoubtedly.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’m feeling much better.
I also worked up an appetite, so what do you say we head downtown and
grab something to eat before the game?”
“Sure. I just need to clean up a little.”
We put ourselves back together and headed out to the car, and Dallas
tossed me the keys without my having to ask. We parked in a garage
downtown, and he held my hand as we walked around Grand Circus Park,
finally ducking into Cliff Bell’s for something to eat.
We sat at the bar, and Dallas looked around in amazement at the
beautifully restored 1930s supper club. “This place is amazing,” he said.
“How come I never knew about it before?”
“It wasn’t open when you lived here. And besides, this wasn’t exactly
our scene back then.” I grinned at him. “Mostly we were looking for places
to be alone.”
“True.” He leaned over and kissed my lips.
I took a breath and decided to be brave. “But next time you’re in town,
we should definitely come here for dinner and see some music. They have
great bands in here. It’s really fun.”
He nodded, his eyes dropping to his hands on the bar for a moment. “I’d
like that.”
Victory! I nearly bounced in my seat.
The bartender came over, and I ordered a glass of wine and a salad.
Dallas ordered calamari, and when asked what he’d like to drink, he said,
“Just water.”
“No cocktail?” I asked, surprised.
He hesitated. “The headache meds I take don’t really mix well with
alcohol.”
“Ah. But they help?”
“A little.” His crooked grin appeared. “Not as much as the blowjob.”
“Shhhhhh!” I put my hands over his mouth and glanced around to make
sure no one heard.
He grabbed me by the wrists. “Hey. You should be proud of that.”
“Not in public, thank you. But I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“I did. I don’t even want to know why you’re so good at it.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not because I’ve had a lot of practice or anything.
I was just really into it.”
“Ah.”
I leaned closer to him and whispered. “Plus I sometimes watch porn.”
He burst out laughing. “Yeah. Me too.”
While we ate, we reminisced more about high school and what we knew
about where our friends had ended up. I talked about my sisters a little bit,
how Emme was driving both Stella and me bananas with all the wedding
stuff, and how Emme and I did not understand Stella’s strictly platonic
relationship with Buzz. “I mean Walter,” I said. “Emme and I just call him
Buzz because he’s obsessed with bees.”
Dallas grinned. “That’s buzzarre.”
I laughed and asked him what his friends were like in Portland, and he
said he had one pretty close friend named Evan who was married and
expecting a baby with his wife.
“That’s nice,” I said.
“Yeah, it is. I’m happy for them.”
I picked up my wine. “Do you want kids someday?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think I’d make a very good dad.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not…reliable enough. Responsible enough. Mature enough. I’m
reckless. Careless. Shortsighted. I don’t make good decisions.” He looked at
me with his water glass halfway to his mouth. “Should I go on?”
I wondered how many times he’d been told those things in his life.
Enough to believe them, evidently. “That doesn’t sound like you talking.
That sounds like someone else. And I don’t think it’s true.”
 Another shrug before he looked into his glass like he wished something
stronger than water was in it. “It’s true enough.”
I let it go, although it pained me to hear him talk about himself like that.
“So what will you do with your inheritance?” I asked. His grandfather
seemed to be the one person in his family he enjoyed talking about.
“I’m not sure yet. I had a couple ideas at one time, but…”
“But what?”
He shrugged. “Finn talked me out of them. Said they weren’t practical.
He thinks I should just keep the money invested.”
“Well, it’s not Finn’s money. Tell me about your ideas.”
“I thought about opening up my own tattoo shop at one point. But I’m
not much of a businessman.”
“You could learn. I have faith.” Unlike your family.
“Yeah, maybe. But I actually really like the shop I work at now. I guess
if I moved somewhere else, it might make sense.”
“What was your other idea?”
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “My friend Evan’s
family has a ranch, and I worked on it this one summer a few years ago and
really enjoyed it. It’s a working cattle ranch but it also hosts this program
for what they called ‘troubled youth,’ but they were really just mixed up,
angry teenagers who felt like they didn’t belong anywhere.”
“Wow. Did you work with the kids?”
“A little. They had teachers on site for academics, but sometimes I
supervised a group of kids working on a ranch project, and a few times I
held drawing workshops.”
“I bet the kids loved that.”
“Some of them did, I think. And I could kind of relate to them because
of my background, although a lot of them had it way worse than I did.
Some had been abused, some were depressed, some were recovering from
addiction. Others were just really fucking mad at the world.”
“Must have been tough to see.”
“Actually, it was pretty cool to see how working on the ranch helped
them. I mean, there was therapy there too, but it seemed like the actual
physical work, especially with the animals, really made them feel good
about themselves. I was only there for one summer, but I saw some pretty
amazing transformations.”
“I bet. Are you thinking of doing something like that again?”
 He shrugged. “I was, kind of. Evan recently told me his parents are
looking to retire, and he and his wife are thinking about buying them out
and taking over. He wants to adopt more sustainable practices, but that costs
money and he’s looking for partners to invest.”
“Would you live and work there? Or would you be more of a silent
partner?”
“I hadn’t really decided that yet. It’s a beautiful place, and Evan said
he’d even sell me some of the land for personal use. I could build on it if I
wanted to.”
“Where is it? Near Portland?”
“It’s in Lakeview, Oregon. Closer to California, actually.”
I nodded, thinking that both states were very far away from here and
trying not to be sad about it. “What did Finn say about it?”
Dallas exhaled. “Not much beyond, ‘A ranch? Are you crazy? You
don’t know anything about farming.’ And he’s not wrong, I don’t know that
much, and I only worked there the one summer. But I liked the work.
Evan’s wife is in finance and believes the land is a solid investment, and the
ranch turns a profit every year.”
“Would you miss being a tattoo artist?”
“I don’t know. I might. But I think as long as I was still doing
something creative, like drawing or painting with the kids, I’d be happy.”
“I’ve heard that therapy is really effective.”
“I’m not any kind of therapist,” he said quickly. “It would be really
informal. But if it did some good…” He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know.
It’s probably crazy.”
“I don’t think so at all.” I set my glass down. “And don’t let your
brother talk you out of it if you really want to do it. Those kids need people
like you. And the work is rewarding. I get much more out of the yoga
programs I do at schools and women’s shelters than I do from teaching at
the studio. Not financially, of course, because they’re free, but spiritually.” I
touched my chest. “I feel like I’m doing some good, even if it’s just yoga or
meditation. Maybe that was someone’s only sixty minutes of calm that day,
you know? The only time they spent on their body and soul.”
He smiled, then leaned over and kissed me. “Yeah. I know.”
When we were done, we walked around some more, and finally made
our way over to Comerica Park. Dallas held my hand again, and I stayed
close to his side. I couldn’t say it out loud because he’d have hated it, but I
felt so bad for him. The way his family had treated him as a kid—and still
treated him, apparently—was so unfair. They focused on all the things he
wasn’t without noticing all the things he was—smart, sensitive, charming,
funny, talented, thoughtful, passionate, generous. The kind of person who
stuck up for others. The kind of person who remembered your favorite
song. The kind of person who knew when you were having a bad day and
did his best to make you laugh.
He wasn’t perfect. He was stubborn and impulsive and rebellious, he
got moody sometimes, and there was obviously something going on with
him he didn’t want me to know about.
But his heart was huge, and being with him was so easy. It was almost
as if we’d never been apart.
I felt myself falling.

OceanofPDF.com
 TEN

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

After my phone call with Finn, I wasn’t sure anything could put me in a
good mood.
That was before I discovered the wonder of the chakra-clearing blowjob
by Maren Devine.
Holy. Fuck.
I don’t know if it was because she already had me all worked up, what
with her sitting on my lap and one hand down the back of my pants and the
other one doing all sorts of things to my front and the sound of her voice
and the fact that she was devoting all her time and attention to me, or if it
was simply the best blowjob I’d ever had—and it was—but I swear to God,
I saw stars. Comets. Meteor showers. Quasars, and I’m not even sure what
a quasar is.
She was just … incredible. So fearless and unabashed, so eager to
please me, so different than she’d been back then. Not that her shyness
about it had bothered me back then—when you’re seventeen, a blowjob’s a
blowjob—but there was something so erotic about watching her enjoy it so
much today. I felt like she wasn’t doing it only for me. (Probably this is
something guys tell themselves so they can justify shoving their dick in
someone’s mouth, but I really did feel like it was turning her on too.)
But it wasn’t only the blowjob. Every moment I spent with Maren felt
good. I loved that I could still make her laugh. I loved that she wasn’t
asking me a bunch of questions I couldn’t answer. I loved that she still
kissed me like she was seventeen and no one was watching. I felt connected
to her in a way I’d been unable to connect with any other woman I’d been
with. Sex with other women had always left me feeling empty and
unsatisfied. Sex with Maren made me feel alive.
The last thing I wanted to do was to say goodbye tomorrow. But I had
no choice—this thing in my head wasn’t going to magically disappear. I
either had to treat it or let it do its worst, and neither of those were journeys
I would let her take with me or even see me on.
One night was all we had. Maybe two.
“Do you want a souvenir?” I asked her in The D Shop at Comerica
Park. “A shirt? A scarf? A beer mug? A pair of Detroit Tigers Multi-Logo
Glitter Flip-Flops?” I held them up in front of her face.
She laughed. “No, thanks. But I’m happy to help you pick something
out for your niece and nephew.”
“Come on, you need a memento from this weekend. And I want to get
you something.” As if anything in here is going to make up for disappearing
from her life again. Ignoring the voice in my head, I set the flip-flops down
and picked up a women’s navy blue hoodie. “How about this?”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “It’s like ninety degrees out.”
“Right now. But it’s Michigan. It could be forty in a couple hours.”
“True. But—”
“No buts. It’s yours.”
She tipped her head onto my shoulder. “Thanks.”
For Olympia and Lane I picked out stuffed animals, T-shirts, and water
bottles, and for myself I bought a hat. We found our seats and spent the next
two hours rooting for the Tigers, booing the Red Sox, cursing the umps, and
eating ballpark food—Maren refused to eat a hot dog but she did partake in
popcorn, nachos, and even cotton candy. There were plenty of fancy
options, but I told her it was sacrilegious to eat something called “Buffalo
Cauliflower” at a baseball game, because for God’s sake it was vegan and
came with celery sticks. In addition, I told her anything served with pepper-
olive salad, balsamic vinegar glaze, or on a brioche was also out.
When the game was over, we walked back to the parking garage. My
head was aching again, but I wasn’t ready to go home. The hours were
passing too quickly.
“You know what I want?” I said to her as we got in the car.
She laughed. “I have a pretty good idea.”
I reached over and tugged on her hair. “Not that. I mean, yes, that, but
first I want a Boston Cooler. With real Vernor’s.”
 “Mmmm, those are so good. I haven’t had one in years.”
“Me neither. Think we can find one?”
She pulled her phone from her purse and googled it. “Corktown. The
Burger Bar.”
“Let’s go.”

THE BURGER BAR was noisy and crowded, but we managed to find two
seats at the bar after a ten-minute wait. We put in our order, and our floats
arrived a few minutes later. “Here you go,” said the guy behind the bar as
he set them in front of us. “Two Boston Coolers. Made with Vernor’s ginger
ale and Stroh’s vanilla, as authentic Detroit as it gets.”
“Thanks.” I tasted it, and the flavors took me back years. “Fuck, that’s
good. I mean, it’s not whiskey, but it’s good.”
Maren sipped hers through the straw. “Tastes like childhood, doesn’t it?
Delicious.”
The guy who’d brought them smiled and nodded. “Glad you like them.”
Then he looked at Maren a little quizzically. “You look really familiar.”
She seemed surprised. “I do?”
“Yeah.” He crossed his tattooed arms over his chest. Right away I
noticed he wore a wedding band, and he didn’t seem like an asshole, so I
wasn’t too concerned I’d have to mess up his face. Still, I sat up taller and
listened carefully.
“Do you come in here a lot?” he asked her.
“No,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve only been here once with my sister.
She knows the owner.”
He grinned. “I’m the owner. Who’s your sister?”
“Emme Devine.”
“That’s it! You look like her. I’m Nick Lupo, Coco’s husband.” He held
out his hand, and she shook it.
“Oh, of course,” she said. “I’m Maren, and this is my friend Dallas. He
grew up here but lives in Portland now, so we were on a mission to find him
a Boston Cooler.”
Nick and I shook hands. “Glad you came in,” he said.
 “Congratulations on the new baby.” Maren clapped her hands excitedly.
“What’s that, your fourth?”
Nick’s grin grew even wider. “Yeah. But the first girl.”
“You’ve got four kids?” I asked. Damn. He didn’t look that much older
than me. No wonder he had more gray hair.
“Yep.” He looked proud of himself. “I’d have more too, but I’m pretty
sure my wife would castrate me.”
Maren laughed. “I saw pictures of the baby. She’s adorable.”
“Thanks.” Nick smiled. “I’m totally that dad who shows off pictures to
anyone who comes in here, but we’re a little slammed so I should get back
up front. I was just helping out for a few minutes behind the bar.”
“Go on.” Maren shooed him away with one hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.
“I totally forgot Coco’s husband owned this place,” Maren said. “He
seems like a nice guy.”
He did seem like a nice guy. The kind of guy Maren should end up with
—successful, friendly, responsible, proud husband and father. More like my
brother than me, but with ink.
“They named the baby Frances,” Maren gushed. “Isn’t that cute?”
“Four kids. Jesus.” I shook my head. “I thought one brother was bad.
Imagine that poor girl with three.”
Maren sipped her float. “Are you looking forward to seeing Finn this
week?”
“Not really.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nah.” I shrugged. “Things have always been a little fucked up between
Finn and me.”
“Because you thought he was the favorite?” She poked around in her
drink with the straw.
“Because I knew he was the favorite. It’s not like it was ever a secret in
my family that son number two was not quite living up to the standards set
by son number one.”
“But is it still that way? I mean, you guys aren’t kids anymore. And
your parents have had years to accept the fact that you are not your
brother.”
I finished my drink, trying not to get worked up about Finn all over
again. “Pretty sure I caused them enough disappointment to last a lifetime.
And even now when they look at us, they see a clean-cut neurology
professor at Harvard, happily married to a fourth-grade teacher and the
proud father of two. Then they see me. College dropout. No wife, no kids,
no house with a picket fence or a pool in the yard. A drifter with tattoos. A
failure on their part to make me into someone better.”
“You mean into someone like them. Or like Finn.” She shook her head.
“It’s so wrong.”
“But it’s the way it is, and I’m used to it. It doesn’t bother me anymore,”
I lied, setting my empty mug on the bar.
“Well, it bothers me.” She sat up taller on the stool. “I can’t imagine
what it would feel like if my parents had tried to make me into one of my
sisters. Or if they had told me I was a disappointment when I left ABT. Or if
they looked down on me for my tattoos or my job or any of my choices.
Parents should love their children unconditionally and teach them that it’s
okay to be who you are. No, that it’s imperative to be who you are.
Otherwise, you’re going to spend your life miserable.”
God, she was cute. “It’s okay, Maren.”
“It’s not.” She sighed and set her half-full mug down. “You should be
proud of who you are, Dallas. I’m proud of you.”
I frowned. “For what?”
She tossed a hand in the air. “For lots of things. For staying true to
yourself. For becoming a tattoo artist. For coming here after all this time
just to say you’re sorry. Plenty of guys wouldn’t have bothered. I mean, you
weren’t even eighteen yet. Practically still a kid. What did you really owe
me?”
I looked at her in disbelief. “Everything you said I did yesterday. An
explanation. The chance to say goodbye. An apology for breaking my
promise to stay out of trouble.”
“I did say all that yesterday, didn’t I?” Her posture deflated a little, then
perked up again. “But you know what, I’ve had a chance to think a little
more since then. And I understand better why you did what you did. You
thought you were doing me a favor by setting me free.”
I nodded. “But I never forgot you.”
She blushed and dropped her eyes to her lap. “I never forgot you, either.
In fact, I had this”—she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head—“oh
my God, this is really embarrassing, but I had this pillowcase made with
your face on it.”
 My jaw dropped as I turned to face her. “What?”
The pink in her cheeks deepened to scarlet. “After you left, I had a
pillowcase made with your face on it because I missed you so much. I used
to hide it from my mother by keeping it under my mattress, but every night
I would take it out and put it on my pillow. I did my own laundry by then,
so she never saw it.” She giggled, cringing a little. “My sisters found out,
and they tease me about it to this day.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No. Eventually, I was too angry to even sleep with your face. And I
knew I had to get over you, so I threw it out before I went to New York.”
“You threw out my face?” I pretended to be horrified.
“Well, I’m sorry!” She threw both hands in the air, then leaned forward
placing them on my thighs. “I had no idea you were going to come back
into my life. I would have saved it if I had known.”
“Then I win.” I signaled the bartender and pulled out my wallet.
Maren sat up straight again. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I kept your face all this time.” I opened my wallet, took out the
sketch of her profile, and unfolded it. “See?”

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OceanofPDF.com
SHE STARED at the picture as if transfixed. Her mouth fell open. Slowly,
she reached for it, taking it in both her hands. The bartender came over, told
us our drinks were on the house courtesy of the owner, and I thanked him,
pulling some cash from my wallet to leave as a tip. When I looked at Maren
again, she hadn’t moved. Tears dripped from her lashes.
“Hey,” I said, rubbing her back. “That wasn’t supposed to make you
sad. It was supposed to prove that I’m a better person than you are.”
She laughed, but the tears continued to fall. “I’m sorry, it’s just …
You’ve really carried this in your wallet all these years?”
“Yeah. I drew it the night before I found out I had to leave.”
“I remember that night. You picked me up from ballet, and I was mad at
you for getting in trouble again.”
I nodded. “We sat in my car in your driveway and I remember looking
at you and thinking how badly I wanted to draw you.”
“So when did you do it?”
“When I got home. I was going to give it to you, but the next morning
my parents told me they were shipping me out, and I forgot about the
picture with all the chaos.” I paused. “And by chaos, I mean frantic sexual
acts in the church parking lot.”
She sniffed, her lips tipping up. “Yeah, that night was intense. I
remember thinking later how it made sense, since you knew you were
going. And whenever I started to feel bad about myself and doubt that
you’d ever loved me, I would remember that night and tell myself you
wouldn’t have seemed so tortured if you hadn’t really cared.”
I stared at her. “You thought maybe I didn’t love you?”
Her shoulders rose, and she looked up at me with a helpless expression.
“What was I supposed to think? You told me you loved me, but then you
were gone without a word. I figured I hadn’t meant that much to you.”
For a second, I was dumbfounded. Then angry with myself. Then
determined to make her understand what she meant to me, if it was the last
thing I did.
I grabbed her arm and yanked her off the stool. “Come with me.”
“Dallas, what the hell?” She stumbled along behind me, still holding on
to the drawing, her feet scrambling to keep up with my long strides. I led
her around the back of the brick building, toward where we’d parked, but
was too impatient to wait until we reached the car. As soon as we were
alone, I swung her around and took her face in my hands. Her skin was
luminous in the dark.
“Listen to me,” I said. “Not a day has gone by that I didn’t think of you
and regret what I’d done. Not one fucking day.”
“Really?” Her voice was shaky.
“Yes. I walked away because I was young and stupid and ashamed, not
because I didn’t love you. I did.” I hesitated, then thought, fuck it. “I still
do.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“I never stopped loving you, Maren. I never even tried.”
She started to cry so I crushed my lips to hers and kissed her, deeply,
desperately, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, her tears wetting my
cheeks. Inside me, something was happening—I could feel my resolve
weakening. I wanted this. I wanted it too much.
I broke the kiss, pressing my forehead against hers, my eyes closed
tight. “Goddammit. I’m not supposed to be here. I was supposed to ask your
forgiveness and let you go. This is all wrong.”
“No, no.” She shook her head between my palms. “I refuse to believe
that. I never got over you, Dallas.”
“You should. I’m no good for you.”
“You say that because you spent too many years listening to people who
were supposed to love you cut you down when they should have built you
up.” Her tone was fierce. “It’s not true.”
I pulled back and looked down at her. “You don’t understand. I can’t
give you what you want.”
“All I want is you. All I’ve ever wanted is you. And if what you say is
true, if you still love me, then we belong together, Dallas. We deserve a
second chance.”
I felt myself being torn in two. How could I argue with her? How could
I destroy this impossible dream she had for us, when I wanted it just as
much?
“Let me love you, Dallas,” she pleaded, her eyes glittering in the dark.
“I know it’s not easy for you. I know you don’t think you deserve it. But
you do. Let me.”
God help me, I wanted her love. I wanted to believe what she was
saying. I wanted to feel like the man she thought I was, even if it was only
for tonight.
“Okay,” I whispered.
She threw her arms around me, and I held her tight, lifting her off her
feet.
“Take me home,” she said softly in my ear. “I need to be close to you.”

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 ELEVEN

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 DALLAS

We went back to her house, shedding our clothing as we kissed and

stumbled from the front door to her room, where we fell into bed, skin to
skin, limbs twined, mouths sealed. My need for her was like a living,
grasping, starving thing inside me, powerful and wild and all-consuming. I
let it take over, let it silence every other voice in my head. She was the only
thing in my world, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do to make her happy.
Including lie.
“Tell me,” she begged breathlessly as I eased inside her. “Tell me we
can find a way. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I said, my heart breaking open. “We can find a way.”
Her eyes closed as her head dropped to one side, lips parted. I felt her
hands pulling me closer, her heels tight on my thighs. She was warm and
wet and soft and beautiful and mine again, mine tonight, mine forever … I
closed my eyes, rocking deeper into her body, feeling her tighten around
me, like I belonged inside her, like I was part of her.
“Yes,” she whispered, softly at first, but then repeated the word, yes,
yes, yes, her voice growing louder and louder as we spiraled higher and
tighter, and as we exploded together and fell to earth in beautiful fiery
pieces, it was like the first time all over again. It was then and it was now
and there was never a time when our bodies didn’t crave this heat and our
hearts didn’t share this rhythm and our souls weren’t always leading us
right back to this place, this feeling, this moment.
I clung to it, as if it could save me from drowning.
“DONE.” Maren hopped back in bed and slipped under the covers. She’d
gotten up to go take her pill, but otherwise we hadn’t left her bed for hours.
I was surprised the thing was still standing. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to
stand if I tried getting out of it.
Not that I wanted to leave. On the contrary, all I wanted was to stay here
with her for the rest of my life. Or take her back to Portland with me. Or
move somewhere new and start over together. Just the two of us, like it
should have been all along.
But I knew better, and the familiar ache in my head was a painful
reminder that none of this could last. Some ibuprofen might have helped,
but I didn’t ask her for any. The pain served me right.
Maren stretched out next to me, her head propped on her hand. “Do you
have a favorite?” she asked, sweeping her other hand over the ink on my
shoulder.
I thought for a second. “The mermaid.”
She smiled. “Yeah? Why?”
“Because it reminds me of you.”
“So you did remember I liked mermaids, you liar.” She poked me in the
ribs. “You said you didn’t last night.”
“I think I was trying to be cool.”
“I knew something was off about that—your memory was always
incredible.” She leaned away from me, looking for the tattoo in question. “I
can’t see it in the dark.”
“It’s here.” I guided her hand to my side, and her fingertips played over
my skin. “I got it for you.” Another little truth I could offer.
She went still. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
It was dark in her room, but I could imagine the pink in her cheeks.
“When?”
“Maybe five years ago.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Do you like your job?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you’re really good at it.”
“I like to think so. I stay pretty busy.” I pictured the shop, wishing I
could take Maren there. “My boss is a woman named Beatriz. You’d like
her. She believes in all that woo-woo stuff like you do.”
She poked me again. “It’s not woo-woo stuff. It’s real.”
“Okay, okay. It’s real.”
“What’s the weirdest thing anyone has ever asked you to tattoo on their
body?”
I put my hands behind my head. “I try not to judge people’s ideas, but I
do think it’s fucking strange when they want animals tattooed on their
stomach so their belly button looks like the asshole.”
“You are kidding me. People ask for that?”
“Yeah. People want all kinds of crazy shit.”
“Have you ever refused to do what someone wanted?”
“Sure. If I’m positive they’ll regret it. But my only really hard and fast
rule is that I won’t tattoo names of boyfriends or girlfriends, or even
spouses, on anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because in my experience, people always regret it. Feelings change.
Couples break up. Marriages end in divorce. People end up hating each
other. You think you’re going to love one person forever, but history tells us
it’s not very likely. Tattooing someone’s name on your body is like asking
fate to fuck with you.”
She laughed. “You think you can influence fate with your tattoos?”
“I have no idea, but last week this eighteen-year-old girl came in and
wanted a tattoo of Tweety Bird with her boyfriend’s name—which is Rocky
—and the words ‘You’re my tweety pie’ underneath it. I did not want that
on my conscience.”
“Yikes. Did you do it?”
“Hell no. I told her what I told you. Tattoos are forever. Love, not
necessarily. Especially not at eighteen.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But I hope you’re wrong.” She lay
down again, her head on my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her. We
were silent for a few minutes, and I tried to commit every detail about
holding her this way to memory. The scent of her hair. The softness of her
skin. The sound of her breath. The memories would have to carry me
through.
“Dallas?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to ask you about something.”
 “Okay.”
She took a deep breath. “I overheard you on the phone with Finn.
Outside my bathroom window.”
My pulse began to pound. I swallowed with difficulty. “Yeah?”
She sat up again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you
say something about an appointment with a surgeon, and I’m worried. Are
you okay?”
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Tell her, said a
voice in my head. Tell her everything. Tell her now.
“I know it’s personal, and you probably don’t want to—”
“It’s for my dad,” I heard myself say out of nowhere. “He was having
some, uh, short-term memory problems, and his CAT scan revealed
something abnormal. A small mass in the parietal lobe.”
She gasped. “A brain tumor? Oh, no.”
Oh, fuck.
But I kept going. “Finn got him an appointment with a neurosurgeon
next week, but he can’t be there. So he asked if I would go with my dad.
My mom can get a little hysterical in those situations, and she’s been very
upset.”
“Of course. That’s so scary. I’m sorry, Dallas. You must be really
worried.”
Yeah, that a lightning bolt is going to strike me. “I am.”
“So he needs surgery?”
“It’s an option. But it’s risky.” And since I was already in this far, I
waded deeper. “Apparently that’s the part of the brain that controls upper
right side mobility … guess he doesn’t want to lose his advantage on the
golf course.”
My joke fell flat.
“But what happens if he doesn’t have surgery?” she pressed.
“They’re not sure. Apparently it’s acting benign right now. But
eventually it would probably … cause some seizures and other problems.”
“So you need to convince him to have the surgery, then.”
“That’s what my brother wants. But my dad doesn’t want to be forced
into it. He doesn’t like being told what to do. And he’s not crazy about the
idea of having chemo or radiation. He doesn’t want anyone to have to take
care of him. He doesn’t want anyone’s pity.”
She made a frustrated noise. “God, men can be so stubborn sometimes.”
 “Yeah.”
“Think you can talk him into it?”
“We’ll see. It’s, you know, complicated. Because of my relationship
with my family.”
“Sure. I can understand that.” She rubbed a hand over my chest as if to
comfort me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” What I wanted to do was shut the fuck up. I’d just made
things a thousand times worse for myself.
“Okay. Well, I’m here for you. And I’m a good listener.”
God, she was so fucking sweet. “Thanks.”
“I was really scared it was about your headaches. I mean, I’m sorry
about your dad and I hope he’ll have the surgery, but I’m glad to hear it’s
not you.”
“Thanks.” Was there a place in hell low enough for me?
Smiling, she put her head back down on my chest and held me close.
“Night.”
“Night.”
She fell asleep pretty quickly and rolled away from me, but I lay awake
for hours with a pounding head, a churning stomach, and a tightness in my
chest. I was scum. Lying, despicable scum. Every shitty thing that happened
to me from now until the day I died, I would deserve.
I closed my eyes in agony. How was I going to face her tomorrow? How
was I going to face myself? Was there any way out of this?
Tell her the truth, my conscience pricked. Tell her the truth or give her
up.
I was trying to decide which one would be best for Maren when she
began to murmur in her sleep. A moment later, she started fidgeting
restlessly beneath the blankets. I reached over and put a hand on her
shoulder. “Maren?”
She stopped moving and quieted down. But soon it began again, and
within seconds she was writhing and weeping helplessly like she had been
last night. I tried my best to wake her, but she resisted. Then she suddenly
sat up, gasping for air.
“Shh,” I said, putting my arm around her. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
She put a hand on her chest. “Oh my God.”
“The nightmare again?”
She nodded, a sob escaping.
 “Breathe.” I rubbed her upper arms. “You’re okay, baby. I’m here.”
She took some deep breaths. “Thanks. I’m just so tired of this.”
“I know.”
“Why do you think it’s not going away?”
Because I’m the snake that’s going to bite you and your mind knows it?
“I’m not sure. The mind is a mysterious place.”
“Yeah.” We stayed like that for another minute or two, and then she
yawned.
“Think you can fall back asleep?” I asked.
“I think so.”
We lay down again and I held her close. Soon her breathing was deep
and even, and I thought she’d fallen asleep until she spoke, drowsily, like
she was half in a dream.
“Dallas?”
“Yes?”
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
I swallowed hard. My head was killing me. “Me too.”

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 TWELVE

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 MAREN

I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain beating on the windows.
The clock on my nightstand said 9:05 a.m., and for a second, I panicked
that I’d overslept and missed teaching my Sunday eight a.m. class. And
why was I naked?
Then I remembered I’d taken the weekend off. And the lack of pajamas
—as well as the soreness in my muscles—was due to the man sleeping next
to me. I rolled over and looked at him, unable to keep a smile off my face.
We could get it right this time, couldn’t we? It might not be easy, and it
might take a lot of travel or even a move eventually, but we were too good
together to be apart. Whatever it took, we could make it work.
Dropping a quick kiss on his chest, I left him sleeping in my bed,
slipped into a short white robe, and tiptoed out to the living room. Along
the way I saw random pieces of clothing that we’d stripped off each other
last night on our way to my room. His jeans, my shorts, my bra, his T-shirt,
my blouse, our shoes. Finally, I spotted my purse on the floor near the front
door. I pulled my phone out of it to check my messages and saw that I had
one from Allegra saying all was well at the studio and she hoped I was
resting peacefully, and a ton from my sisters.
I was supposed to be meeting them for brunch at eleven, like we did
every Sunday. Part of me wanted to cancel on them since I had a gorgeous,
sexy man who adored me in my bed and it was pouring rain, but long ago
my sisters and I had made a pact that we wouldn’t skip out on each other
unless it was absolutely necessary. Plus, I was dying to tell them about my
weekend.
How insane that my life had taken such a sharp turn in only two days!
 I quickly scrolled through the messages, which were mostly them going
back and forth about where we should eat and both of them wondering why
I wasn’t answering my texts.
Me: Sorry guys, I’ve been busy.
Stella: Everything okay? We were getting worried.
Me: Yes. I’ll tell you all about it at brunch. What did you guys
decide on?
Stella: Lady of the House and we have a reservation at 11.
Me: See you there.
I went back into my bedroom and plugged my phone in to charge. As
soon as I climbed onto the bed, Dallas opened his eyes. “Morning,” I said,
sitting on my heels beside him.
“Morning.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
His brow furrowed. “My head was bothering me for a while. I don’t
think I slept much.”
“It probably didn’t help that I woke up screaming. Sorry about that.”
He reached out and put a hand on one knee. “It wasn’t that. Did you
sleep okay afterward?”
I nodded. “I did. Fell back asleep really easily and slept all the way
through until about ten minutes ago.”
“Good.” His eyes closed again.
“So I have a question to ask you, and you can say no, but I hope you say
yes.”
“What’s up?”
“Every Sunday I have brunch with my sisters at eleven. I won’t drag
you along, but do you want to wait here for me?”
He opened his eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s only nine fifteen. I’d much rather hang out with you, but I sort of
have to go to brunch or else they’ll harass me.”
“Of course.” He sat up, but he seemed a little groggy still. “I’ll get out
of your way.”
“No, no. You stay here and sleep. I’ll even bring you something back.”
“No. That’s okay.” He looked around and scratched his head. “Where
are my pants?”
I giggled. “I think I saw them in the hallway.”
“Oh. Right.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and paused.
 “Are you dizzy again?”
“I’m fine.” But he took another moment before he stood up, and then he
moved slowly toward the door.
Watching him, a warning bell pealed in my head. Something was not
right. “Can I get you some ibuprofen?”
“Sure.” He began pulling on his underwear and jeans with lethargic
movements. “Thanks.”
I went into the bathroom and took the bottle from a drawer. “How
many?” I called out.
“Four.”
I shook out four pills and went back into the bedroom, where he sat on
the bed wearing only his jeans. “Here,” I said, holding out my hand. I was
growing more concerned by the minute. “I’ll get you some water.”
He took the pills from me and I hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle
of water from the fridge, brought it back, and watched warily as he
swallowed the pills. His color didn’t look good.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go to brunch today,” I said, chewing on a
thumbnail. “You don’t look like you feel right. I don’t think you should
drive.”
“I’m fine,” he said, standing up. “I’m just tired. I can drive.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” But he still seemed to be moving sluggishly as he got dressed.
“I’m worried about you,” I told him as I followed him to the living
room.
“Don’t be.” He sat down on the couch to tug on his boots. “I’m gonna
go back to the hotel and take a nap. Then I need to book my ticket to
Boston.”
My heart plummeted. “When will you leave?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Can I convince you to leave tomorrow? Spend one more night with
me?”
He stood up and smiled at me, but it struck me as a sad kind of smile.
“Very tempting.”
I went to him and slipped my arms around his solid middle. Pressed my
cheek to his chest. “We can stay in. I’ll cook dinner. We’ll just be lazy and
hang out, you and me. How does that sound?”
“Like heaven.”
 I tilted my head back. “Then say yes. Maybe I’ll even clear your
chakras again.”
He shook his head. “You’re too good to me.”
“Well, I was without you all those years. I’m trying to make up for lost
time.”
He exhaled and put his arms around me, pulling me close. “Okay. One
more night.”
I bounced on my toes. “Yay! Thank you.”
A moment later, I walked him to the door and pulled it open. Torrential
rain poured from an angry pewter sky. “Yikes. Want an umbrella?”
“Nah. I’m okay. See you tonight.”
I smiled as he kissed my cheek. “I’ll make something nice and healthy
and delicious. I bet your diet is part of your problem with your headaches.
So much of how we feel is related to what we put in our bodies. You
probably don’t even realize all the chemicals and additives and
preservatives that lurk in everyday foods.”
“Probably not.”
“I’ll text you as soon as I’m home.” I realized something. “You know
what? I don’t have your number.”
He pulled out his phone. “What’s yours?”
I gave it to him, and he put me in his contacts.
“There. I just called you.”
“Thanks. See you later.”
He dropped another quick kiss on my lips and took off into the rain.
After he’d gone, I jumped in the shower, grinning like crazy as I
imagined the stunned expressions on my sisters’ faces when I told them
about my weekend. Usually it was Emme who had the dramatic stories
about her love life, although since she’d been with Nate, mostly she just
rhapsodized about how happy she was.
Today it was my turn.

“WHAT’S WITH YOU?” Emme asked as soon as I dropped into the chair
across from her. She and Stella were seated next to each other on the
emerald green banquette.
 “What do you mean?” I smiled up at the server who poured me some
water.
“You look different.” Emme eyed me curiously.
“I do?”
“Yes. Doesn’t she, Stella?”
Our older sister studied me. “More rested, that’s for sure. Are you
sleeping better?”
“A little.”
“It’s more than that,” Emme insisted. “I know that look.” She leaned
closer to me. “You had sex.”
I laughed and picked up my water. “Good guess.”
My sisters gasped.
“I knew it!” Emme clapped her hands. “With who?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“Tell us anyway,” Stella said, wide-eyed.
“Dallas Shepherd.”
Two jaws dropped simultaneously.
“Dallas I’m-totally-over-him Shepherd?” Emme blinked at me.
“Dallas don’t-be-ridiculous-that-was-twelve-years-ago Shepherd?”
added Stella.
I grinned ruefully. “That’s the one.”
“Oh my God, Maren.” Emme shook her head. “How did this happen?”
“It was the craziest thing,” I said. “He showed up on my doorstep out of
the blue on Friday afternoon.”
Emme gasped again and held up her arm. “I just got goose bumps.
Look.”
“And said what?” Stella prompted.
“That he wanted to apologize.”
“After all that time? Why now?” Her therapist face appeared.
“I don’t really know exactly why now.” I lifted my shoulders. “I’m a
little fuzzy on that, too. I asked him, and he just said he felt like it was
time.”
“Huh.” Stella picked up her coffee and sipped. “Okay, go on.”
“He spent a few minutes saying he was sorry and explaining why he left
like he did, and—”
Emme held up her hands. “Wait, what was the reason?”
 “He was young. Immature. Didn’t know how to say goodbye and didn’t
want to.”
“Why not?”
“He said he didn’t want to spend our last night being sad. He’d only
found out that morning he was being sent away. And he was ashamed.”
“Still,” Emme said. “Totally shitty. And why not return your
messages?”
“He said he’d convinced himself I was better off without him. He
thought he was doing me a favor.”
Emme huffed. “He should have said that to your face.”
“I’m not sure that would have been any easier on me,” I told her.
The server came back and asked if we were ready, and I quickly glanced
at the menu while my sisters ordered. When she got to me, I asked for the
bruléed grapefruit and some tea.
“Okay, go on,” Stella said impatiently once we were alone again. “So he
thought he was doing you a favor …”
“Which still sounds like a bullshit excuse to me,” said Emme.
“Not to me.” Stella touched her chest. “Not if he felt really bad about
himself for being sent away.”
“He did. And it goes deeper than that.” I explained what I knew about
the way Dallas had grown up in the shadow of his older brother. “I think he
really internalized that. It explains so much about his personality and his
choices.”
Stella nodded. “Definitely. If it was really that bad, no kid would come
out the other side feeling good about himself. I see it a lot in my clients.
They think they have nothing to offer, or that no matter what they do, it’ll
never be good enough for their parents or anyone else.”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “But anyway, he really didn’t try to make excuses,
just said how sorry he was, how much he regretted what he’d done, and
asked my forgiveness.”
“And?” Emme urged.
“And I gave it. Well, first I gave him some shit, told him how I’d felt
being dumped that way. But then …” I shrugged. “It just seemed wrong to
hold on to that hurt any longer. I wanted to forgive him. It felt right.”
“God, you’re too easy,” Emme said. “I’d have stood there on that porch
yelling at him for days.”
I laughed. “Probably. But that’s not my thing.”
 “So how did you get from there to there?” Emme leaned forward
eagerly.
“That happened later. After the prom.”
My sisters exchanged a look. “The prom?”
“Yes.” My tea arrived, and I took a sip before telling them about the
elaborate date Dallas had arranged because he’d felt bad when I said I’d
missed the prom.
Stella sighed. “That is so romantic and sweet.”
“It really is,” agreed Emme. “I’m totally impressed, and I’d have
forgiven him after that for sure.”
“I was impressed too, and totally swept off my feet. I was having such a
good time, the most fun I’ve had on a date in years. And at some point
during the evening I realized that I still had feelings for him. He asked me if
I wanted to go back to his hotel room, and I said yes.”
“So how was it?” Emme wiggled her eyebrows.
“Unbelievable. Amazing. Mind-blowing.”
Emme squealed and clapped her hands.
“And I can confirm Emme’s discovery about two,” I said to Stella. “It’s
definitely possible.”
Stella closed her eyes and sighed. “This is me being jealous.”
Emme poked her shoulder. “You need to spice things up with Buzz.
He’s a smart guy, I bet he’s good in the sack. He went to medical school, so
he should know where all the parts are, at least.”
Stella’s expression was dubious. “It’s just not like that with us.”
“But it could be,” I said.
“And frankly, it should be.” Emme nodded definitively. “You should
seduce him or something. Do you own a sexy bee costume? If not, I think I
know where you can get one.”
I tried not to laugh because Stella really did look a little upset, but it was
hard. Reaching across the table, I patted her hand. “Don’t worry about it,
Stell. If you don’t want to sleep with Walter, don’t do it.”
She sighed and picked up her coffee again. “Let’s talk about you some
more. Where did you leave it with Dallas?”
“That’s a good question. I’m not exactly sure where we are, but”—I
took a breath—“last night he told me he still loves me.”
“What?” Emme squawked. “Are you serious?”
“After one date?” Stella blinked at me.
 “Yes,” I said, laughing a little. “I know, it sounds crazy, but I swear
within twenty-four hours, that’s how I felt too. It was like our hearts had
muscle memory or something. Or a past life thing. It felt so natural being
together.”
They probably would have given me grief over the past lives comment
if our food hadn’t arrived right then.
“Okay, keep going,” Emme prompted once the server had gone. “What
does he do? Where does he live?”
“He’s a tattoo artist in Portland,” I said.
Emme paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “God, that’s so you.
Is he still in town?”
“Yes, but he’s heading to Boston to visit his brother’s family tomorrow.”
“What was he doing in Detroit?” Stella asked.
I took a bite and thought for a second. “I don’t really know why he
came to Detroit, other than to see me. He’s spent all his time with me so
far.”
“Wow. It must have really been important to him to see you,” she said,
her eyebrows raised. I could see her therapist wheels turning.
“Is he dying or something?” teased Emme. “Maybe you were on his
bucket list.”
I put a hand over my heart. “Don’t even joke about that. He’s got these
horrible headaches that make him dizzy and I heard him say something on
the phone to his brother about being in Boston in time for an appointment
with a surgeon. I freaked out.”
“Did you ask him about it?” Emme poured more syrup on her crepes.
“Yes. He said it’s for his dad.”
“Do you believe him?”
The question struck me as odd. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Emme shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just connecting dots.”
“He gets headaches that make him dizzy?” Stella looked concerned.
I nodded, setting my fork down and picking up my tea. My stomach felt
a little weird. “Yeah. Then he had this … episode yesterday morning at the
hotel.”
“What kind of episode?”
“He stumbled and bumped into a chair. Stood there like a statue for
maybe ten full seconds, not saying anything, not moving. Then his hand
went numb or something.”
 Stella cocked her head. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“He thought maybe it was a side effect of the medicine he takes for the
headaches. It’s a drug called Depakote. Do you know of it?”
Stella thought for a second. “It’s vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t tell you
everything it’s prescribed for. Meds get approved for new uses all the time.”
Emme pulled her phone from her purse. “Let’s look it up.”
Part of me wanted to tell Emme not to. It felt like I was invading
Dallas’s privacy again. What reason did I have to doubt his word? But when
Emme asked how to spell the drug, I heard myself reciting the letters.
“Found it. It’s an anticonvulsant,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “What’s
that?”
“Anti-seizure medication.” Stella looked at me. “Is it possible he has
epilepsy? Maybe what you saw yesterday morning was a focal aware
seizure. Sounds kind of like one.”
“Aren’t seizures where you can’t control your limbs?” Emme asked.
“Like your entire body jerks around? Maren said he didn’t move at all.”
“There are different kinds,” Stella clarified.
My heart was beating frantically in my chest, and I grabbed Emme’s
phone out of her hand. “Let me see this.”
“It can treat seizures and bipolar disorder,” I read, but my stomach
didn’t unclench until I read the next sentence. “It can also help prevent
migraine headaches.”
“Well, then that makes sense,” Emme said.
“Can migraines make you dizzy?” I asked.
“Definitely,” Stella answered.
I felt better. Not that it would have mattered to me if he did have
epilepsy, but I didn’t want to believe he’d hide that from me. “Anyway, the
whole weekend has been wonderful. I’m crazy about him.”
“So what happens after he leaves? Are you going to see each other
again?” Emme asked.
“God, I hope so. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
“Wow. Maybe I’ll be planning your wedding next.” She nudged me
under the table.
I laughed. “We’re not racing to the altar any time soon. We’re just
happy to have a second chance.”
“Portland is far away,” Stella pointed out. “Are you going to do the long
distance thing or will one of you move?”
 “We haven’t really talked about that yet,” I confessed. “It’s all pretty
new, but”—I put my hand on my chest again—“I feel this, you guys. In my
bones. This is the real thing.”
Both of them smiled.
“I’m happy for you,” Emme said. “Maybe now your nightmares will
stop.”
“I hope so.” I didn’t mention that I’d had it both nights Dallas had been
with me.
“I wish I could meet him,” Stella said.
“Same,” Emme added. “When does he leave? Is there time?”
“Tomorrow, I think. Would you guys be able to meet us for dinner
tonight?” I felt a little guilty floating the invitation since I’d offered to
spend the night in with Dallas, but I really wanted to show him off to my
sisters.
“Nate and I can,” Emme said. “He’ll be back from taking Paisley home
by three.”
“I could check with Walter.” Stella pulled out her phone and began
typing a message. “What are you thinking for time?”
“Seven?” I shrugged.
She finished typing and set her phone next to her coffee cup. “He’s
usually pretty quick to get back to me.”
“Hey, I’m going up to Abelard next week to book some wedding stuff.
Either of you guys want to go?” Emme looked back and forth between
Stella and me.
“During the week?” Stella asked.
“That’s the plan. Probably Wednesday to Friday. I’ve got events over
the weekend.”
“I took this weekend off, so I don’t know about taking days off next
week too,” I said hesitantly. “But it would be fun. I’ll try.”
Stella’s phone pinged and she picked it up. “Dinner at seven works for
us.”
I smiled. “Great. Let me run it by Dallas and then I’ll text you guys a
time and place.”
We finished brunch, opened up our umbrellas on the sidewalk, and ran
through the rain in opposite directions for our cars. As soon as I was in
mine, I pulled out my phone and called Dallas. He didn’t answer, so I left
him a message.
 “Hey. I know I said we’d stay in tonight, but I just saw my sisters and
they’re dying to meet you. Do you hate the idea of having dinner with them
and their boyfriends tonight? Nate and Walter are both really nice, and I
think it would be fun. Let me know, okay? Hope you’re feeling better.” I
hung up and dropped my phone into my purse.
On the drive home, I couldn’t help thinking about what Stella had said
—that what had happened to Dallas yesterday morning had sounded like
some kind of seizure. Could she be right? His claim that it was just a dizzy
spell had made sense to me at the time, but the more I thought about it, the
more worried I became that it wasn’t so easily explained. When you’re
dizzy, you close your eyes, right? His had remained open. And even when
you’re dizzy, you can talk. Dallas hadn’t responded the first few times I’d
said his name. Almost as if he hadn’t heard me.
It wasn’t like me to panic over something like this, but when I got
home, I texted Stella.
Me: Hey what kind of seizure did you say that sounded like?
Stella: A focal aware seizure.
I grabbed my laptop and googled it. The first site that came up was
related to epilepsy awareness. I read the entire section on focal seizures, and
I still wasn’t sure if that’s what had happened to Dallas. He’d seemed to
have some of the symptoms described but not others. And wouldn’t Dallas
have been diagnosed with epilepsy as a kid?
I researched it a little more, learning that epilepsy could start at any age,
and although there was no cure, the seizures could usually be managed with
drug therapy, surgery, or changes in diet. Occasionally the condition just
went away on its own.
Biting my lip, I set my laptop aside and wondered if that’s what was
going on with Dallas and he was too proud or embarrassed to tell me.
Knowing him, it seemed likely, and I wished more than anything he would
open up to me. I didn’t want to have such a giant secret between us,
mucking up our new beginning. But what could I do?
If I were Emme, I’d probably run right to him and demand to know the
truth. But I’d always been more patient and even-tempered than my hot-
headed sister. If I were Stella, I’d probably find a way to bring it up in
conversation that would naturally lead to an admission. But Stella had
training and a way with words that I didn’t. She knew how to get people to
talk. I was too nervous about saying the wrong thing.
 I got up from the couch and checked my phone—no reply yet from
Dallas. Disappointed, I decided to spend the next hour meditating.
After changing into more comfortable clothing, I lit some candles, put
my phone on Do Not Disturb, chose the sound of ocean waves on my
Meditation Playlist, and sat on the rug. I was briefly consumed by the
memory of kneeling over Dallas’s face yesterday in this very same spot, but
I accepted the thought and its accompanying feelings of desire without
judging them. Then I closed my eyes and focused on my breath and body
awareness.
Sixty minutes later, I felt relaxed, refreshed and rebalanced. I didn’t
need to panic. I didn’t need to confront anyone. Everything happened for a
reason, and if there was something Dallas wanted me to know, he would tell
me in his own time. Loving someone meant opening your heart to them; it
didn’t mean forcing them to fill it at the soonest opportunity. Love needed
room to breathe, room to grow. I didn’t have to behave like either one of my
sisters would in this situation. I only had to be me, and trust my instincts.
I checked my messages, and found that I had a text from Dallas.
Dallas: Dinner at 7 is fine. I will be at your house by 6:30.
I was a little disappointed he wasn’t coming over earlier, since six thirty
wouldn’t give us any time together before dinner, but I decided not to ask
him. We had the entire night ahead of us, and I didn’t want to appear needy.
Me: Great! See you then.
I added a little kissy-face emoji and hit send. Next, I messaged my
sisters that dinner was on, and we went back and forth about where to go
before deciding on Republic Tavern. I called the restaurant and made a
reservation.
After that, I texted Dallas back that since dinner would be downtown,
there was no sense in his driving to my house to get me, which was just
north of the city. Instead, I told him I’d grab an Uber down to his hotel
around five or so, and maybe we could have a drink at the bar if he was
feeling up to it.
He didn’t answer right away, so I got in the shower. When I was out, I
checked my phone and saw his reply.
Dallas: Sorry. I was on the phone with Finn. Are you sure you don’t
want me to pick you up?
Me: Positive. I’ll be there in about an hour. Maybe less.
Dallas: Good. I missed you today.
 Relieved, I smiled and texted back.
Me: I missed you too. Can’t wait to see you!
I blow-dried my hair and got dressed, choosing a white maxi dress with
a deep V-neck and lace panels in its flowing skirt. I applied a little makeup,
rubbed some lavender oil into my skin, and pulled on the strappy sandals
I’d worn to the prom the other night. When I was ready, I ordered a car and
went out on the porch to wait. The rain had stopped, and the sun was finally
peeking out from behind the clouds. The temperature was warm, and the
light breeze carried on it the scent of mint from my neighbor’s herb garden.
I turned my face to the sun and inhaled deeply.
It was going to be a beautiful night.

OceanofPDF.com
 THIRTEEN

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

After leaving Maren’s house Sunday morning, I drove back to my hotel and
crashed for five straight hours. I was exhausted. My head hurt. My eyes
burned because I’d slept in my contacts. My gut was twisted into knots I
knew I couldn’t unravel. Barricaded in my room, shades drawn, Do Not
Disturb sign on the door, phone off, I pulled the covers over my head and
shut out the world.
Except, of course, the world wasn’t the problem. I was the problem.
More specifically, what I’d done was the problem. Looking back, I could
see the series of missteps I’d taken, and all of them indicated how weak and
reckless and stupid I was.
I’d gone to see Maren and dug up the past when I should have left it
buried.
I’d insisted she go on a date with me, swearing not to touch her and
knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to resist.
I’d slept with her, telling myself it was only for one night.
I’d stayed in Detroit just to be with her when I should have gone to
Boston.
I’d told her how I felt and promised her a second chance.
I’d hid the truth from her and then flat out lied when she asked me about
the surgeon appointment.
I’d let both of us fall in deep, knowing we would both get hurt.
And now what? Was I supposed to go have dinner with her and her
family, spend the evening making polite conversation and pretending
nothing was wrong? Spend the night in her bed again, holding her and
kissing her and fucking her and making promises and plans I knew I wasn’t
going to keep?
Miserable and full of contempt for myself, I got out my laptop and did
what I’d already done a thousand times in the last few months—researched
brain tumors and treatment.
It was all horror stories, and the pictures were even worse. Finn had told
me not to do this under any circumstances, and even though I knew he was
right, I couldn’t help it. I needed to remind myself why I wouldn’t let
Maren see me that way.
Then I came across something new. A blog by a guy named Chad—an
Ironman triathlete with a PhD in chemistry—who’d had a craniotomy to
remove a brain tumor followed by radiation and chemotherapy. He had a
great sense of humor about it. He claimed his side effects weren’t even that
bad. Reading his story, I actually began to feel some hope that maybe I
could weather this storm, especially if I knew Maren was counting on me.
But then his posts suddenly stopped. After years of updating his readers
a few times a month, Chad just disappeared. Months later, his partner
posted on the blog that Chad had lost his battle and how hard it had been
watching him fight it. How devastating the loss was. How unfair and
confusing and painful and sad. How cancer had turned this brilliant,
superstar athlete into a shriveled, sickly shadow of his former self. Of
course, he went on to say how strong Chad’s spirit remained and
encouraged all Chad’s readers to donate to cancer research.
Angry at the tragic ending to the story and the injustice of it all, I
slammed my laptop shut and tossed it aside. A moment later, I opened it
back up, got out my wallet and donated to the American Cancer Society in
Chad’s honor. It didn’t make me feel any better, though. If a guy like that—
a chemistry genius who could swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, and run a
marathon without a break—couldn’t survive, what were the odds that I
could?
Not good.
My room began to feel claustrophobic, so I decided to take a walk. The
rain had eased to barely a drizzle, but I didn’t care about getting wet
anyway. I wandered the wet city streets with no destination, hands shoved
in my pockets, head aching, desperately wishing there was a way out of this
that wouldn’t break Maren’s heart and leave her thinking the worst of me.
That had been the whole point of my trip here—to redeem myself in her
eyes. Atone for what I’d done. But in true Dallas fashion, I’d managed to
fuck it up.
After I’d been walking for a while, I ducked into a little jewelry shop.
My conscience taunted me. You think some kind of trinket is going to
make it up to her?
Ignoring it, I perused what the store had to offer, and when a
saleswoman approached and asked what I’d like to see, I pointed out a
necklace that reminded me of one of Maren’s tattoos. It was a little lotus
flower pendant on a delicate gold chain. Delicate, feminine, beautiful. Just
like her. I knew she would love it.
I bought the necklace for her and walked back to the hotel, and was
about to get in the shower when Finn called. After debating for ten seconds
whether or not to answer, I decided I’d better.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Finn. You okay?”
“I guess.”
“How are the headaches?”
“Shitty.”
“Sorry to hear that. How about your vision?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “It’s okay.”
“Any more episodes?”
“One. Yesterday. Same thing as before.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
“No.”
“That’s good.” A pause. “I wanted to let you know I spoke with Dr.
Acharya. He had a chance to look over your films.”
“And?”
“He agrees with me about the surgery. The sooner the better.”
“Does he think it’s benign or malignant?”
“We won’t know that until the biopsy.”
“Does he think I’ll need radiation and chemo?”
“Again, we won’t know that until we have all the information. But you
need to have the surgery to get the information. He’ll go over all this with
you Tuesday.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” I said quickly.
“I know. I just wanted you to hear his opinion.” He paused. “I also
wanted to let you know that I feel really bad about our conversation
yesterday.”
“Don’t worry about it. No point.”
“Yes, there is, Dallas. You’re the only brother I’ve got. And I haven’t
done a good enough job seeing things from your point of view or trying to
understand your feelings.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“And how can I expect you to listen to me or believe I care when you
feel I’m not on your side? But I’ve never been against you.”
“No, you’ve been above me. There’s a difference.”
“Fair enough. I admit, I have judged your choices because they’re not
the ones I would have made. But I’ve been talking to someone about things,
and—”
“About my things? Talking to who?” I demanded.
“No. About my things,” he said calmly. “I see a therapist.”
“Oh. You do?” It surprised me. Finn’s life seemed fucking perfect. He
seemed perfect.
“Yes. Everyone’s got issues, Dallas. Not just you. But I’ve been talking
a lot about you lately, and my therapist really thinks repairing our
relationship is important. I do, too.”
“Frankly, I’m not sure what’s there to repair,” I said. “We’ve never had
much of a relationship. I’m closer to your kids than I am to you. I relate to
them better.”
“So let’s change that. When you get here, let’s get to know each other as
adults and put the past behind us. Do you think we can?”
“Maybe. Did you ever talk to Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ask a million questions?”
“Of course. But I didn’t tell her anything.”
“I can’t believe she hasn’t been calling me nonstop.”
“I told her not to bother you while you were on vacation and you’d call
her from here.” Finn’s tone was firm.
“Thanks.” My phone buzzed, indicating a text message. A quick glance
at the screen told me it was from Maren. “Okay. Look, I better go. I’m
having dinner with a friend tonight.”
“You mentioned seeing someone before. Who is it? Anyone I know?”
A lie was on the tip of my tongue, but at the last second, I decided to be
truthful. I wasn’t even sure why. “Maren Devine.”
 “Your old girlfriend, right? Any sparks left?”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Finn.”
“Sorry. But I’d like to hear about your visit with her.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. My flight gets in around one or two.”
“I’m really glad you’re not driving. Safe travels.”
“Thanks.”
We hung up and I read Maren’s message saying she’d meet me here at
the hotel. Just seeing her name on the screen made my heart beat faster. I
replied, offering again to pick her up. I wanted to do things for her.
You could tell her the truth.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved the thought aside and read her response
assuring me she didn’t need me to come get her and she’d be here soon.
Me: Good. I missed you today.
Maren: I missed you too. Can’t wait to see you!
That’s because you don’t know the kind of person I really am.
Tossing my phone on the bed, I undressed and got in the shower. Being
in there reminded me of showering with her, and I recalled the way she’d
looked as she stood naked beneath the spray, water streaming down her
body. I remembered the way she’d tasted, the way she’d touched me, the
way she’d whispered the sweetest things in my ear—I missed you, I want
you, I trust you.
I was hard in no time, and so fucking tempted to do something about it,
but I denied myself. I didn’t deserve the pleasure.
After I got out, I dressed in jeans and a dark blue button-down, put in
my contacts, and wrangled my hair into something respectable. I glared at
the Depakote in my travel bag for a moment, but ended up taking one. The
last thing I needed was to have an episode at the dinner table. I was still
humiliated by the one Maren witnessed yesterday.
When I was ready, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. It nauseated
me.
You’re a miserable, lying prick. But you’ve got one last chance to make
this right. Don’t blow it like you’ve done with every other good thing in
your life.
I wasn’t sure whose voice it was—my father’s? Finn’s? my own?—but I
knew what it said was true.
I had to tell her.
SHE KNOCKED on my door just after five. I opened it, unprepared for the
way my knees nearly buckled at the sight of her.
“Hi.” She smiled and came toward me with open arms. “I missed you.”
“Hi.” I hugged her close. “You look beautiful. And you smell delicious.
You’re probably not even wearing perfume.”
She laughed. “Nope. Just a little lavender oil.”
I released her and looked her over, head to toe. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
Her cheeks bloomed with pink. “Thank you. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that you’re here. I have something for you.”
Her eyes brightened. “You do?”
“Yes.” I took her by the shoulders and put her in front of the full-length
mirror on the closet door. “Close your eyes.”
She did as I asked and I dug the little box with the necklace in it out of
my suitcase and opened it up.
“No peeking,” I told her, taking it from the box and undoing the clasp.
“I’m not. I promise.”
Reaching over her head, I draped the necklace around her throat and
fastened it at the back of her neck. “Okay. You can look.”
She opened her eyes and gasped. Her fingertips immediately went to the
gold lotus pendant, which looked stunning against her skin. “Oh, my God.
Dallas.”
Our eyes met in the mirror and hers misted over.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“I love it. It’s beautiful.” She sniffed. “You’re going to make me cry.”
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her temple. “No crying. It’s
no big deal. I was on a walk today and saw it, and it made me think of you.”
“It’s perfect.” She placed her arms over mine and squeezed. “I’ll wear it
all the time.”
“I’m happy you like it. It reminded me of your tattoo.”
She looked down at her arm. “I love this tattoo. It was my first one.”
“Yeah? What does it mean to you?”
“I’ve always liked the symbolism of the lotus flower—rebirth,
resurrection, revival. Its roots are in the mud at the bottom of ponds or
rivers, and its petals emerge above the water. Every night they close up and
duck beneath the surface, and every morning they rise up and open again. I
got it at a time in my life when I needed to be reminded of my capacity for
resilience. The lotus flower never gives up. It gives me strength when I
need it.” She twisted in my arms so that she faced me, her arms going
around my neck. “Thank you. Not just for the necklace, but for coming
here, for spending time with me.” Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips
to mine.
Tell her, I thought as I slanted my mouth over hers and slid my hands
down over her ass. Tell her, I thought as I walked backward toward the bed,
bringing her with me. Tell her, I thought as I turned her around, laid her
back on the bed, and lifted up the long white dress.
But I didn’t. Instead I knelt down between her legs, pushed her white
lace underwear aside, and devoured her like a starving man, her hands
fisted in my hair, her hips bucking beneath me. After she came, she begged
me for more, and I couldn’t stop myself from fucking her in that pretty
white dress, her legs over my shoulders, her honey-colored hair spilling
over the blankets, her fingers clawing the sheets.
With my hands wrapped tightly around her calves, I was rough with her,
like I was trying to show her the truth about myself, so rough I hoped she’d
plead with me to slow down. Tell me I was hurting her. Push me away. I
wanted her to hate me like I hated myself.
But she didn’t. She moaned and gasped and turned her face to the side,
throwing her hands over her head, her angelic features contorted with pain
or pleasure or both, and I rammed my cock deeper inside her, making her
cry out with every vicious thrust, but she never asked me to stop. And it felt
good, indulging the villain inside me—wicked and sexy and selfish and
greedy and powerful, so powerful I was drunk with it.
I let go of her legs and leaned forward, pinning her wrists to the bed
with one hand and taking her beneath the jaw with the other. “Look at me,”
I demanded, forcing her head in my direction. “I want you to watch me fuck
you. I want you to see who I am. I want you to know exactly who you think
you love.”
She tried to say something and I stopped her by sliding my palm up
over her mouth. I didn’t want to hear her tell me she loved me. She couldn’t
possibly. Not now and not ever. I wouldn’t accept it. “Shh,” I told her,
driven even closer to the edge by her helplessness, by my audacity. “Just
watch. And feel. How hard you make me. How wet you are. How deep I
am.”
 Her fingers curled into fists and she whimpered beneath my hand, but
she did as I asked, and the prolonged eye contact as I pounded mercilessly
into her body sent me hurtling toward ecstasy. The muscles in my lower
body tightened as unimaginable heat unfurled inside me. It was lust and
anger and need. It was lies and truth, past and present, betrayal and
devotion. It was love and it was hate and it was rushing, rushing, surging,
cresting, erupting over and over again as my body stiffened and I poured
myself into her in hot, uncontrollable bursts.
When it was over, I took my hands off her and braced them on the bed
above her shoulders. I could hardly believe I was still standing. “Fuck,” I
said, closing my eyes. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d hit me. “I’m
sorry, Maren.”
“Why are you sorry?”
I opened my eyes. “I was rough with you. It was selfish.”
“Did it seem like I wasn’t enjoying it?”
“I have no idea. I was only thinking about myself.”
She shook her head. “No, you weren’t. You were watching me the
whole time.”
“I shouldn’t have put my hand over your mouth. You could have been
trying to say no.”
“But I wasn’t.” She smiled. “I might be sore tomorrow, but I actually
thought that was really hot.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” Her smile turned a little shy, her eyes adoring. “You were all
manly and dominant and strong. Power is sexy. I mean, I don’t want to be
pushed around anywhere else, but you can get a little aggressive with me in
the bedroom. I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know you are.”
She took my face in her hands. “And I’m crazy about you. All of you.
Don’t feel like you have to hold back with me, okay? You can be your real
self. That’s what I want.”
I swallowed hard. “Maren, I have to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything. But can I have one second? I’m afraid of
getting something on this dress, because I don’t have anything else to wear
to dinner.” She squirmed, trying to make sure her dress wasn’t underneath
her.
 “Oh, sure. I’m sorry.” I carefully pulled out and watched her ease off the
bed.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, giving me a sheepish grin as she headed
for the bathroom.
“Take your time.” I pulled myself together and sat down on the edge of
the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
Could I do this? Was I really going to admit everything? Was I ready for
what her reaction was going to be? Tears and pity and sorrow and pleading
with me to have the surgery—and that was if she forgave me for keeping it
from her all weekend. She’d be a mess at dinner, unable to explain why, and
our last night together would be ruined.
Then there was the thing she’d said about power. You were all manly
and dominant and strong. Power is sexy. If she knew the truth, she’d never
see me that way again. She’d see me as sick and weak and at the mercy of
other people. Smarter people. Like Finn.
The bathroom door opened, and she came out looking as perfect as she
had when she’d walked in. “All good,” she said, her smile fading as she got
closer to me. “You okay?”
I stood up. “I’m fine. Ready to go?”
Her head tilted to one side. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell
me?”
“It was nothing,” I lied. The disappointment in her face gutted me.
“It didn’t sound like nothing. Come on, tell me.” She slipped her arms
around my waist.
“I just—wanted you to know how much this weekend has meant to me.
That’s all.”
She smiled up at me. “Me, too.”
“Should we head out?”
“Yes.” But she hesitated. “There’s nothing else you want to tell me?”
“No.” I could hardly meet her eyes. “That was it. I’ll just use the
bathroom real quick, and then we’ll go.”
“Okay.” She let go of me, and I hurried into the bathroom, closing the
door behind me. I avoided the mirror.
What the fuck was I going to do?
DINNER WAS A STRUGGLE.
Not because of the company—Maren’s sisters seemed great, and
everyone was making an effort with me, but my head was not in the game.
“So, Dallas, I hear you’re a tattoo artist?”
I blinked at the guy who’d asked the question. Walter, his name was,
although it was hard not to think of him as Buzz after Maren’s stories. He
was tall and thin and professorial-looking, clean shaven with neatly combed
sandy blond hair and wire-rim glasses. “Yes.”
“That must be interesting work.”
“Yeah.” When I didn’t go on, Maren spoke up.
“Dallas is amazingly talented. He used to draw things on people with a
Sharpie at parties in high school. He once did this incredible design on my
arm I never wanted to wash off.”
“I remember that.” Emme nodded enthusiastically. “Mom was so mad at
you.”
“She was.” Maren laughed. “Every time she saw it, she would groan
and tell me to go put long sleeves on.”
“Ever do any tattoos of bees?” Walter asked. “I’ve sometimes thought
about getting one.”
“Can’t say that I have.”
The conversation stalled.
“Nate, do you have any tattoos?” Maren asked Emme’s fiancé. He was
dark-haired and thicker through the chest and shoulders than Walter, and he
had a little bit of facial hair, but I was willing to bet he was not the type to
have ink under his expensive suit. I hadn’t tattooed a lot of lawyers in my
life.
“I don’t,” he said. “I’m actually not a huge fan of needles near my
skin.”
Emme looked at him. “You’re afraid of needles? I didn’t know that.”
“I said I wasn’t a fan of needles, not that I was afraid of them. Big
difference.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right.”
The oldest sister, Stella, tried to draw me out a different way. “So you’re
in Portland, I hear? How do you like it out there?”
“I like it.”
“I’ve never been there,” she went on, “but I’ve heard it’s really nice.”
 “I’d like to visit Oregon wine country,” said Emme. “I love Willamette
Valley pinot noir. Have you ever done any winery tours or anything?”
“No.” From my right I could sense Maren’s unease with my failure to
make conversation, so I tried to think of something else to say but couldn’t.
My appetite wasn’t good, so when the food came I took a few bites, but
mostly just pushed it around on my plate.
“Do you not like the lamb?” Maren asked quietly. “I can share my
gnocchi with you if you’d like.”
“No, thanks. The lamb is good. I guess I’m just not that hungry.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” I tried to give her a reassuring smile.
Everyone else at the table chatted easily, and it was obvious the three
sisters were very close. They teased each other without being mean, and
were quick to praise one another’s talents and accomplishments. Stella
spoke glowingly of Emme’s knack for taking an empty space and turning it
into a bride’s dream come true, even on a budget, and Maren blushed when
Emme complimented her volunteer efforts at schools in underserved
communities in rural areas. “Those kids would never have the opportunity
to take a yoga class at a studio,” she said. “And did she tell you about how
she got one company to donate mats to a women’s shelter?”
“No.” I looked at Maren, whose cheeks grew even pinker.
“She did. And then she went there and taught classes for free, not just
yoga but mindfulness and meditation and—what was the other one, Mare?”
“Affirmations.”
“Oh, right.” Emme laughed. “I still remember my affirmation from
when you dragged me to that class.” She sat up taller and recited it proudly.
“I am deserving of a supportive, loving, awesome relationship.”
“And see? It worked.” Maren gestured at Emme and Nate. “Once you
said it enough, it created the right kind of energy for the relationship to
happen.”
“The right person helped, too,” Emme said, patting Nate on the arm.
The right person. I looked at the other guys at the table—a college
professor and an attorney, neither of whom, presumably, had a brain tumor
or a gigantic secret he was keeping from the woman next to him—and felt
like a fucking disaster. These were good guys. They had everything to offer.
They’d done everything right. They were smart and honest and played by
the rules, and life had rewarded them for it.
 Why can’t you be more like your brother? my parents used to ask me.
I’d hated it. I didn’t know why I couldn’t be more like him. I just wasn’t.
But sitting there at that table, I wished more than anything I had been.
Maybe then I wouldn’t be stuck in this lie, stuck in this impossible
situation where I had to either forfeit the love of my life or drag her down a
dark, miserable road.
I looked over at her, and she smiled at me. She was so beautiful it hurt.
So good to people around her. So loyal to everyone she loved. If I didn’t set
her free, she’d waste all her time trying to take care of me.
I wasn’t worth it.

OceanofPDF.com
 FOURTEEN

OceanofPDF.com
 MAREN

“He’s really cute, Maren,” Stella said to me in the restaurant bathroom

where the three of us stood in front of the mirror. “But he’s so quiet. Not at
all what I was imagining.”
“Same,” said Emme, pulling the cap off her red lipstick. “I thought he
was more outgoing.”
“He normally is.” I shook my head. “I don’t know what’s going on with
him. He’s not acting like himself at all.”
“Maybe he doesn’t feel good,” Stella suggested, fussing with her hair.
“Does he have a headache today?”
“He did this morning. Maybe that’s it.” My eyes filled with tears. “But
there’s something he’s not telling me, you guys. I can feel it.”
“Like what?” Stella turned to me, concern in her eyes.
“I don’t know.” I took a shaky breath. “But I think it might be what you
said—epilepsy.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“I mean, I’m not sure, but I looked up some of the symptoms online,
and—”
Stella groaned. “Don’t do that. The Internet is a cesspool of
misinformation.”
“I’d have done the same thing,” said Emme, putting her lipstick in her
purse. “Can you ask him directly?”
I bit my lip. “I could, but I don’t want to. I want him to tell me. I want
him to trust me.”
“Trust takes time,” said Stella, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s only been a
couple days.”
 “I know, but we have history. It doesn’t feel like it’s only been two
days.”
“Well, then ask him, if it will make you feel better.” Stella shrugged.
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Would it bother you if it were true?” Emme asked.
“No! Not at all.” I shook my head. “I’m only bothered by the thought
that he feels like he can’t tell me.”
“I get it.” Emme gave me a sympathetic look.
“We should get back to the table,” Stella said. “Are you okay?”
I took a deep breath, and then another. “Yes. Maybe I’m imagining this
whole thing. He could just have a headache or be thinking about seeing his
brother. That relationship is complicated.”
“Okay. Call me tomorrow if you want to talk more.”
I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

ON THE WALK to the car, Dallas didn’t hold my hand.

“Thanks for coming out tonight. I probably shouldn’t have asked you to.
I knew you weren’t feeling well.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“It’s okay.”
I glanced at him. “Are you sure about that? You didn’t seem to enjoy it
too much.”
He kept his eyes on the ground. “Sorry.”
Great. Now I’d made him feel bad for feeling bad. “Does your head
hurt?”
“Yeah.”
I pressed my lips together. “Can I do anything for you?”
“No.”
We reached the car, and he opened the passenger door for me, waited
for me to get in, and closed it. Then he walked around to the driver’s side
and got in, but he didn’t start the engine right away. He gripped the wheel
with both hands and exhaled audibly.
“What’s going on, Dallas?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.” He paused. Reached out and put a hand on my
leg. “I’m sorry, Maren.”
 “For what?”
“I wasn’t much fun tonight.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I just wish you’d talk to me.”
He closed his eyes. “I know.”
But without saying anything else, he started the car.
Neither of us said anything on the drive to my house, although my heart
was pounding so loud, I was hardly aware of the silence. What the hell was
going on with him? When we reached my house, he pulled into the
driveway and put the car in park.
But he didn’t turn it off.
“Are you coming in?” I asked, afraid of his answer.
“I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” He rubbed his face with both hands before grasping the
wheel again. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
I shifted in the seat to face him. “Excuse me?”
He kept his eyes on his hands. “This. Us. It’s not going to work.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
I stared at him, too shocked to cry. Then I switched on the car’s interior
lights. “Look at me, Dallas.”
His jaw twitched, but he turned his face toward me. It was stony and
cold.
“You’re serious?” I demanded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m leaving. And a long-distance relationship isn’t what I want.”
The tears were coming, I could feel the sobs building in my chest, but I
did my best to stave them off. “Since when? Last night, you said you loved
me. You promised to give us another chance. Was that all bullshit?”
He swallowed. Opened his mouth and closed it again.
“Answer me! Tell me you were lying. Tell me you didn’t mean a word
you said.”
“I was lying,” he said. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I don’t believe you.” I started to cry. “You said those words and you
meant them. I know you did. You had to this time. You had to.”
“Look, I know it’s hard to understand, but—”
 “You’re right, I don’t understand,” I cried. “Give me one good reason
why we can’t give this a shot.”
“Look, Maren. I thought coming here was the right thing, and I was
trying to do the right thing for once in my life, but I fucked it up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I was only supposed to see you and apologize. None of this
other stuff was supposed to happen.”
“So why did it?” I demanded. “Why ask me to dinner? Why ask me to
spend the night with you? Why tell me you love me? You could have made
your apology and left without hurting me again.”
“I made a mistake, okay? At least this time you got your goodbye.”
“Fuck you, Dallas,” I wept. “How could you do this to me?”
“Because I’m a selfish asshole, okay? And you’re better off without me,
so just go in the house and forget this weekend ever happened.”
I tipped my face into my hands. Feelings churned and swelled in me
like boiling lava. Sorrow. Frustration. Hurt. Anger. Humiliation. Was he
really just a selfish asshole incapable of an adult relationship? Should I
have seen this coming? It had felt so right, and now he was saying it was all
a mistake. I didn’t want to believe it, but what other reason would he have
for breaking this off?
Unless he was doing it to avoid telling me his secret.
Sniffling, I picked up my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“What?” He looked at me.
“I don’t think you’re selfish. I think you’re stubborn. I think there’s
something you don’t want me to know, and you’re shutting me out rather
than telling me what it is.”
“That’s crazy.”
I took a risk. “I know about the seizure, Dallas.”
He stared at me. Seconds ticked by. “What seizure?”
“The one you had yesterday morning at the hotel.”
He looked away again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Suddenly I was convinced I had it right.
“I had a bad headache. I got dizzy.”
“It was a focal seizure, wasn’t it? I saw the pills you take.” I took a deep
breath, reminded myself to be kind and patient. “If you have epilepsy, you
can tell me.”
His head turned sharply toward me, but he didn’t say anything.
 “Dallas, it’s okay.” I wanted to touch him, but I didn’t. His hands were
gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. He was
breathing hard through his nose. “I don’t care what … conditions you might
have. I just want to be with you.”
“But you would care,” he said bitterly. “You’d feel sorry for me. You’d
have to take care of me, and I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone’s pity.”
His words were familiar. He’d just used them last night, hadn’t he?
When he was talking about—
It hit me.
“Oh, Dallas.” I covered my mouth with both hands.
He still hadn’t moved, but I could see how taut the muscles in his neck
were.
I spoke softly. “It’s not your dad with the brain tumor, is it?”
“Get out of the car, Maren.”
“Dallas, don’t do this.” I put my hands on his arm. “Don’t push me
away because of your pride. Let me be here for you. Let me—”
“No!” he roared, shaking me off. “No. I’m sorry I hurt you, okay? I’m
sorry for what I did then, I’m sorry for what I’m doing now, I’m sorry about
my entire fucking existence on this earth, but this ends here. Now.”
“Don’t say that,” I begged, crying again. “Please, can’t we talk about
this? I want to know what—”
“No, Maren. No. I don’t want to talk about it with you. Now go inside
and forget about me.”
“What if I can’t?” I sobbed. “What if you’re the only man I’ll ever
love?”
He closed his eyes and swallowed. “You’ll find someone better.”
“But I love you!”
“No, you don’t.” His voice had gone wooden. “You love the idea of me.
And I loved the idea of you. We were trying to recapture something from
the past when life was simpler.”
“You don’t mean that.” I cried harder, wiping my nose with my hand.
“Yes, I do. I didn’t want to say these things to you, but you’re not giving
me any choice.” He was looking at me with hard eyes. I barely recognized
him. “I don’t love you, Maren. I don’t love anyone.”
“Then why did you come here?”
He didn’t answer me right away. Then he looked out the windshield
again. “I wanted you off my conscience.”
 I sat there crying, trying to let it sink in that this was it—he didn’t want
to see me again. He didn’t love me. As it turns out, I was just an item on his
bucket list.
And he had a brain tumor.
Panic eclipsed my broken heart for a moment. My mind raced,
desperately trying to recall what he’d told me about his father. “The surgery,
Dallas. Everything you told me about your dad’s treatment options. That
was all about you?”
He didn’t answer.
“Please. Please have the operation.” I put my hands on his arm again,
and he let me. “If you don’t want me, fine, but don’t throw your life away
because you don’t want anyone’s pity. Please, Dallas, if you ever loved me.
Listen to the doctor. Have the surgery.”
He swallowed and spoke quietly. “I’ll think about it.”
“Will you … will you let me know what you decide?”
“No. A clean break is better, Maren. For both of us. Now go.”
Fresh tears spilled over. He was rejecting me. Again. My heart was
crushed, my soul shattered.
“Okay, Dallas. You win. I’ll go.” I put my hand on the door handle and
pulled.
Stop me. Tell me you’re lying. Wake me up from this nightmare.
But he let me go without saying another word, and I got out of the car,
slammed the door, and ran inside my house.
I locked the front door behind me and ran back to my bedroom in the
dark, where I threw myself on my bed and cried into my pillow.
This couldn’t be happening, I kept telling myself. There was no way.
How could anyone’s life take as many zig-zag turns as mine had in the last
two days? I didn’t know which end was up.
I sobbed and sobbed, my body shuddering, my eyes burning, my voice
going hoarse. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried so hard—probably
when Dallas had disappeared the first time. After that, I swore I’d never let
anyone hurt me that way again.
And here I was. Heartbroken and alone and desperately afraid for
Dallas. Would he be okay? Would he have the operation? Would I ever see
him again?
And why didn’t he love me like I loved him?
 I screamed into my pillow, pounded my fists into the mattress, kicked
my feet like a child throwing a tantrum. Anger worked its way beneath my
sorrow.
Fuck him! Fuck his lies and his careless words and his broken promises!
Fuck him for kissing me like he meant it! Fuck him for making me think we
had a chance! Fuck him for making me love him again and then breaking
my heart! And fuck me for trusting him again—what was wrong with me?
I was so furious I wanted to smash something. I sat up and looked
around. What could I throw? What could I shatter? What could I destroy so
that I wouldn’t feel so fucking helpless and feeble? I quickly untied one of
my shoes and threw it as hard as I could at the wall. It felt good, so I did the
same thing with the other one, too, grunting as I hurled it with all my might.
“Fuck you!” I yelled. Then I put my hands over my ears and screamed
as loud as I could, trying to drown out all the voices in my head telling me I
was stupid, gullible, weak, insignificant, not deserving of real love.
Then I flopped onto my back, squeezed my eyes shut and tried to calm
myself with some deep breaths. It took a while.
When I was in control again, I got out of bed, found my laptop in the
kitchen and took it back to my bedroom. Sitting up against the headboard, I
opened it up and googled Finn Shepherd, Harvard University.
I found an email address easily enough, and immediately began
composing a message. Dallas might be a selfish asshole, but I would care
about him forever. I had to know he was going to be okay.
Dear Dr. Shepherd,
We have only met once or twice, a long time ago, but I am a friend
of your brother Dallas. We went to school together and dated seriously,
but lost touch in the years between then and now.
I was surprised to see him on my doorstep two days ago, but we
spent the weekend getting reacquainted, and I was very upset to learn
about his medical condition.
I couldn’t write brain tumor. I just couldn’t.
We parted ways earlier this evening under difficult terms.
I stopped and took a breath as my eyes filled again.
I know about the surgery. I begged him to have it, but he says he
hasn’t decided yet and won’t tell me what he decides. He wants a clean
break.
 I’m writing you tonight for several reasons. One, PLEASE do
whatever it takes to convince him to have the surgery if that is the best
option to save his life. I’m begging you.
I choked back a sob and kept going, although the screen was blurry.
Two, please be kind to him. I know he can be stubborn and difficult,
but he won’t respond well to insults or demands.
Three, could you please let me know what he decides? He doesn’t
want any contact with me, but I don’t think I will be able to sleep
peacefully until I know what he has chosen. I need to know he will be
okay.
I did not tell him I was reaching out to you. Of course, I understand
if you feel you have to tell him about this email, but I would still ask
that you consider my requests. He will probably be very angry about
what I’ve done, but in all honesty, I love him too much to do nothing.
Feel free to reply to me at this address. I wish you luck with him,
and I wish you well.
Sincerely,
Maren Devine
I hesitated for only a moment, during which I closed my eyes and
searched my soul. Was this what I wanted to do? I risked alienating Dallas
even further by going behind his back and contacting his brother when I
knew there was tension between them. In the end, I decided I had no choice.
I loved him, and I wanted to save him even more than I wanted him to love
me back. If he never forgave me, so be it. I hit send and felt no guilt.
Setting my laptop on my nightstand, I opened the drawer and took out
the sketch he’d made of me at seventeen. The sight of it and the memory of
what he’d said to me last night brought fresh tears. After tucking it away
again, I dragged myself from bed, undressed, and put on my pajamas. In the
bathroom, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and frowned at my puffy
eyes. Back in my room, I took off the necklace he’d given me earlier, hid it
at the bottom of my underwear drawer, crawled beneath the covers and
curled up in a ball. My sheets smelled like him.
I closed my eyes and inhaled, wondering if he was lying in his hotel bed
missing me as much as I missed him. I thought of his body beneath the
sheets, pictured the warm bare skin, the firm muscles of his chest, the ink
on his arms and shoulders and back. I thought of his blue eyes and the
dimple in his chin. I thought of his hands. The sound of his laugh. The taste
of him. How was it possible I’d never see him again? Or touch him or kiss
him or hold him or feel him inside me? The ache of loneliness spread from
my heart throughout my entire body.
I cried myself to sleep.

OceanofPDF.com
 FIFTEEN

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

On the drive back to the hotel, I turned the radio on, putting the volume up
as loud as it would go. I already had a headache, and the blasting rock
music made it worse, but as long as I was distracted by the noise and the
physical pain, I wouldn’t have to deal with the emotional upheaval I’d just
caused—mine or Maren’s—or the voices in my head telling me I’d just
walked away from the best thing that had ever happened to me.
Back at my hotel, I threw all my shit in my suitcase and crashed on the
bed, slamming my eyes shut and praying sleep would come quickly.
It didn’t, of course.
All I could do was picture the look on Maren’s face when I’d told her I
didn’t love her. Hear her sobbing. She’d been devastated, as I knew she
would be. Goddammit, it wasn’t supposed to happen!
But I wanted her to be happy, and the only way that could happen was
without me in her life. She’d realize that in time. She was smart—smart
enough to put everything together about what was going on with me.
Groaning, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. It was exactly as
I’d suspected—the tears and sadness, the pity and fear. Why the hell would
she want any of that in her life?
I loved her too much to put her through it. Better to disappoint her in the
short term than sentence her for life. But fuck—fuck—it hurt me, too.
I grabbed the pillow from behind my head and put it over my face. It
smelled like lavender.
My throat closed. My chest tightened. My heart ached at the thought
that I’d never kiss her goodnight or sleep next to her or wake up with her
again—and someone else would.
 But that was the price I had to pay.

I LANDED in Boston around one o’clock the following afternoon. I hadn’t

slept well, the flight had been bumpy, and my stomach was upset, probably
because of the Depakote combined with the lack of food. To say I was
grumpy was an understatement.
I barked at someone in baggage claim for standing too close to me, I
was a dick to the guy at the rental car agency when the SUV I wanted
wasn’t available, and I ignored Finn’s texts asking if I was on my way. I’d
never even told him which flight I was on or when it would arrive.
Instead, I put his address into my GPS and drove to his house, cursing
and grumbling the entire way that I should have stayed in a hotel. How the
fuck was I going to even breathe with four people in my face all the time?
Bree answered my knock on the front door, and her face lit up when she
saw me. “Hey, Dallas!”
“Hey.”
She held the door open for me, and as soon as I was inside, she let go
and threw her arms around me. “It’s so good to see you.”
The hug felt good, and I found my temperamental mood easing up a bit.
“You too.”
She released me and stepped back, eyeing me at arm’s length. “You
look good.”
“So do you.” My brother’s wife was pretty and petite, with shoulder-
length dark hair that was pulled off her face and a generous smile. It was a
warm day, and she was dressed in cut-off shorts and a tank top smudged
with dirt as if she’d been working outside.
“Oh Lord, I’m a mess. I’ve been in the garden already this morning. But
come on in. Finn’s at work—I don’t think he knew exactly when you were
arriving—but the kids are running around here somewhere. Oly! Lane!” she
called out. “Uncle Dallas is here.”
A second later, they came barreling toward me, Oly flying down the
stairs in a bathing suit and Lane zooming in from the direction of the
kitchen. “Yay!” one of them cried as both of them wrapped around my legs
like monkeys. “You’re here!”
 “I’m here.” The sight of them lifted my spirits even more. “And I have
presents for you somewhere in my bag.”
The kids cheered while Bree parked her hands on her hips. “You send
them too much stuff already. They’re still eating all the Easter candy you
shipped here.”
“What are uncles for?” I ruffled Lane’s hair and tweaked Olympia’s ear.
“Want to go swimming with me?” she asked. “We have a pool now.”
“I know, I heard about it. I’d love to. Got a diving board?”
My niece nodded happily. “I can dive off it.”
“I’ll teach you how to do a backflip,” I told her.
“Dallas Shepherd, don’t you dare.” My sister-in-law swatted at my
shoulder.
I smiled. “Let me take my bags upstairs and I’ll find my suit, okay,
Oly?”
“Okay.”
“Are you hungry?” Bree asked. “I have some pasta salad and some
deviled eggs.”
“That sounds good. I haven’t eaten yet today.” My stomach was feeling
a little better, and food actually sounded good.
“I’ll fix you a plate. You can take your things upstairs. You remember
where the guest room is?”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
Upstairs in the guest room, I dug my swimsuit and the kids’ gifts out of
my bag. The Tigers merchandise reminded me of being at the game with
Maren, and a pit opened inside me. How was she today? I’d had no calls or
messages from her, which surprised me. Was she too hurt and angry? Or
was she trying to forget me already?
It doesn’t matter. A clean break, remember?
I did my best to put her out of my mind and spent the afternoon with
Bree and the kids, who loved their Tigers gear and had fun showing off
their swimming and diving skills. I dazzled them all (plus some other
neighborhood urchins) with my backflip and thunderous cannonball off the
diving board, participated in underwater tea parties, diving for pennies, and
about a million games of Marco Polo.
For dinner, I grilled cheeseburgers and hot dogs, and Bree brought out
corn on the cob and broccoli salad, which the kids complained about but ate
after their mother told them there would be no ice cream if they didn’t.
 Finn arrived home while we were eating on the patio, kissed his wife
hello, ruffled each of the kids’ wet heads, and offered me his hand. I
thought for sure he’d make a comment about my ignoring his texts or
failing to let them know when I would arrive, but he didn’t. “Glad you
made it,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He changed clothes and joined us at the table, and I found myself
looking at him differently as I watched him interact with his family. I
wasn’t sure why. Was it because I knew he was seeing a therapist? Or
because I kept waiting for him to harangue me about the surgery and he
wasn’t? Was he different somehow, maybe a little less intense and more
relaxed? Was it because I knew he was interested in mending our
relationship, maybe hearing me out before he dismissed my side of things
as irrational or foolish or reckless?
Whatever it was, it helped to put me at ease. I didn’t feel as on guard or
defensive as I usually did around him. I liked watching him with his wife
and kids, and for the first time, I envied what he had. Home. Family.
Security. Belonging. I felt a part of it too, which was nice, but it wasn’t
mine. It never would be.
Later, after the ice cream had been eaten and the dishes were cleared
and the kids had been dragged off to the bathtub by Bree, Finn asked if I
wanted to have a beer with him out by the pool.
I hesitated. “The meds.”
“No pressure, but I think one beer is okay.”
“Okay, then. I’ll have one with you.” I was feeling better than I had this
morning, at least physically.
Finn brought out two uncapped bottles and handed one to me, and we
stretched out in two adjacent deck chairs. The sky was streaked with pink
and orange, and the crickets were chirping noisily. From an upstairs
window I heard Lane protest, “But I don’t need to wash my hair! I washed
it three days ago!”
Finn chuckled. “That kid never wants to wash his hair.”
I smiled, tipping up my beer. “They’re getting so big.”
“They are. And I’m getting old.”
But you’re lucky, Finn. So fucking lucky.
He drank too. “Nervous about tomorrow?”
“Should I be?” I looked over at him.
 He shrugged. His shoulders were less broad than mine, but we had
similar builds and coloring, although he wore his hair shorter and was
slightly thicker through the middle. “I don’t think there will be any
surprises. He’ll just go over the surgery with you.”
I nodded, and we were both silent for a minute.
“I want to ask you what you’re thinking, but I don’t want to pressure
you.”
“You can ask. I don’t have an answer, though.”
“Fair enough.” He paused. Drank. “How was your weekend in Detroit?”
I crossed my ankles. “Fine.”
“You said you saw Maren Devine?”
“I did.”
“How was that?”
“It was…” The muscles in my lower body clenched. “Interesting.”
“Oh? Care to elaborate?”
I sipped my beer and gave it some thought. Fuck it. Might as well. “I
went there to apologize for leaving without saying goodbye when Mom and
Dad sent me away. It was a shitty thing to do to her, and I only did it
because I was embarrassed. I hadn’t talked to her since and always felt
bad.”
“So you wanted her forgiveness?”
“Yeah.”
Finn nodded slowly, and I knew he understood why I’d gone. “What did
she say?”
“She was pretty frosty at first, but she warmed up eventually. Said she
forgave me.” I started peeling the label off the beer bottle. “I asked to take
her to dinner that night, and she said yes. We had a nice time.”
Finn paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “How nice?”
“She came back to my hotel and spent the night.”
“Damn. That’s pretty nice.”
“Yeah.” I inhaled and exhaled, fighting the memory of my body on hers.
“So nice I didn’t want to leave when I was supposed to. We spent the next
day and night together, and things got sort of intense.”
“Yeah?”
I took another drink. “I told her some things I probably should have
kept to myself.”
“What kind of things?”
 “That I’d never forgotten her. That I thought of her every day.” I paused
and shut my eyes. “That I still loved her.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“What did she do?”
“She said she’d never gotten over me either and made me promise to
give us a second chance.”
“And you did? Make the promise, I mean?”
I nodded. “I did. But I can’t keep it.”
“Why not?”
I sat up taller in my chair. “Because, Finn. She doesn’t want to be with
someone defective like me.”
“You’re not defective, Dallas.”
“I could be. The risks of that surgery scare the fuck out of me.”
“I know, they’re scary. It’s brain surgery, no way around it.”
“I don’t want her to see me like that. And if they didn’t get it all and I
needed chemo and radiation …” I shook my head. “No fucking way. I’ve
seen the photos. I’ve read the stories.”
“What stories?”
“On the Internet,” I said, getting defensive, because I sensed a scolding
ahead. “And don’t tell me those aren’t real, because they are. Chad was real
and now he’s dead.”
“Who the hell is Chad?”
“He was a guy with a brain tumor, and he tried to fight it and lost.”
“Oh, Jesus. Look, Dallas.” Finn swung his feet to the ground and leaned
forward with his elbows on his knees, his beer bottle dangling between
them. “I won’t pretend this isn’t serious. Yes, you have a brain tumor. Yes,
there are risks to the craniotomy. Yes, you may need additional treatment
depending on what the biopsy shows. But this isn’t a death sentence. Dr.
Acharya thinks he can get it all.”
“If I lost the use of my right hand, I’d never be able to work again. It
would feel like a death sentence.”
“Learn to tattoo with your left hand.”
I gave him a look. “You can’t be serious. I’m not the slightest bit
ambidextrous.”
“You’re smart and talented. And the human brain is an amazing thing. I
think you could learn. You could give me my first tattoo.”
 I had to laugh. “With my left hand? Why not just ask Oly to tattoo you?
It would probably look better.”
“I want it to be you.”
“Are you serious?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Since when?”
“For a while now. I was going to talk to you about it next time we saw
each other.”
“I thought you hated my tattoos.”
He sighed. “I didn’t hate them. I envied them.”
“What? Why?” This made no sense.
“Because they stood for something about you that I’ve always been
jealous of. You do what you want and you don’t give a damn what anyone
thinks.”
“True.”
“And you get along with everyone. Everyone likes you.” He ran a hand
through his hair. “Anyway, I’m working on caring less what people think as
I get older. And getting a tattoo is a step in that direction. I mean, I don’t
want it on my neck or anything—I am still a professor at Harvard—but
maybe on my back or chest or something.”
“Sure,” I said, amazed by these revelations. Finn envied me? He wanted
a tattoo? “We can talk about it. Do you know what you want?”
“Not yet. Maybe you can help me decide.”
“Okay.”
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we were talking about Maren.”
I stared at him another moment and then looked straight ahead again.
Time ticked by. “I want her to remember me like I was.”
“I understand.”
“And she deserves better than me, Finn. She always has. I’d be a
disappointment to her no matter what, tumor or not.”
“That’s your own self-pity right there, not anyone else’s.”
“Excuse me?” My tone was sharp.
He held up a hand. “No offense, but it seems like that’s a handy excuse
not to take a chance on letting her see you be a little vulnerable. You don’t
know what would happen in the future.”
“A little vulnerable?” I sat up and pointed at him. “Fuck you, Finn.
When have you ever let anyone see you as something less than perfect? As
someone weak or vulnerable? Oh, that’s right, never.”
“Not true.”
“Since when.”
“Since Bree had an affair.”
That stopped me cold. My jaw dropped. “What?”
“Bree had an affair,” he said quietly. “Last year.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me. It was someone she’d met through work, a consultant in
the school district where she teaches.”
“Did you kick his ass?”
He grimaced. “Uh, no. Number one, because I’ve never been in a fight
in my life. Number two, because it wouldn’t have solved the problem.”
“What was the problem?”
“Bree was lonely. I wasn’t listening to her. I was married to my work
and took her for granted.”
“Shit,” I said, lying back again. “Is that why you’re seeing a therapist?”
“That’s what prompted me to get one. But the therapist is helping me
with all kinds of issues, most of which stem from my need for control and
perfection.”
I scratched my head. “What about Bree and the guy?”
“It was very short-lived. I think only a couple weeks. She felt like she
was getting something from him I couldn’t give her—not physically, but
emotionally—but eventually she felt so sick about it, she couldn’t take it.
She confessed to me and begged me to go to counseling, something I’d
refused to do in the past, because one, I don’t like talking about feelings,
and two, it meant admitting I wasn’t perfect.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t a happy place around here for a few months. But we
went to counseling, I found a therapist, Bree found a therapist.”
“Did Oly have to get a job to pay for all the therapy bills?”
Finn laughed a little. “Not yet. But when she’s old enough to need
therapy, she might have to.”
“Nah, she’ll be fine.”
“I hope so, but no one can fuck up a kid like a parent.”
I looked at him, but didn’t say anything.
He lay back in the chair again. Crossed his legs. “You know, I’ve got
plenty of success stories too. To balance the scary Internet ones. If you want
to hear them.”
I finished off the last of my beer. “Maybe.”
We lay there in silence for a while before Finn spoke again. “She
emailed me last night.”
“Who?”
“Maren.”
I looked over at him. “Maren emailed you last night? Why?”
“Because she loves you.” That was all he said.
I was still processing it when Bree came out of the house and asked if
she could join us. We said yes, but because I didn’t want to get into
everything about Maren in front of my sister-in-law, I didn’t ask Finn for
any more details about the email. But it stayed at the back of my mind
while the three of us sat around chatting. When the mosquitos chased us
into the house, we sat in the family room for a while, but eventually I
started yawning, and they said they were tired, too. Bree shooed us upstairs
and said she’d turn off all the lights.
Finn and I went up, and I waited in the hall while he snuck into the kids’
rooms to check on them. It was the kind of thing that made being a dad
seem kind of nice, checking on your sleeping children. That had to feel
good, knowing they were safe and sound and peaceful. I thought about how
much fun I’d had in the pool with them today and wondered what kind of a
father I would have been if I’d ever had the chance. It made me a little sad
to think it would never happen.
Finn came out of Lane’s room, leaving the door open a crack. “Out
cold,” he whispered. “That kid sleeps hard.”
“Good.” I hesitated, feeling awkward but wanting to say something.
Finn had made an effort with me tonight that he hadn’t made in the past. It
didn’t fix everything, but it made me feel a little less alone. “Hey, thanks for
talking tonight.”
“Anytime. Thanks for listening.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of
his shorts. “If you don’t want me to reply to Maren, I won’t.”
Every time I heard her name, it was like a stab to the heart. “You can do
what you want. She wrote to you, not me.”
“Would you reply to her if she wrote to you?”
“No. There would be no point. My mind is made up.”
“Do you love her?”
I hesitated, but decided to be honest. “I’ll always love her.”
 He exhaled. “Okay. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
He disappeared down the hall toward the master bedroom and I let
myself into my room, closing the door behind me. I got ready for bed and
slid beneath the covers, exhausted but unable to sleep.
She’d written to him. I swallowed hard. She must have gone into the
house last night and looked him up online. What had she said? Knowing
her, I could pretty well guess she’d pleaded with him to talk to me about the
surgery.
I thought about what Finn said about self-pity, that I was using my
feelings of inadequacy, my certainty that I would disappoint her, as an
excuse not to let her see me at my worst. But that was bullshit! How could
he think that I wouldn’t be a disappointment to her, when I’d been a
disappointment to everyone else in my life who’d loved me?
He was wrong.
I’d done the right thing in setting her free.

FINN TOOK the morning off and accompanied me to the consultation

with Dr. Acharya. I told him he didn’t have to, but he insisted. Part of me
was glad to have him there, and part of me felt like I was being treated as if
I wasn’t smart enough to ask the right questions or make my own decisions,
but I kept my mouth shut for once.
I liked Dr. Acharya, a dark-skinned man in his fifties with a gentle
voice, a serious demeanor, and hands that looked graceful and steady. He
outlined the risks of the surgery, explained the procedure, and fielded my
questions. I was a little alarmed to learn that I would be awake while
someone sawed out a portion of my skull, but he assured me that the brain
doesn’t feel pain. “And the drugs they give you will help you forget
everything when it’s done,” he said.
I still hadn’t agreed to anything, but I was glad I’d gone to the
appointment. I thanked the surgeon for his time and told him I’d be in
touch. “The sooner the better,” he told me.
Afterward, Finn and I went for lunch, and I was grateful he didn’t
launch into a high-pressure sales pitch. I wanted the chance to think about
everything on my own. I was more inclined than I had been yesterday to
have the surgery, but still not convinced.
While we ate, I was tempted to ask Finn if he’d replied to Maren. Half
of me was dying to know, the other half recognized that the sooner I got her
out from under my skin, the better. In the end, I decided it was better not to
know.
After lunch, Finn dropped me off at the house while he went in to work.
I spent the rest of the day hanging out with Bree and the kids by the pool,
grateful that none of them asked me about my head.
But a thousand times that day I wanted to pick up my phone and call
Maren, tell her about the appointment, ask her what she thought. I wanted
her to do the chakras thing—not just the blowjob (although I wouldn’t have
turned it down)—but the whole routine, because it was so calming, and I
was feeling so mixed up. Was this operation worth the risk of losing my
whole identity? Because that’s what it felt like. Everything I valued—my
work, my independence, my pride—would be on the table with me, at the
mercy of the surgeon’s knife.
I was also worried about her. I wanted to know how she was feeling and
if she’d slept at all, if she’d had the nightmare, if she missed me. I wanted
to tell her how badly I wished I could turn back time and do everything
differently, do everything right, so she and I could have ended up together.
Later that night, when I was lying in bed, I checked my messages for
the millionth time, but there was nothing from her.
I hardly slept.
The next morning, I was up early and decided to go for a run. I threw on
running clothes and shoes and moved quietly through the house so I
wouldn’t wake anyone. Leaving the front door unlocked, I took off down
the street at an easy pace, my stiff muscles groaning as they loosened up. I
ran for about twenty minutes and turned around, heading back to the house.
While I ran, I tried to keep my mind focused on the pros and cons of the
craniotomy, but I kept circling back to Maren. I started to get angry.
At myself, for going to Detroit. At her, for making me fall in love all
over again. At the universe, for giving me this shit luck. At Chad, for giving
me hope and then crushing it. At Finn, for ignoring his wife. At Bree, for
cheating on Finn. Jesus, if those two could fuck up a good thing, what hope
was there for anyone else? Nothing made any sense.
 I missed my old self. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to go back
to Portland and get my life back. Work. Hang out. Hike. Take a road trip
now and then. Be alone when I felt like it and around friends when I didn’t.
Fuck a random girl on a Saturday night if I wanted to, one that wasn’t going
to matter to me.
But even that held no appeal. The only girl I wanted was Maren, and I
couldn’t have her.
Back at the house, I ran straight for the yard, where I did some pushups
and planks, sit-ups and stretches. Then I ditched my shoes, socks, and shirt,
and jumped into the pool. I stayed under the surface for a long time, and
when I came up, Finn was standing near the edge, dressed for work and
holding a cup of coffee.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Not really.” I swam to the edge and rested my elbows on it, setting my
chin on my forearms.
“Sorry to hear it.”
“I think I might head back home.”
“What? Dallas…why?”
“I’m wiped out, Finn. I can’t even think. I just want to feel normal
again.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Finn sat on the end of a deck chair. “The
reason you don’t feel right is because there’s something in your brain that
doesn’t belong there. Let’s get it out.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“I talked with Dr. Acharya’s office last night. They can get you in for
surgery in ten days, and you can stay here as long as you need to.”
“No, Finn. I want to go home. I feel like I need to be by myself for a
while.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
Finn opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.
“What?” I asked.
“How much of this is about Maren Devine?”
“What do you mean?”
 “I mean, how much of this feeling sorry for yourself is because you
talked yourself into believing she’s better off without you?”
“That’s the truth,” I fire back.
“You’re miserable, Dallas. She’s miserable, too.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“What about you?”
I said nothing.
“You should reach out to her. She’s worried sick about you.”
“She’ll forget about me sooner if I don’t. Talking to her will only make
things worse.”
My brother exhaled and ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t know what to
do with you, Dallas. I think you’re making a mistake. Several mistakes.”
“What else is new?” I heaved myself out of the pool.
“It’s not like that, so don’t get all worked up.” He stood up and faced
me. “I don’t think you’re making mistakes because you don’t know better—
I think you’re choosing to suffer. I just don’t know why.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t.” I went over to the fence where I’d hung the
beach towel I’d been using the last couple days and wrapped it around my
waist. It was no surprise to me that Finn didn’t know what it was like to feel
you weren’t worthy of something. For fuck’s sake, his problem was that
he’d assumed his wife would never leave him.
“Look, don’t go.” He checked his watch. “I have to get to work, but let’s
talk this over some more, okay?”
“Did you write her back yesterday?” I had to know.
He paused. “Yeah. I did. I told her—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, changing my mind and walking over to
where I’d taken off my running clothes. “It’s between you and her. I don’t
need to hear it.”
“But it’s about you.”
“I don’t need to hear it,” I repeated, angrily piling my sweaty things in
my arms.
“You’re acting like a stubborn child, Dallas! ”
“Fuck you! I’m acting like a man who wants to make his own decisions
and have his family respect them for once.” I stormed toward the house.
Finn followed me. “I’m sorry, Dallas. Don’t go. Please. Let me help you
work through all this.”
“You can’t,” I said, sliding open the patio door. “It’s too late.”
OceanofPDF.com
 SIXTEEN

OceanofPDF.com
 MAREN

Despite the fact that I’d barely gotten any sleep Sunday night, I got up and
went to the studio on Monday in time to teach a six a.m. class. What I really
wanted to do was stay curled up on my couch all day and cry over a box of
strawberry Pop-Tarts, but I knew that wouldn’t help me. I needed to get
back to my routine in order to get through this.
Allegra took one look at me and opened her arms, and I went into them,
glad to have a shoulder to cry on. But when she asked what was wrong, I
found myself unable to go into it. I just didn’t have it in me. Instead, I told
her I was still having the nightmare and didn’t know what I was going to
do.
“If I point you in a certain direction, do you promise to have an open
mind?” she asked.
“Of course.” I grabbed a tissue from the box on the studio desk.
“Okay.” She grabbed a pen and Post-It note and wrote something down.
“Call this woman.”
I looked at the paper. “Madam Psuka? Is that how you say it?”
“Yes. Like Puh-suka.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s a lot of things. Psychic, medium, intuitive, dream interpreter.
She’s a little odd, but I consulted with her all the time when I lived up
north.” She shrugged. “That’s the only problem. She’s not local.”
“Where is she?”
“Traverse City.”
“Oh.” Something clicked in my head. “You know what? My sister
invited me to go up north with her this week. To Old Mission Peninsula.”
 “Oh my God, that’s like right there. You should go!”
I bit my lip. “But it would be Wednesday to Friday. And I already took
the weekend off.”
Allegra shook her head. “You worry too much about unimportant
things. This is your health, your well-being. It matters the most.”
“I know, but—”
“Listen, are you gonna go broke if you have to pay a sub and someone
to cover the desk for a few days?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Then go. I think she might be able to help you.” She touched her chest.
“If I’m wrong and she can’t, I will take full responsibility. I’ll cover the sub
with my own paycheck.”
“Stop. You are not doing that.”
“So will you go?” she asked hopefully.
I sighed and looked at the name on the paper. It seemed a little out there
—I believed people could intuit things about their own consciousness, but I
wasn’t sure a stranger could read anything into mine just by looking at my
palm or whatever—but I was exhausted and unhappy and willing to try
anything. “I’ll look her up.”
Allegra rubbed my shoulder. “Good.”

I CHECKED my email repeatedly throughout the day Monday, but never

got a reply from Finn Shepherd. Had he seen my message? Was he ignoring
it? There was no way I’d gotten the wrong Finn Shepherd, Associate
Professor of Neurology, was there?
I was just as obsessive about my texts, thinking maybe Dallas would
come to his senses and reach out to me, or at least let me know he’d arrived
in Boston safely and was going to do what the doctors said.
But he never did.
After work, I called Emme and asked her if I could come over.
“Sure,” she said. “Everything okay?”
“No,” I told her, fighting tears. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”
Nate opened the front door to their house and looked at me strangely.
“Maren?” he said, almost like he didn’t recognize me. Admittedly, I was
looking pretty haggard from the lack of sleep and all the crying, and I was
on the verge of another meltdown right there on their front porch.
“Yes,” I squeaked, trying to hold it in.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded and squeaked again. “No.”
Emme appeared behind him, her eyebrows rising. “Maren! What’s
wrong?”
One look at my big sister and I burst into tears, and I stood there wailing
on their doorstep for a few seconds while they stared at me in shock. Nate
recovered first and took me by the arm. “Come in, come in.”
I stumbled into their front hall and threw my arms around Emme. “He’s
gone. He has a brain tumor and he’s gone.”
Emme gasped and embraced me. “What are you talking about?”
“Did someone die?” Nate asked.
I realized what I’d said. “No, no. He’s fine. I mean, he’s not fine—
Dallas has a brain tumor—but he’s alive.”
“Oh my God.” Emme hugged me tightly and let me go. “Come sit.”
I went into their living room and sat on the couch. “Do you have any
tissues?”
“I’ll get some,” Nate said, heading into the kitchen.
Emme sat next to me. “So what happened? Are you serious about this
brain tumor thing? That’s what was going on with him?”
I nodded, trying to compose myself so I could at least get through the
story. Nate returned with a box of tissues and handed it to me before taking
a seat across from us in a leather and chrome chair.
“Okay if I’m in here?” he asked.
“It’s fine,” I said, blowing my nose. “Embarrassing, but fine.”
I told them about the conversation Dallas and I had had last night—how
he’d attempted to break things off without telling me the truth, how I’d
figured it out and confronted him, how he didn’t want anything to do with
me going forward.
“He s-said he d-doesn’t love m-me,” I blubbered. “He said it w-was a
m-mistake.”
“My God, you poor thing.” Emme rubbed my back. “That had to be so
hard.”
They let me cry for a while without saying anything, but Emme made
soothing noises and kept a hand on my back.
 When I’d calmed down enough to talk, I grabbed another tissue. “God.
I’m such a mess.”
“He seemed distracted at dinner,” Nate said. “I’m usually pretty good at
reading people, and I had the impression he was really uneasy about
something.”
“Maybe the fact that he was about to dump me? Or his brain tumor.
Take your pick.”
“God, this is horrible. And so sad.” Emme looked like she might cry
too. “I’m really sorry, Maren.”
“What’s the prognosis on the tumor?” Nate asked, leaning forward with
his elbows on his knees. “Can it be removed?”
I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know for sure, because he wouldn’t talk
to me about it. He said he doesn’t want my pity. I think there’s a surgery he
can have, but there are risks he’s worried about.”
“What kind of risks?”
I thought back to the conversation when Dallas had led me to believe it
was his dad with the tumor. “I think he said something about potential loss
of mobility on the right side.”
Nate’s expression was grim. “That has to be a particularly horrible
prospect if you’re a tattoo artist.”
“I know, but not as bad as—as…” I couldn’t even think it. A fresh
round of tears welled, and I sobbed into a tissue.
“So now what?” Emme asked.
“Who knows?” I cried. “I emailed his brother in Boston, the
neurologist, but he didn’t email back.”
“Have you reached out to Dallas?” Nate asked.
I shook my head. “He told me not to.”
Nate looked surprised. “You’re just going to do what he says?”
“What choice do I have? He rejected me, Nate. He doesn’t want me.”
Pain wrenched my heart all over again.
Emme spoke up. “First of all, I don’t think that’s true. He might not
have been himself at the table last night, but I saw the way he looked at
you. He adores you.”
“Then why would he push me away?”
“I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t want you
to have to deal with his medical problems.” Nate shrugged. “He probably
thinks he’s doing you a favor by cutting you loose.”
 “That’s ridiculous,” Emme said angrily. “He told her he loved her the
night before.”
Nate shrugged. “All the more reason to set her free.”
“That makes no sense at all.” Emme refused to budge. “If he loved her,
he’d want to be with her.”
“Not if he thought sacrificing her was for her own good.”
“He said he doesn’t want anyone to have to take care of him,” I told
them.
“Typical man,” Emme huffed. “That’s what you do when you love
someone. You take care of them.”
“He said I should forget him and find someone better. He’s all fucked in
the head because of how his family treated him. They favored his older
brother,” I explained to Nate. “So he grew up thinking he’s not good
enough, but he is. Oh, God, you guys. This is hopeless.” I tipped over onto
Emme’s lap, and she stroked my hair.
“I’m sorry. Men can be so stubborn.”
“Look, guys sometimes think they’re being heroic by shutting down
their emotions,” said Nate, a little grudgingly. “Feelings scare us.”
“I don’t get that,” said Emme. “Feelings are not scary. Brain tumors are
scary!”
“Admitting you have feelings makes you vulnerable, though,” Nate
went on. “It’s like you’re giving someone the opportunity to hurt you.”
“He sounds like Stella,” I said to Emme.
“So he’s protecting himself by breaking things off?” she wondered.
Nate shrugged. “Essentially, yes. But he doesn’t see it that way.”
“A man’s brain is a frightening, frightening place.” Emme looked down
at me. “So now what will you do?”
I sat up and blew my nose again. “Try to get over him again, I guess.
There’s nothing else to do.”
“Why not give it a little time and then reach out to him? Tell him how
you feel. Tell him you still want to be with him, if that’s what you want.”
“It is, but …” I shook my head, wondering if the tears would ever stop.
“I’m afraid I’d only make a fool of myself. He flat out said he doesn’t love
me.”
My sister put her arm around me and tipped her head onto my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”
 It did. And I couldn’t help thinking that somehow it was my own damn
fault. I took a shuddery breath. “Hey Emme, is that invitation still open to
go with you to Abelard this week? I could use some time away.”
“Absolutely.”
Nate exhaled and rose to his feet. “Let me know if there’s anything I can
do. In the meantime, how about some pizza?”
“Maren doesn’t eat pizza,” said Emme.
“What? Who doesn’t like pizza?” Nate stuck his hands on his hips.
“I like it, I just don’t eat gluten,” I explained. “But you know what? I’ll
eat it tonight. I’m in the mood for it.”
Emme squeezed me and stood up. “Pizza makes everything better.
Come on, let’s go open a bottle of wine.”
“Okay.” I grabbed the tissue box and followed her to the kitchen. “And
do you happen to have any strawberry Pop-Tarts?”

THAT NIGHT when I got home, I lay in bed with my phone in my hand,
my stomach in knots. I wanted to do what Emme said and fight back, but
the truth was, I was too scared. I didn’t want to hear him say he didn’t love
me again. But what if what Nate said was true? What if he really did love
me, and breaking things off was his way of protecting himself?
What was the right thing to do?
I curled into a ball and hugged my knees to my poor belly, which had
been upset before I’d eaten four slices of Meat Lovers Delight and two
strawberry Pop-Tarts. (Nate actually went to the store to get them for me.
He is a good man.)
In the end, I was so tired, I fell asleep without doing anything. The
nightmare woke me around four, and I was so worked up, I couldn’t fall
back to sleep. I got out of bed and dug the Post-It note Allegra had written
on out of my bag. Madam Psuka, it said.
I grabbed my laptop and googled her.
She had a website, psychicpsuka.com. On the All About Psuka, I
learned that she was a “moonchild” who’d always had a special talent for
premonitions, intuitions, and receiving messages from beyond. Her services
included palm readings, numerology, dream analysis, house blessings and
smudgings, aura cleansings, and spiritual channeling. The first visit was
free.
Some of the things she did I believed in and some I didn’t, but the
testimonials were all good (Madam Psuka had cured one woman of her fear
of chins, predicted another woman’s big inheritance, and helped a
gentleman connect with his beloved cat beyond the grave), and I figured it
couldn’t hurt to go see her.
I scheduled an appointment for Thursday afternoon and went in to
work, miserable and exhausted.

LATER ON TUESDAY, I got a reply from Finn Shepherd.

Dear Maren,
Thanks for reaching out. I don’t think it will betray my brother’s
confidence to let you know that he is here in Boston, he saw the surgeon
this morning, and the appointment went well. He hasn’t told me of his
final decision regarding treatment yet, but I assure you, my family is
doing everything possible to convince him to listen to the surgeon’s
advice.
However, as you know, Dallas is his own man.
I hope that you and my brother can mend your friendship. I know
you are very special to him.
Don’t give up.
Sincerely,
Finn Shepherd
I read through it three times. Don’t give up. Why would he say that?
What did he know? Had Dallas said something about me? I probably would
have continued to obsess over it, but I was working the desk at the studio
and evenings were always busy. At least I knew for sure that he’d met with
the surgeon and was considering the operation. I hoped things were going
well enough within the family that Dallas would listen to them, but it wasn’t
clear from Finn’s letter whether that was the case.
Later that evening, I had dinner with Stella and told her what had
happened. I was only slightly less emotional than I had been at Emme and
Nate’s house the night before, but I at least managed to get through the
story without getting in her lap.
“I feel so stupid,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. “How could I have
fallen for him again?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Maren. We can’t control our feelings.”
“I know, but …” I set my fork down and covered my face with my
hands. “I feel like I put myself right back where I was at eighteen. Like I’ve
learned nothing. Like I’m doomed. God, I feel so stupid for trusting him.
For trusting anyone that much.”
“Stop.” She reached out and tugged at one wrist. “It doesn’t do any
good to blame yourself for the actions of someone else. Yes, you trusted
him, and he hurt you. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t trust again, Maren.
It means you have a big heart.”
“Maybe.”
She smiled. “Listen, I know Emme was the one we always teased about
falling in love easily, but it can happen to anyone. Don’t be ashamed of
having those feelings.”
“Okay. I’ll try.” But deep down, I vowed I would never put myself in
this position again. I would be more careful, more guarded. If men could
turn off their feelings to protect themselves like Nate said, then I could, too.
And no matter what Finn Shepherd said, I had to give up on Dallas.
He’d given me no choice.

OceanofPDF.com
 SEVENTEEN

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

In the biggest dick move ever, I left Finn’s house Wednesday morning
without even saying goodbye to Bree and the kids. Finn was already gone
by the time I came downstairs, and there was no note or anything, no text or
email from him, which I took as a sign that he didn’t really care whether I
left or not.
I went to the airport, turned in my rental car, and booked a flight to
Portland. While I waited for departure, I felt guilty enough to send a
message to Bree.
Hey, I felt like I needed to go home for a while. I left early, before
you guys were awake. Please say goodbye to the kids for me. Thanks
for everything.
I hit send, and then a minute later sent another text.
I’m sorry.
Then I turned off my phone and shoved it in my bag. The calls from my
mother would start soon, no doubt, and Finn would be on my ass, too.
I didn’t look at it again until I was sitting at the gate in Denver. As
expected, I had missed several calls from both my mother and Finn. He’d
also sent a text.
Bree said you left without saying goodbye.
I braced myself for the lecture. Instead, I got an apology.
I’m really sorry about what I said this morning. I shouldn’t have
pushed you. It’s very frustrating for me to be in this position. I want to
save your life, but you don’t necessarily want it to be saved. I wish I
could convince you that you’ve got a lot to live for, and that needing
help doesn’t make you less of a man. It takes courage to face something
like this, and to admit you can’t do it alone. We’re your family, and we
love you. We’re here for you, no matter what you decide.
There was one more message.
Also, Mom is going nuts wondering what is going on. Do you want
me to explain it to her? I promise to do it without criticizing your need
to take a little time and think things over on your own. That is your
right, and I will make sure she and Dad understand that. And respect
it.
In reply, I simply said, Yes. Thank you.
In some ways, it was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me.

THAT AFTERNOON, I returned to the house I was renting and flopped

onto my couch. I lay there for a while, grateful for the peace and quiet. I’d
almost dozed off when my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen, expecting
it to be another text from one of my family members, but it was from Evan.
It was a picture of him holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blanket. A
series of messages followed.
It’s a boy
Hunter William Brawley, born 6:02 A.M.
7 lbs, 8 oz
Holy fuck, I’m a dad
Help
I grinned and replied.
Me: Congratulations, asshole! How’s Reyna?
Evan: Who?
Me: Your wife? The person who just gave birth?
Evan: Oh her. Yeah she’s fine.
Me: Tell her congrats from me.
Evan: Will do. You in Boston? How did it go with the surgeon?
Me: I’m in Portland. It went fine and I’ll fill you in soon. I’m happy
for you.
Evan: Thanks man.
I set my phone aside and crossed my arms over my chest. Holy shit,
Evan was a dad. He was the first one of my friends to hit that milestone,
and it seemed crazy that I could be that old. As a kid, and by kid, I mean
from age one to twenty-nine, I’d never really given much thought to the
future—I’d lived for the moment and sought out as many extreme
experiences as I could. I’d figured that was all we had control over—the
moment we were in. You couldn’t change the past, and you had no fucking
clue what the future would bring. For all I knew, I’d be dead by twenty-five,
so why not get the tattoo, buy the Porsche, swim with the sharks, dive off
the cliff? And I’d thought for sure that was the way I’d go—doing
something reckless but fun. Something worth it.
A brain tumor?
Not worth it.
But what could I do?
You know what you could do. Fight it. Push back. Refuse to go quietly.
Stand up and say, “Not like this, universe. No fucking way.”
I frowned. And if it wasn’t enough?
Then you make the most of the time you have. Mend the relationships
that matter. Live fully. Love hard.
There was no one I wanted to love harder than Maren if my time was
short. But suddenly I had other regrets—I’d never been to Bali. Never seen
my artwork in a gallery. Never done anything to really make my
grandfather proud.
I’d never get married, be a father, raise a family. It wasn’t something I’d
ever had my heart set on before, but it had never been off the table, either. It
was always there, like that shirt in the closet you never wear but you can’t
bring yourself to throw out, because maybe someday you’ll want to wear it.
If and when you do, it’s there.
I didn’t like the notion that fate was taking away all my maybe
somedays.
Eventually, I nodded off, and when I woke up, it was dark. My stomach
was growling, and I thought about calling Evan and asking if he wanted to
grab something to eat with me, but then I remembered—he had a new baby.
Impromptu meet-ups were probably off for a while. In the end, I ordered
takeout and spent the evening alone, ignoring my family’s calls and texts,
eating Chinese food, watching old movies on Netflix, and wishing Maren
was here with me. We’d stretch out on the couch, my arms wrapped around
her, her head beneath my chin. One of those vivid memories struck me—
dancing with her on the rooftop at the hotel. I could smell her hair, see the
lights in the city, feel the breeze on my face, hear her gentle weeping. I
closed my eyes and melted into it.
But as intense as the memory was, it couldn’t compare to the real thing.
Breaking things off, putting distance between us, refusing to talk to her—
none of these things had alleviated the ache of losing her. If anything, it had
only gotten worse. I loved her so much I had to do something about it, or I
was going to lose my mind. I was full of this raging, pulsing, physical urge.
If she’d been here, I would have ravaged her body all night long,
worshipped every inch of her skin, made her feel so good she’d never want
to leave. I’d have told her over and over again how much she meant to me,
how sorry I was for hurting her, how I was going to spend the rest of my
days making it up to her. I’d have made promises to her and kept them.
But without giving in, what could I do?
By the time the sun came up, I had an idea.

“WHAT? NO.” Beatriz sat back and folded her arms.

“Come on, Bea,” I said angrily, laying my forearm on the table in front
of her. “Don’t give me any bullshit.”
“Who’s Maren?” she asked, looking at the letters I’d stenciled on my
inner left forearm.
“A girl.”
She rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Dallas.”
“Just do it, okay?”
“Why? You’ve never talked about this person before, and now you want
me to put her name on your skin? Have I not taught you anything?”
“Look, it’s not like that. She’s not my girlfriend.”
“What is she then? You don’t have a sister, and I know you well enough
to know you wouldn’t tattoo your mother’s name on your body. So what
gives?”
“She’s someone from my past.”
Beatriz arched one brow. “I’m listening.”
I went through the story, grateful it was early enough that only the two
of us were in the shop. I’d called her and asked her to come in before we
opened. She heard me out without interrupting, keeping her face impassive
and her arms folded over her chest, even when I admitted the truth about the
tumor in my brain. “Yesterday, I flew back here. That’s it.”
She was wide-eyed. “Wow. You really fucked that up.”
“Thanks for your sympathy,” I snarled.
“Oh, I have sympathy about the brain tumor. That is a shitty fucking
piece of rotten luck, and I hate that you’re going through it. My brother had
a tumor removed from his pituitary. The doctor got it all, and it turned out
to be benign, but it was really hard on the entire family.” Her eyes misted
over—something I’d never seen before. “I am sorry, Dallas.”
“I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Thanks. He’s fine now, by the way. Married with a kid and another on
the way.”
“Good.”
“You’re going to be fine too, you know.”
“Bea. Can you just put her name on my arm please?”
“Not until you agree to have the surgery.”
I banged my fist on her table. “Fucking hell! Is it too much to ask that I
be allowed to make my own decision?”
She thought for a second. “Yes. Because you’re not thinking clearly.
You’ve got all this”—she moved her hands around in front of my face
—“baggage that’s weighing you down, influencing your decision. Your aura
is totally clogged with it. You need to let it go.”
I clenched my jaw and took a breath for patience. “I’m working on it.”
She tilted her head. “Are you? Or are you using this whole refusal to
have the surgery thing to get back at your family? Maybe even to punish
yourself for hurting Maren?”
“Jesus, Bea. All I wanted was some ink. Not a therapy session.”
She smiled. “Lucky you, it comes free with a tattoo today.”
“Does that mean you’re going to do it?”
“I’m deciding.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “What is getting
this tattoo going to do? If she won’t see it, it won’t help you get her back.”
“It’s not for her,” I said quietly. “It’s for me. I want her with me, Bea.
I’ll always want her with me.”
She sighed, her eyes tearing up again. “You’re starting to get to me,
Dallas.”
“Good.”
 Pulling on her disposable gloves, she shook her head. “I’m only doing
this because I believe in my heart that you do love her, and that someday
you’re going to take your head out of your ass so you can be with her.”
I didn’t say anything while she worked, and I welcomed the sting of the
needle. It was a fraction of the pain I would have endured for her, and it
made me feel like I was doing something about my feelings. As I watched
Beatriz’s hands, I thought about Dr. Acharya’s, how capable they’d looked.
I thought about how Finn had said the surgery could be done in ten days. I
thought about the abrupt way I’d left my brother’s house, angry and
resentful, when I knew he was only trying to help.
And I thought about what it would be like if the tables were turned, and
it was Finn with the tumor—or God forbid, one of the kids. Or Maren. I’d
want them to have the surgery, too. I’d fight them if they argued. I’d tell
them it was worth the risks.
When it was done, Beatriz covered it with a bandage and tried to send
me home. “You look like shit. Have you even slept since you left here?”
“Very little in the last few days,” I admitted.
“Go home and sleep. And don’t come back here until you’ve scheduled
that surgery. I mean it. I will fire your ass if you don’t.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile.
She gave me a hug and sighed. “Maybe you should come back later so I
can cleanse your aura. It’s all kinds of fucked up.”
That reminded me of something. “Maren cleared my chakras while I
was in Detroit.”
“She did?” Beatriz looked surprised. “How was it?”
“It was … mind-blowing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Something tells me it devolved into another
activity entirely.”
I paused. “Yeah. It did.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “It happens. I wish I could meet this girl.
She sounds amazing.”
Closing my eyes, I swallowed the tightness in my throat. “She is.”
I went home and tried to take a nap, but failed. After an hour or so, I
gave up, took the bandage off my tattoo and washed it off. The skin was
pink and tender, and the sight of her name on my body made me both happy
and sad. I applied some ointment, put on some hiking shorts and a long-
sleeved shirt to keep my arm covered, grabbed a bottle of water, and drove
to Powell Butte. I was nearly ready to make the call to my brother, but I felt
like I needed a little more time. I needed to do this for me, not because Finn
or my parents or Evan or Beatrix or even Maren wanted me to.
While I hiked, I thought a lot about my childhood—my parents, my
relationship with my brother, my behavior. The way I purposefully defied
my parents to make a point. The way I refused to try my best at school so
that no one could tell me my best wasn’t good enough. The way I sought
solace in art but never felt like I was taken seriously. The kind of parent I
would be if I ever had the chance.
Finn was a good dad, I’d give him that, but I’d work way less than he
did. I wanted to be there swimming in the pool with my family and putting
the hot dogs on the grill, not coming home after dinner was already on the
table. Our dad, a corporate attorney, had worked a lot too.
At one point I stepped off the trail for a water break, and stood for a
moment looking at Mount Hood in the distance. Its snowy peak never failed
to take my breath away. I’d climbed it once and had always wanted to do it
again—the view from the summit at sunrise was stunning, the kind of view
that made you glad to be alive.
A few hours later I drove back home, sweaty and famished and tired,
but certain of what I should do. When I pulled into my driveway, I was
shocked to see Finn sitting on my front porch.
Not once had Finn ever come to see me anywhere I’d lived.
I got out of the car and walked toward him slowly.
“Hey,” Finn said, rising to his feet.
“Hey.” I thought about offering my hand, but while I was doing that, he
came forward and hugged me.
It was a little awkward—he and I weren’t huggers—but kind of nice
too. “Sorry for showing up like this,” he said as he released me.
“It’s okay.” I scratched my head. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you.”
I probably should have told him right then I’d decided to have the
surgery, but I didn’t. Some part of me wanted to hear what he was going to
say first. “Want to come in?”
“Sure.”
We walked to the front porch, where I noticed he had a small carry-on
bag. “This is quite a surprise.”
 “I know.” He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Bree
said I should call, but I wasn’t sure you’d have let me come. And I wanted
to say some things in person.”
“Okay.” I unlocked the front door and we went in. “Can I get you
anything to drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” He set his bag down while I turned on the living
room lamps, then took a seat on a chair adjacent to the couch. “I’m here to
apologize.”
I sat on the couch. Folded my arms over my chest. “For what?”
“For not being a better older brother. If I had been, you’d still be at my
house, and you’d have an easier time taking my advice.”
“Fair enough.”
“You had it rougher than I did growing up, and I don’t think I
understood that until I had my own kids. Being a dad has made me rethink
some things.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I want the chance
to be better, Dallas. I came here to say I’m sorry and also to say …” He sat
up taller and sort of puffed out his chest. “I’m—we’re, Bree and the kids
and Mom and Dad—not giving up on you. We’re your family, dammit, and
we want you around.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Has Mom been calling?”
“Yes. And Dad.”
“I told them what was going on, and I also told them that if we expect
you to care what we want, we have to show you we care about you. I don’t
think we’ve shown it enough.” He paused. “I talked to them about the past,
asked them to imagine what it was like for you. I hadn’t done that either
until now.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of the three of them all sitting around
talking about me like that, but maybe it’s what had to happen. “What did
they say?”
Finn sat back. “What you’d expect, at first. Claiming they never favored
me, they treated us both the same, it was you who forced them to be hard on
you. But the more we talked, the more they saw things from your
perspective. I think they should hear it from you—I can only really guess
from things you’ve said how you felt—but I think they’re willing to listen
to you.”
I sighed. “I don’t even know if there’s a point to that. The past is past.”
 “The point is to take responsibility for the way we treat others. Actions
have consequences. I should have stuck up for you, Dallas, and I didn’t.
And if the consequence of that is losing you, I—” A strange choking sound
erupted from his throat and he dropped his head.
I was shocked. Finn was crying.
Maybe there was hope yet. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
“I’m going to have the surgery.”
He looked up. “You are?”
“Yes. I’ll call Dr. Acharya’s office in a minute.”
“Oh, thank God.” Finn closed his eyes, and a tear slid down his cheek.
Embarrassed, I got off the couch, went into the kitchen and grabbed the
tissue box. Then I tossed it onto the table next to Finn. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He pulled one from the box and blew his nose.
I sat down again. “Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?”
He nodded. “They wanted to come out here too, but I said no. I thought
that would be too much.”
“Thank you. It would have been.”
“God, I’m so relieved.” Finn exhaled. “I can’t tell you how scared I was
that you were going to say no or just shut the door in my face.”
That sounded familiar. “I know the feeling.”
“Have you spoken to Maren?”
I shook my head.
“Are you going to let her know what you decided?”
“No.”
Finn looked like he wanted to say more, but decided not to. He pulled
out his phone instead. “Here. I’ve got Dr. Acharya’s office number. Can I
call?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
He tapped the screen a few times and handed the phone to me. His
expression was pure relief. “Here you go. You’re doing the right thing.”

AFTER I FINISHED the call with Dr. Acharya’s office—my craniotomy

was scheduled for next Friday, one week from tomorrow—I took a quick
shower, being careful not to get my new ink wet. I couldn’t wait for it to
heal so I could look at it every day. I was hoping that being able to see it
would ease some of the ache in my heart.
Finn and I went out for something to eat, and for maybe the first time in
our lives, really enjoyed each other’s company. We talked openly about all
kinds of things, and he asked a lot of questions. For once, I didn’t feel like
he was judging my answers. We were two brothers on equal footing who
had taken different—and somewhat distant—paths in life, but who wanted
to change that. It was nice.
He accepted my offer to stay the night in my guest room, and when we
got back to my house he looked around at some of the art I had hanging on
the walls. Moving closer to a sketch I’d done of a barn and rural landscape
while working on the ranch, he pointed at it. “Did you do this?”
“Yeah.”
He turned around and looked at me, as if in awe, then turned to the
sketch again. “Dallas. This is amazing.”
I shrugged, but I was pleased. “Thanks.”
“And these?” He moved on to a trio of portraits I’d done of a friend a
couple years ago. Each one showed her face from a different angle. She
wasn’t particularly beautiful, but her face had interesting angles.
“Yes.”
He stared a little longer, then shook his head. “Incredible. Maybe you
can draw the kids sometime. I’d love to have something like this.”
“Of course.”
“You’re really fucking talented.”
I laughed, a little embarrassed now. “Thanks. So how about that tattoo?
Have you thought more about it? I could do it tomorrow,” I offered. “After
that, it might be a while.”
He faced me. “That’s not a bad idea. I don’t have to fly back to Boston
until Saturday.”
“Cool. We’ll go into the shop tomorrow. I’d like you to meet Beatriz,
the woman who owns it, and maybe my friend Evan, if he’s working,
although his wife just had a baby this week, so I’m not sure if he’s back
yet.”
“Sounds good.”
We went upstairs, and I showed him the guest room where he could
sleep. “Towels are in the hall closet here. Bathroom right across the hall.”
 “Thanks.” He paused before going into the room and looked at me. “I
can’t tell you how relieved I am, Dallas. Everything is going to be different
from now on. Everything is going to get better.”
For once, I wanted him to be right.
Later that night, I lay in bed listening to a summer storm and thinking
about Maren. Was she okay? Did she hate me? Would she even care that I’d
scheduled the surgery? I spent an hour obsessing over her Instagram
account, but seeing her photos only frustrated me—I couldn’t smell her or
taste her or touch her or hear her. I needed something more. Even the tattoo
on my arm wasn’t enough.
I typed a message to her.
Are you awake?
My heart beat fast as I waited for a response. When I didn’t get one after
a full minute, it sank in my chest.
Probably not. It’s late here, so it’s even later for you. Even if you
were, you probably wouldn’t reply. I don’t blame you.
I closed my eyes, fighting back tears. There was so much I couldn’t say
and so little I could.
Anyway, I just wanted to say once more that I’m sorry about what
happened. I never meant to hurt you. I promise I won’t contact you
again.
I hit send and watched the blue bubble with my bullshit words appear
on the screen. They made me so angry, I felt like throwing my phone out
the bedroom window just to hear the sound of breaking glass. A moment
later, my jaw dropped.
Three gray dots were fading in and out, indicating she was answering
my message.
Maren: I’m awake. I can’t sleep.
Me: The nightmare?
It took her a long time to reply, so I was surprised to see only one word
appear.
Maren: Yes.
I pictured her in her bed, the bed I’d shared with her less than a week
ago. My chest tightened. My arms twitched. I wanted to hold her so badly.
I wanted to tell her I hadn’t lied, I did love her, I always would. I
wanted to beg her to forgive me so we could have that second chance. I
wanted to tell her that Finn had come to see me and we’d had a really good
talk. I wanted to bring her to Portland and ask her to climb Mount Hood
with me, snuggle with her in a sleeping bag to keep warm, rise before the
sun to make the final ascent, and hold her hand when we made it to the top
and took in the view. I wanted to show her my new tattoo and say, This is
forever, you and me. I know it.
But in the end, all I had were the same two inadequate words.
Me: I’m sorry.
I waited hours for a reply that never came.

OceanofPDF.com
 EIGHTEEN

OceanofPDF.com
 MAREN

“Are you sure about this?” Emme eyeballed the sign on Madam Psuka’s
door.
MADAM PSUKA: Psychic, Medium, Clairvoyant, Intuitive

Palm Readings, Dream Analysis, Spiritual Channeling, & Numerology

FIRST READING FREE*

*does not include Spiritual Channeling

It was Thursday afternoon, and we were slightly early for my three

o’clock appointment. “No, I’m not sure. But I’m desperate. I haven’t gotten
a good night’s sleep in forever. I have to do something, and Allegra said this
woman is really good.”
Emme shrank back a little and sniffed. “Smells weird in here. Like
something’s burning.” She glanced down the stairs we’d just come up like
she might make a run for it. We were standing on the second floor landing
of an old Victorian building that had two storefronts on the ground level and
apartments above. Madam Psuka was in 2A.
“I told you that you didn’t have to come with me,” I said irritably.
“I know, I know. But people are crazy. You shouldn’t go to a stranger’s
house alone, and this place feels creepy.” She sighed. “But if you think this
will help, I will fully support you.”
“Thank you.” I rapped on the door three times. After a moment, it
opened and a woman I presumed was Madam Psuka appeared. She was in
her fifties, I guessed, with lots of curly dyed blond hair showing a good
solid inch of brown and gray roots. Her face was buried beneath layers of
makeup, and her eyebrows had been almost completely plucked but
penciled in thick and black. She wore jeans, a brightly colored blouse, and
no shoes.
She paused dramatically, drawing herself up. “Velcome.”
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Maren Devine.”
“Yes.” She nodded like she’d known this already. “And this is your
sister?”
I glanced at Emme, wondering if the resemblance was so strong it was
obvious we were siblings or if this woman was actually psychic. “Uh, yeah.
Is it okay if she stays with me for the reading?”
Madam Psuka didn’t answer right away. Instead she looked back and
forth between the two of us, like she was trying to figure something out.
“You have very different energies.”
“Yes,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I’m here because—”
“You are restless,” she finished. “You are in chaos. You seek peace and
cannot find it.”
Emme and I exchanged a look.
“And you.” The madam looked Emme up and down. “You are in
balance. Is unusual for you.”
“Yes,” Emme said, beaming. “I think it’s because—”
“But,” Madam Psuka interrupted, holding up a finger to silence her.
“Great change is coming.”
Emme’s smiled grew even bigger. “I’m getting married.”
“No.” Madam Psuka dismissed my sister’s matrimony with a wave of
her hand. “Is not that.”
Emme grabbed my arm. “You mean I’m not getting married?”
“Listen,” I said, getting a little nervous. “I’m here to—”
“Yes, you are getting married,” said the madam with a slight roll of her
eyes, like it wasn’t that important. “But there is a greater change coming.”
“Greater than that?” Emme shook her head. “I can’t imagine what it
could be. We already moved into a new house. I’m not looking for a new
job.”
“Change is vithin,” said Madam Psuka smugly.
“It is?” Emme looked confused. “I can’t imagine what it is, unless…”
She glanced down at her stomach and put a hand over it. “Oh, no.”
 Great, now Emme was going to get dramatic. Did everything always
have to be about her?
“It can’t be.” She continued to stare at her stomach.
“Oh, I think it can.” Madam Psuka nodded knowingly. “Vould you like
to come in?”
Emme was silent and frozen.
“Yes, please,” I said, guiding my stunned sister inside the apartment.
“Thank you.”
Madam Psuka shut the door behind us, and I had to squint as I looked
around. Very little light filtered through the windows, which were all
covered in multi-colored panels of fabric. Tapestries, paintings, and
blankets covered the walls, and the floors were covered with faded rugs as
well. She had no couch or chairs, but large pillows in every hue lined the
walls or sat in heaps in the corners. It was sort of like being in a very
colorful padded cell. She had stacks of books everywhere, beaded rope
hanging from corner to corner, and several giant green plants. How they
survived with so little natural light, I had no idea.
“Come. This vay.” Madam Psuka led the way over to a low round table
covered with a Moroccan print cloth. She walked with an air about her,
almost like royalty. Then she lowered herself grandly to the floor. “Ve sit.”
Emme followed suit, slowly and carefully like a nine-month-pregnant
woman would do, still cradling her belly.
“Emme, for God’s sake,” I whispered as I dropped down next to her.
“I have to be careful,” she hissed back. “There could be a baby in
there.”
“So.” Madam Psuka folded her hands on the table. “Who vants to
start?”
“Oh, she’s not here for—” I started to say, but Emme broke in.
“Me,” she said. “Start with me.”
I rolled my eyes as Madam Psuka nodded. “Give me your hand.”
Emme did as requested, and Madam Psuka held it in both of hers,
closed her eyes, and hummed softly. After a moment, she opened her eyes
and spoke. “You are confident and outgoing. A leader. A planner. When you
want something, you go for it. People are drawn to your positive energy and
admire your motivation. You work hard and value beautiful things. You
always turn heads in a room.”
Emme looked at me and I shrugged. It was pretty spot on.
 “Now, your veaknesses.”
Emme’s smile faded. “Oh. Do you have to?”
“Yes. Is important.” She hummed again. “You can get too wrapped up
in details. You can be vorkaholic. You have tendency to overreact
sometimes and it can make troubles for you.”
My sister cleared her throat. “Right.”
“You must remember to take time to relax and unvind. Is important for
you.”
“Is there anything about … you know.” Emme looked down at her
stomach.
Madam Psuka closed her eyes for a full minute, then opened them.
“No.”
“No?” Emme gaped at her.
She shrugged. “Sometimes the spirits are stingy.” Dropping Emme’s
hand, she gestured to me. “Next.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay, well, I’m here because of a nightmare I keep
having. I’d like a dream analysis if that’s okay?”
She nodded. “Yes. Is right for you. Yes. Give me your hand and tell me
the dream.”
I took a breath and described the entire thing in detail, from the crowded
room to the snake and the clock and the door. While I talked, Madam Psuka
kept her eyes closed, but she didn’t make the humming noise. “That’s it,” I
said when I was done. “I can’t get out of the room and the snake is going to
bite me.”
Madam Psuka said nothing but kept my hand in hers. The humming
began. After a few minutes, I got impatient and spoke up again. “I think I
know what it is. At least, I thought I knew.”
“Oh?” The madam opened one eye and looked at me. “Tell me.”
“Well, I think the snake is my ex-boyfriend from a long time ago. I
never really got over him, and he hurt me really badly. Then out of the blue,
he showed up on my doorstep six days ago to ask my forgiveness. Stupid
me, I let him in, to my house and my heart, and he hurt me all over again. I
feel like I can’t escape the cycle of heartbreak with him. Like I’m trapped in
it. That’s the locked door.”
“And the clock?” Madam Psuka challenged.
“The clock is probably some kind of biological thing reminding me that
I’m not getting any younger and I need to stop trusting people who hurt
me.”
“Hm.” She shut her eyes and the humming began. Emme and I
exchanged glances.
“Do you think you can help her?” Emme asked, but the madam held up
a hand to silence her.
“Hush.” After an interminably long time, she finally opened her eyes
and looked at me. “You are wrong.”
“I am?” I stared at her. “How?”
“Snake is not him. Snake is you.”
I shrank back. “Me!”
“Yes. Snake is often symbol of evil or temptation in dreams, but not in
your case. Snake can also be sign of transformation because it sheds its
skin. Your dream snake is you letting go of the past so you can move
forward. It is you choosing love and not fear.”
“But I had no choice!” I protested. “He left me—again!”
“You are still having this dream, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then the moment the dream is preparing you for has not yet come. The
story is not done.”
“Great,” I snapped. “More trauma to look forward to.”
Emme rubbed my arm.
“Okay, the clock,” I challenged. I wasn’t convinced this woman knew
better than I did what my own dream meant. “What’s that about?”
She shook her head. “Is not a clock you hold in your arms.”
“It’s not?”
“No. Is your heart. The ticking is your heartbeat.”
Emme looked at me. “That makes sense to me. You were guarding it.”
“She guards it still.” Madam Psuka spoke quietly, but her words struck a
nerve.
“I have to, okay? I’m protecting myself from being hurt again.” I shook
my head. “I should have seen this coming, especially since it wasn’t the
first time.”
“This is vhy you are still trapped.” Madam Psuka’s voice was
maddeningly calm. “Is not that you don’t trust man. You don’t trust
yourself.”
“So what do I do about it?” I asked. “And don’t say fall in love again,
because that is not going to happen. I am done with love. The universe was
clearly trying to teach me a lesson, and I learned it.”
“Let me ask you another question.”
“Fine,” I said irritably, ready to leave.
“How do you know there is only one door in the room?”
I gave her a blank look. “What do you mean? That’s the only one I
saw.”
“Did you look around? Perhaps there are other doors.”
“There are no other doors,” I insisted, pulling my hand away. “Nothing
in the dream is a choice, okay? Nothing in real life was a choice either—I
was misled, lied to, and cast aside. The End.”
Madam Psuka shook her head. “Is not the end. All is not lost.”
“Well, it feels that way to me.” I stood up. “Come on, Emme.”
But the madam wasn’t done with me. “Be stronger. Be braver. Trust
yourself. Open yourself up to all possibilities. Stop seeing yourself trapped
in a cycle of heartbreak, and a way out will present itself to you—but not if
you refuse to let it. Not if you refuse love.”
“Fine.” At this point, I was ready to say anything just to get out of there.
She was wrong.
The story was over.

AFTER WE LEFT Madam Psuka’s, Emme made me go with her to the

drugstore, where she bought a pregnancy test.
“Have you even missed a period yet?” I asked her on our way back to
the cabin we were staying in at Abelard.
“No. But I’m expecting it any day now. The test might work!”
“Aren’t you on the pill?”
“I am,” she admitted, pulling into the Abelard drive, “but there have
been a couple times I forgot.”
“Didn’t you double up the next day?”
“Yes, Mom, I did everything right, and I’m probably not pregnant but if
there’s a chance, I want to know.”
“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands. “Sorry. Let’s find out.”
When we got into our cabin, Emme disappeared into the bathroom and I
sank onto the bed. I was disappointed that the session with Madam Psuka
had made me feel worse, not better. Flopping onto my back, I threw an arm
across my eyes. I felt hopeless. Helpless. Deceived and defeated.
A moment later, Emme came out of the bathroom and I sat up. She was
holding the capped stick in her hand and staring at it as she walked slowly
toward me.
“Well?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s thinking.” She froze. “Wait. It’s doing
something.”
I jumped off the bed and walked around so I could see. Slowly, a bright
pink line appeared on the right, but there was also a faint one coming in on
the left too. I gasped and grabbed her arm. “Emme. Oh my God.”
She didn’t speak.
The line on the left wasn’t as vivid as the one to the right, but the stick
clearly had two lines, and two lines means Emme was—
“Ahhh!” Emme screamed. “Maren, I’m pregnant!”
We turned to each other and hugged and squealed and jumped up and
down, both of us tearing up.
“You’re having a baby!” I wiped my eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
“Me either.” She stared at the test again. “This is crazy.”
“I feel bad I know before Nate.”
Emme gave me a look. “No, you don’t.”
“Not really.” I smiled, so glad to have some good news. “Oh, Em, this is
such great news. How do you feel?”
“Incredible! It’s just …” She turned around and sat on the bed, looking
a little pale and dazed. “Sooner than planned. We’re not even married yet.”
“Well, look, you’ve only been pregnant for like, what, two weeks or
something? You have time. You said yourself, you could put together a
wedding in no time. And Mia said lots of Friday nights are open this fall.”
Emme nodded. “Right.” She put a hand on her stomach and looked at it.
“Nate’s gonna die.”
I sat next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “He’s gonna be
thrilled. He’s crazy about you.” An unwelcome knot of envy lodged in my
stomach. I’d never have this.
She giggled. “He’s going to have two kids under the age of two.”
I shoved the uncomfortable reality of my jealousy aside and refocused.
“So they’ll be close, like you and me. We’re only fifteen months apart.
Sure, we fought like cats and dogs growing up, but I loved having a sibling
close in age.”
“Me too.” She tipped her head onto my shoulder. “I’m so glad you made
me go to that Madam Whoever. I never would have guessed.”
“Me either. At least the visit was helpful for one of us.”
“I’m sorry. Are you feeling any better?”
“Not about myself. But I’m happy about your news. Are you going to
call Nate?”
“No, I should tell him in person. But I have to tell someone—let’s call
Stella!” She hopped up and grabbed her phone from her purse.
“You’re telling everyone before you tell the dad,” I said. “He might be
upset to be the last to know.”
Emme’s eyes were huge as she put the phone to her ear. “I know. That’s
why you guys can never tell him.” She held out one pinky finger.
I hooked mine through it, grateful to have the support of my two
incredible sisters. They’d always be there for me. “My lips are sealed.”

I DIDN’T HAVE the nightmare that night, probably because I barely slept. I
lay awake for hours listening to Emme’s deep, restful breaths and
contemplating my life. Did I need to make a change? Move somewhere
new? Start over? I didn’t necessarily want to, but I was clearly vibrating at
the wrong frequency and needed to recalibrate. But how?
I could sell the studio. It was doing well enough that I didn’t think that
would be a problem. But where would I go? What would I do? I was trying
to puzzle it out when my phone buzzed. I reached over and picked it up
from the nightstand, and my heart began to pound.
Dallas: Are you awake?
I stared at the screen. What the hell was this? I was still open-mouthed
in shock when another message arrived.
Dallas: Probably not. It’s late here, so it’s even later for you. Even if
you were, you probably wouldn’t reply. I don’t blame you. Anyway, I
just wanted to say once more that I’m sorry about what happened. I
never meant to hurt you. I promise I won’t contact you again.
 Reading his words, I was angry. How dare he text me in the middle of
the fucking night with his lame apology! It didn’t matter that he never
meant to hurt me—the damage was done. Part of me was tempted to text
back something sarcastic and bitchy, but then I realized there was no point.
Sadness overwhelmed me. I didn’t want to fight.
Me: I’m awake. I can’t sleep.
Dallas: The nightmare?
No, you damn fool. It’s you. I’m still in love with you. Do you care? Do
you know how many tears I’ve cried for you? Do you know how miserable I
am thinking I’ll never see you again? Do you know how terrible I feel about
myself? Do you know how worried I am about you?
Me: Yes.
It was just easier that way.
He took a few minutes to reply, and—stupid me—I let myself get a little
hopeful that his response might make me happy. Maybe he would admit he
lied. Maybe he would say he loved me. Maybe he would tell me he’d
scheduled the surgery and wanted me there when he woke up. With every
fiber of my being, I willed the words to appear. Give me a choice, Dallas.
Give me something.
Dallas: I’m sorry.
Tears blurred my screen, and I set the phone aside, screen down. I didn’t
want another apology.
Sorry didn’t mean anything anymore.

THE NEXT MORNING, Emme and I grabbed breakfast at a cute little

bakery called Coffee Darling in downtown Traverse City. It was pretty
early, barely seven, since Emme was eager to get on the road and home to
Nate.
Sitting at the counter sipping herbal tea (Emme wanted to avoid caffeine
now), I told my sister about the late night messages.
“See? He still cares.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I said irritably, wondering how badly my stomach was
going to protest if I ate another cinnamon roll.
 “Maren, why would he text you in the middle of the night if he didn’t
care?”
“I have no idea. To torture me.” I grabbed a second pastry from the
basket we’d ordered.
“And what’s he doing in Portland? I thought he was in Boston.”
“I don’t know that either. I thought he was too. Seems like he can’t stay
in any one place for too long.”
“Well, I still don’t think he’d bother to reach out to you if you weren’t
still on his mind. I think Madam Psuka was right and this isn’t over.”
“Madam Psuka was right about you,” I said, reaching for my teacup.
“Not about me.”
The woman behind the counter approached with a smile and the teapot.
“Can I pour you fresh tea?” she asked. “I just brewed more.”
“Sure,” I said, sliding my cup closer to her.
“So I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said as she poured. “Did you say
you saw Madam Psuka?”
Emme and I exchanged a surprised look. “We did,” I said. “Do you
know her?”
The woman smiled. “Yes. And I just wanted to tell you that she sounds
a little crazy, but she’s really good.”
“Tell me about it,” said Emme. “She pretty much told me I was
pregnant. I had no clue. I took a test yesterday, and boom—she was right.”
“Congratulations! That’s so exciting. I’m Natalie, by the way. The
owner of the shop.” She smiled brightly at both of us.
“It’s so cute,” Emme said, looking around.
“Thanks. It’s funny, she knew I was pregnant too when I went there.
And I wasn’t showing yet or anything.”
“Same!” Emme exclaimed.
I let myself be irritated with them both for just a second.
“She also predicted I would fall in love with my husband,” Natalie went
on, shaking her head. “It will always baffle me how she knew, but she did.”
“That’s amazing,” Emme said. “We went there because Maren needed
her to interpret this nightmare she’s been having.”
Natalie nodded and looked at me. “Was it helpful for you?”
I sighed. “Not really, unfortunately. There’s this … situation in my
personal life. I messed up and trusted someone who hurt me.” I picked up
my napkin and dabbed at the corners of my eyes. “Madam Psuka thinks I
need to let it go for the nightmares to stop. I don’t know how I can.”
“I’m sorry,” Natalie said sympathetically. “I’ve been there, and I
remember how it hurts. I remember feeling powerless in my situation too,
like there was nothing I could do. But there was—I just had to see things
differently. I remember she said to me, ‘You must be villing to see things
not as they have been or as they are, but as they could be.’” Natalie imitated
Madam Psuka’s accent perfectly.
It probably would have made me smile if I’d been in a decent mood.
“Sounds like something she’d say.”
“And you nailed the accent.” Emme nodded enthusiastically.
“Thanks.” Natalie smiled. “Anyway, she was right.” She reached out
and touched my arm. “You’ll find your way.”
I appreciated her kindness, but clearly our situations had been totally
different.
We finished breakfast and got on our way. Emme drove, and I spent
most of the nearly five-hour ride listening to her chatter on about the
wedding and the baby, which best she could figure would be due in March.
I nodded and commented when appropriate, but my mind wandered. I kept
thinking about what Natalie had said. You must be willing to see things not
as they have been or as they are, but as they could be.
I chewed my thumbnail and looked out the window.
I had no trouble seeing how things could have been for us. We could
have been happy together. I could have seen him through his surgery and
recovery. I’d have gone anywhere and done anything for him. It had been
his decision to destroy all that. And with that future in ruins, what was left
but the past and the present? I saw those perfectly clearly, and I’d learned
from them.
You couldn’t trust your heart.
Love could be a lie.

FRIDAY NIGHT, I went online to look for options for a yoga or

mindfulness retreat and noticed I had an email from Finn Shepherd. Heart
racing, I opened it up.
 Dear Maren,
I thought you would like to know that Dallas has agreed to have the
craniotomy, and it is scheduled for a week from today. He gave me
permission to tell you when I asked.
I have full confidence in the surgeon and know Dallas will pull
through.
Sincerely,
Finn
My first reaction was relief. I closed my eyes and took a huge breath,
letting gratitude fill me. But the positive vibe was short-lived, because my
second reaction was a crushing wave of sadness. He’d changed his mind
about the surgery, but not about me. He couldn’t even be bothered to tell me
himself.
It confirmed everything he’d said in the car Sunday night. He didn’t feel
what I felt. He didn’t want me in his life. I’d been only a thing to cross off
his list. Why he’d texted me in the middle of the night, I could only guess.
His conscience again? Well, fuck that. I didn’t want to be anyone’s regret.
I exited my email and went back to my search results, deciding to book
a five-day stay at a silent meditation and yoga retreat center on the coast of
Maine, starting on Monday. I needed to slow down, unplug, and unwind. I
needed to be alone with myself in order to heal and rebalance. I needed to
hear that inner voice, the connection to my soul, and I couldn’t do it
surrounded by all this noise.
I was desperate for peace, inside and out.
Over the weekend, I talked to Allegra about taking over for me next
week and offered her a raise to compensate her for the increased hours and
responsibilities. I wasn’t happy with how absent I’d been from my business
and my employees lately, but I needed this time to reconnect with myself,
contemplate my journey in life and what I wanted to accomplish, and center
myself on the right path moving forward.
Love had knocked me way off course.

OceanofPDF.com
 NINETEEN

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

On Friday, Finn and I went into the shop, and I introduced him to Beatriz. I
told her I’d scheduled the surgery and really would be gone for a while this
time. “I can’t be alone, so Finn invited me to recover at his house.”
She hugged me tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
It was a long time before she released me. “So when do you leave?”
“I haven’t booked a ticket yet, but probably Tuesday or Wednesday.
And I have a ton of shit to do before then, so I’m not sure how much I can
work.” Besides getting my house in order and packing up, I had to make a
will, something I’d never even thought about. Finn had suggested it,
although he assured me it was just a precaution, and actually, I hadn’t even
freaked out.
Much.
Beatriz waved a hand in front of her face. “Don’t even think about
work. Take time to do what you need to do.”
“Thanks. I’ll stop in before I leave and clean out my station. But if it’s
okay with you, I was going to give my brother here his first ink.”
She looked at Finn in surprise. “Really?”
He shrugged, a little color coming into his face. “I’ve been thinking
about it for a while. Seems like a good time, since I’m here.”
Beatriz nodded. “Absolutely. And you can’t go wrong with Dallas. He’s
the best.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But don’t tell anyone here I
said that.”
Finn laughed. “Never.”
 She looked at me. “Let’s have a drink before you go, okay? Maybe we
can even drag Evan out of the house.”
“Sounds good.”
I took Finn over to my station, and we looked through a book of stencils
I had for other tattoos I had done. He didn’t want anything too big and only
had one idea—his kids’ names and their birthdates. Nothing wrong with
that idea, and I’d have done it, but I thought it might be a little more
meaningful if it had more personality. I happened to have some of the
artwork Olympia and Lane had sent me taped on the wall in my cubical,
and we decided to do their first names in their own handwriting along with
their birthdates. Finn liked the drawing I did, and I suggested it might be
nice to put it on the left side of his chest.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
I created a stencil, cleaned and shaved the area, and applied the design.
Both Beatriz and I thought it was the perfect placement, and Finn gave the
go ahead.
“You nervous?” I asked as I finished prepping.
“A little,” he admitted, lying back in the chair. “But I trust you.”
“Good.” Then I pulled on my gloves and got to work.

FINN and I hung out all day Friday, and he helped me make a list of things
I should take care of before leaving for Boston, which I’d booked for
Wednesday. He loved his new tattoo and said he couldn’t wait to show Bree
and the kids. I could tell he felt pretty badass about it, and it made me
happy. The only tense moment between us came when he asked if I planned
to tell Maren about the surgery. I said no, and he asked my permission to let
her know.
“She cares, Dallas,” he said, tipping back his beer at dinner Friday
night. He glanced at the ink on my forearm, where the skin was still
healing. “And if you care about her—”
“You know I do,” I snapped. “Caring about her isn’t the issue.”
“Then call her.” He set the bottle down hard. “She’d want to know.”
“No.” I focused on my right hand, which was spinning my water glass
around. There was no fucking way I could handle hearing her voice.
 “Dallas.”
“No, Finn. I promised her I wouldn’t contact her again.” And I could
keep that one promise, at least, couldn’t I? For fuck’s sake, I’d broken every
other one I’d ever made to her.
He sighed. “Any objection to my telling her?”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
When I took him to the airport on Saturday, he hugged me goodbye and
told me how much he’d enjoyed spending time with me—it was the first
time we’d ever done that without his family or our parents around, too. “We
should do this again sometime. A guys’ weekend.”
“We should.” Although these days, I wasn’t counting on anything in the
future.
“See you in Boston.”
“See you. Safe trip home.”
I spent the next few days cleaning my house, clearing out the fridge, and
packing my bags. I got a haircut, checked in with my neurologist, who was
happy to hear I’d elected to have surgery, set up auto-pay for my monthly
bills, and asked my next-door neighbor to bring in the mail. On Monday, I
saw my lawyer, who had created a will according to my specifications. If
anything happened to me, my inheritance, and anything else left over after
settling the estate, would be split equally between Olympia and Lane. I was
only renting my house, so I didn’t have to worry about that, and anything in
it, I wanted donated. Two other attorneys in his office served as witnesses
while I signed it.
All day, every day, I thought about Maren. Missed her with an intensity
that rivaled the pain in my head. My house had never felt so fucking lonely.
But it was nothing less than I deserved for what I’d done.
On Tuesday night, I met Beatriz and Evan for a drink at the Teardrop
Lounge. We congratulated Evan again and asked to see pictures of his son,
and he happily obliged. He had dark shadows under his eyes and said nights
were rough, but I could tell he was happy. I envied him.
Our drinks arrived—since Beatriz had offered to pick me up and drop
me off, I’d indulged in some whiskey—and we raised our glasses.
“To Hunter William,” Beatriz said. “May he take after his mother as
much as possible. And to Dallas’s speedy and full recovery.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Evan.
 Evan finished his cocktail quickly and had to get home, but he shook
my hand before he left and told me both he and Reyna were pulling for me,
and asked me to let them know how everything went as soon as I could. I
said I would.
As soon as we were alone at the table, Beatriz lit into me.
“You look miserable,” she said.
“I feel worse than I look.”
“Still haven’t talked to the girl?”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
“Because if I hear her voice, I’ll fall apart,” I said quietly.
“Dude.” She lifted her drink to her lips and sipped. “You’re a fucking
mess. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but let me tell you what to do.”
I frowned at her.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since you conned me into
giving you that tattoo. You need to come clean with her. It’s got you all
fucked in the head. Your aura is, like, choking on this pain.”
“It’s all I have of her.”
“Christ, Dallas. Do you even hear yourself? You’re clinging to the pain
and guilt instead of the woman you love. She could be there by your side
getting you through this. She’d make you stronger, you know. I bet you’d
fight harder.”
Her words made sense, but I’d already done too much damage. “I
fucked things up too much. They can’t be fixed. It’s too late.”
“You haven’t even tried!”
“She probably wouldn’t even talk to me.”
Beatriz shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find that out.”
I sat there for a few minutes, staring into my whiskey. “I miss her, Bea. I
really fucking miss her.”
“I know, babe.”
“I thought coming back here and burying my head in the sand would
make me feel better, but it didn’t.”
“It never does.”
“And I’m scared.” It felt good to say it aloud.
“Of what?”
“Of dying. Of losing feeling in my right hand. Of needing people to take
care of me. Of not being enough for her.” I looked up at her and admitted
the truth. “But I can’t keep living like this. It’s only been ten days, and I’m
going crazy.”
“So do something about it, Dallas.” She reached out and touched my
wrist. “We all make mistakes. We’re all human. What sets one man apart
from the next is what happens afterward.”
Exhaling, I closed my eyes. “I don’t even know what to say to her. How
to explain myself. I told her a bunch of lies. She won’t know what to
believe.”
“Can I offer a suggestion?”
I nodded.
“What do you think she wants more than anything in the world?”
“A second chance,” I said without hesitation.
“And what do you want?” She held up one hand. “Wait, let me rephrase.
What do you want that you have control over getting?”
“To make her happy. If I can.”
“What would make her happy?”
I sighed. “She wants to be there for me. Take care of me.”
“Are you comfortable with that?”
“No. Fuck no.” Frowning, I rubbed the back of my neck. “But if that’s
what it takes …”
“If it were me,” Beatriz said, touching her tattooed chest, “that’s what it
would take. Knowing that you were willing to let me see you at your most
vulnerable. Because with you, she’s at her most vulnerable too.”
“Yeah,” I said miserably, picturing her sobbing into her hands after I
told her I was leaving. “You really think letting her see me all out of it and
half-bald and stapled together is the way to go?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because it says, This
is the real me. Yes, I’m the big, strong tattooed hottie with the eyes and the
hair and the chiseled jaw, the guy who makes everyone laugh and all the
girls swoon and never shows a sign of weakness, but I’m something else
with you. I let you see all of me, because I love you.”
“Damn.” I blinked. “That’s pretty good.”
“Thank you. Now go make it happen. You’re one of the lucky ones,
Dallas. You found it. Don’t let it pass you by.” She reached for my hand and
squeezed, her eyes misting over. “Then get better, and bring that girl back
here so I can meet the one woman amazing enough to steal your heart.”
I took a breath. “I’ll try.”
I TEXTED HER THAT NIGHT.
Maren, can we talk?
No answer.
I don’t blame you for ignoring me. But if you have it in your heart
to give me a few minutes, I’d really love to talk to you. Call me when
you can.
I waited and waited and waited. Nothing.
It was late in Detroit, after midnight, so she was probably already
asleep. Was she teaching an early morning class tomorrow? If she was,
she’d be up within a few hours. I set my phone down, got ready for bed, and
checked my phone once more. Nothing.
I plugged it in to charge and got in bed, but slept only fitfully
throughout the night. Every so often, I checked to see if she’d written me
back, but was disappointed every time.
By the following morning, I had to consider the possibility that she’d
seen my messages and had decided against replying. After I finished
packing and was ready to leave, I decided to try calling her. I got her
voicemail. The sound of her voice on the outgoing message made my pulse
quicken.
“Maren, it’s me. You’ve probably seen my messages by now. You
haven’t called, which means you’re either too upset with me to talk or you
need more time to think about it. I get that. I’ll be on a plane to Boston most
of today, but you could reach me in the next couple hours or later tonight.
I’ll be on your time zone by then.” I paused. “I don’t know if Finn told you
or not, but I decided to have the surgery. It will be on Friday. I’d really like
to talk to you before then, if possible. I … hope you’re well. I miss you.”
Then I hung up before I started breaking down.

TWO HOURS LATER, I was checked in and waiting to board the plane,
and I still hadn’t heard from Maren. Frowning at my phone, I heard my
zone get called, but I ignored it, wanting to stay at the gate as long as
possible just in case she called. Finally, I couldn’t delay boarding any
longer, and I was forced to get on the plane without a word from her, not
even an acknowledgment that she’d gotten my texts. I reluctantly switched
my phone to airplane mode and dropped it into the carry-on bag at my feet.
What was I going to do if she didn’t call? Keep trying? Leave her a
longer voicemail telling her the truth about why I’d broken things off? It
wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to do over voicemail, but she might not
leave me a choice. Or would the right thing to do be to leave her alone? If
her silence continued, didn’t that mean she didn’t want to hear anything
from me? At this point, she was probably thinking, Fuck him and his
apologies. I don’t need them. How could I get her to listen?
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. This hole I’d dug for myself
was deep, maybe too deep to climb out of.
But I wouldn’t give up.

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 TWENTY

OceanofPDF.com
 DALLAS

I arrived in Boston and spent the evening with Finn and his family. Seeing
the kids cheered me up a little, but later, when it was just the two of us, Finn
asked me what was wrong. “You seem upset,” he said, his expression
concerned. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes, but it’s not that.” We were still at the dinner table, but Bree had
taken the kids up for their baths. Finn said that he would take care of the
dishes.
“What is it?” He stacked a few plates.
“I reached out to Maren and asked her to call me, but there’s just silence
on her end.”
“Ah.” He piled forks and knives on top of the stack. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “I get it. She’s hurt. Why should she call me? She thinks
she’s heard everything I have to say.”
“But she hasn’t. She just doesn’t realize it.”
“I can’t force her to listen to me. I don’t know what else to do.”
Finn didn’t answer, and after a few minutes, he stood and started
carrying dishes into the kitchen. I did the same. When everything from the
table was in the sink, I took a seat at the island and watched him load the
dishwasher. “Want help?”
“Nah. I got it.”
I looked around the big, beautiful kitchen, with its gray-painted
cabinetry, black stone counters, and polished wood floor. It was clean but
lived-in—kids’ artwork on the fridge, shoes piled over by the back door, the
clutter of everyday life all around. “You’re really lucky,” I said.
“Damn right I am.” He looked back at me. “But it’s not just luck.”
 “What can I do, Finn? She won’t talk to me.”
“Maybe email her? She seems to check email often enough.”
“Did you tell her about the surgery?”
“Yes. And she replied the next day that she was glad to hear it and
thanked me for letting her know. She said she wished us all the best.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll email her. Can you forward me her email
address?”
“Of course.”

LATER THAT NIGHT, I lay in bed with my laptop trying to find the perfect
words to say, the words that would undo all the damage I’d done and bring
her back to me.
It wasn’t easy. I wrote, deleted. Wrote, deleted. Wrote, deleted. I’d
never been a confident writer, and the pressure in this situation was almost
unbearable. Finally, after three hours and a hundred different drafts, I gave
up on perfect and just wrote from the heart.
Dear Maren,
An email is probably the worst way to say everything I want to say
to you, but it’s the way I’m stuck with because I’m stubborn as fuck
and waited too long to have the chance to do it in person. I haven’t
been able to reach you by phone, not that I blame you for not wanting
to speak to me. I’ve put you through too much already, and part of me
thinks I should leave you alone even now. But I need to tell you the
truth about my feelings for you, and this might be my last chance to do
it.
Everything I told you the night we went to the baseball game is
true.
Everything.
I never stopped loving you. I fell in love with you all over again the
weekend we spent together, and I love you still. I said it was a lie only to
make you hate me, so that leaving wouldn’t hurt so much.
Of course, it hurt anyway. More than I can say.
When I made the decision to come see you, it was because leaving
you the first time has always been my biggest regret, and after getting
the news about the tumor in my brain, you were all I could think about.
I had to make things right with you. I never intended to fall for you
again.
But being with you was like coming home to a place where I was
more loved, more alive, more me than anywhere I’ve ever been. I
should have told you about the tumor right away, but I couldn’t bring
myself to ruin those perfect, happy hours we had—and I knew they
were numbered. My future was so uncertain, and I didn’t want to drag
you into it. I didn’t want you to feel burdened by your feelings for me. I
didn’t want your pity. In my head, the only way to spare you from
having to see me at my worst was to hide the truth from you.
And because I want to be honest, I will also admit that I wanted to
spare myself the pain of losing you. The truth is that I don’t think I’m
worth your love or all the trouble it will take to care for me. Maybe
that’s because of my childhood, or maybe it’s just because I know I can
be a selfish, stubborn prick and you shouldn’t have to put up with my
bullshit, but there it is. So I tried to protect both of us by breaking
things off.
I was wrong, and for that I am deeply sorry.
What I should have done was tell you the truth and give you the
choice to be with me or walk away.
Which brings me to now. As you know, I am having the surgery on
Friday, and the surgeon is hopeful he can remove the entire tumor.
After that, we will wait for the biopsy to tell us if it is benign or
cancerous. If it is cancer, I will likely need additional treatment like
chemotherapy and radiation. It would be a long, difficult road to
travel.
I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’m scared.
I’m scared of losing feeling in my right hand. I’m scared of losing
speech and memory. I’m scared of being dependent on someone else to
take care of me. I’m scared of waking up and not feeling like myself
anymore. And although I’ve never felt this way before, I’m scared of
dying—not because I don’t want to face whatever reckoning awaits me,
but because I don’t want to leave this earth yet. For the first time in my
life, I’m looking ahead and thinking to myself, I’m not done.
I’m not done living, and I’m not done loving you, Maren Devine.
Not by a long shot.
 Granted, I’m not much of a catch right now, but I swear to God if
you’ll give me that second chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making
you the happiest woman alive.
You once asked me to let you love me, and I promised I would. Let
me keep my promise.
Now, then, always and only yours,
Dallas
I read it over a million times, took a deep breath, and hit send.
Then I closed my laptop, lay back, and prayed she would have it in her
heart to forgive me. To accept me. To be mine.
It was going to be a long night.

I WAS AWAKE FOR HOURS—FRANTICALLY checking my email

every five minutes—but eventually fell asleep sometime after three a.m.
When I woke up, it was nearly eight, and I quickly looked at my inbox
again.
Nothing.
Sighing, I closed my eyes and tried not to feel like this was a hopeless
cause. But my head was pounding, my stomach was upset, and I had a
horrible stiff neck from the awkward way I’d slept. Dragging myself out of
bed, I followed the smell of coffee downstairs.
“Morning,” Bree said cheerfully, pulling clean plates from the
dishwasher. “How are you feeling?”
“Not great,” I admitted.
She gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. Can I get you some
coffee?”
“I can get it.” I took a cup from the cupboard and filled it with coffee
from the pot. “Finn at work already?”
“Yes. He went in early today, and he said he’ll be late tonight. But he’s
taking off tomorrow and a few days next week.”
That was because of me, and I felt guilty about it as I sat down on a
stool at the island. “I wish I didn’t have to inconvenience you guys.”
“You’re not an inconvenience, Dallas.” She gave me a look. “You’re
family. This is what we do for each other.”
 I nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate everything.”
“You’re welcome.” She paused in her work and sipped from a mug on
the counter that said There is a good chance this is vodka on it. “Finn told
me you guys had a nice time in Portland.”
“We did.”
“I’m really glad. I think it really bothered him, more than he realized,
that you two didn’t have a very close relationship. It bothered me, that’s for
sure. I was always on him to do something about it, but he was just so darn
stubborn.”
I gave her a half-grin. “Runs in the family.”
She laughed. “True. Anyway, I’m so happy about it. I’ve always been so
close to my sisters, I can’t imagine what my life would be like without
them.”
Her comment got me thinking about something. Maren was close to
both her sisters. If I didn’t hear back from her by this afternoon, could I
reach out to one of them?
“So what are your plans for today?” Bree asked.
“Uh, not sure, exactly.” Stalking my ex-girlfriend’s sisters seemed like a
bad answer.
“Just let me know if there’s anything you need or if you want to go
somewhere. I’m happy to take you. And is there anything special you want
for your last … for dinner?” She caught herself, but I could see the slip had
made her uncomfortable.
I wanted to put her at ease. “You know what was really fun? The night
last week when we grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and hung out by the
pool.”
She smiled, relieved. “Pool party it is!”
I drank some coffee, ate the toast Bree insisted on making for me, and
checked my email again—nothing from Maren. After a quick shower, I
unpacked my suitcase, putting clothes in dresser drawers and hanging a few
things in the closet, although I hadn’t brought very much. When the kids
got up, they wanted me to swim with them, so after checking my inbox one
more time—nothing—I put on my suit, and followed them out to the pool.
“Hey, Oly, can I use your sunscreen?” I asked, spying some Coppertone
near her pink unicorn towel.
“Sure,” my niece said, watching as I gently put some on my new tattoo,
which had healed nicely. “Why do you have to do that?”
 “To protect it.”
She looked closer. “What does Maren mean?”
Everything, I thought. “Maren is a name. She’s a friend of mine.”
“In Oregon?”
“Actually, she lives in Detroit. But I hope she comes to see me in
Portland sometime.”
“Can I come to Portland sometime, too?”
“You better,” I said, giving her a threatening look.
She flashed a gap-toothed grin my way and went running for the pool.
“Last one in’s a rotten egg!”
I pretended to hustle but let both her and Lane jump in before me.
“You’re a rotten egg, Uncle Dallas! You stink!” Olympia taunted,
holding her nose. I retaliated by hoisting her up over my head and throwing
her into the deep end. When she surfaced, she was laughing. “Do it again!”
I spent the day at home with the kids, and Finn surprised us all by
coming home early. While he went up to change, I checked my email on my
phone again, but there was no message from Maren. At this point, it was
hard not to feel despondent—she had to have seen it by now, and she’d
replied fairly quickly to Finn, hadn’t she? I’d texted and called and emailed.
She had to have seen one of those attempts on my part. It was becoming
increasingly clear that the issue wasn’t communication—the issue was that
she was choosing to walk away.
But even if that was the case, I wanted to know for sure.
“Be right back, guys,” I said, wrapping a towel around me and heading
into the house.
Upstairs in my room, I searched “Emme Devine wedding planner” on
my phone. From what Maren had told me, Emme was the most romantic of
the three sisters, so I figured she was my best bet. The website for Devine
Events came up in the search results, and I clicked it.
Then I called the phone number.
“Good afternoon, Devine Events. Amy speaking.”
“Hi, I’m looking to speak with Emme Devine, please.”
“She’s not in the office right now, can I take a message?”
Fuck! I frowned at the water I was dripping on the carpet. “Is there any
way I could get hold of her? It’s sort of urgent.”
“Can I have your name?”
 I cringed. Emme was not going to want to speak with me. “Dallas
Shepherd.”
“And what event is this regarding?”
“It’s not regarding an event. It’s about her sister, Maren.”
“Oh.” Amy sounded alarmed. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. I mean—there’s no emergency or anything, I just really need
to speak with Emme about her, and I’m running out of time. Maybe.” God.
I sounded like a fucking lunatic.
“Can you give me your number, please?”
I recited my cell number for her, and she said she’d get back to me. I
wondered if it would be a while and contemplated going back outside, but it
was only about thirty seconds before my phone vibrated. The number on the
screen was not the one I’d just called.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dallas? This is Emme.”
“Hey, Emme. Thanks for calling me back.”
“No problem. My office called and said something about an urgent
matter regarding Maren?”
“Yes.” I exhaled. “I’m trying to contact her.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Because I made a horrible mistake, letting her go.”
Silence. “I’m listening.”
I closed my eyes. “I want her back.”
“Why did you do it?” she asked. “Why did you break her heart like
that?”
“Several reasons, all of which seemed valid at the time, but none of
which matter to me anymore.”
“They matter to me,” she said. “So if you want me to help you get in
touch with Maren, you better spill them.”
“Okay,” I agreed, and launched into the story. I told her everything,
taking her on the journey from Portland to Detroit to Boston and back
again. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable and really fucking awkward
at times, but she was right—if I expected her to help, I had to make it clear
what this meant to me.
“So the stuff you told her in the car last Sunday night was all bullshit?”
she asked.
“Yes.”
 “And you really have loved her all this time?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to be with her now?”
“More than anything.”
“Wow, Nate was right.”
I had no idea what she meant by that. “I’m sorry?”
“Never mind. But Dallas, do you think she should trust you again, after
what you did to her?”
I sighed, my eyes closing briefly. “I know it’s going to be hard. But yes,
she should. I’m going to do everything I possibly can to earn it back.”
“Good.” Then she surprised me with a long sigh. “This is so romantic. I
really want it to happen.”
“Do you think it can? Has she gotten my calls and messages the last two
days?” I asked desperately.
“No. That I can tell you for sure. She’s been at some yoga retreat place
where you have to completely unplug and live like forest nymphs or
something.”
Relief, pure and powerful, washed over me. “When will she be back?”
“Not until tomorrow.”
“Oh.” I was due at the hospital at six in the morning. Disappointment
pressed heavily on me, and I lowered myself to the bed. “Okay.”
“You said the surgery is tomorrow too, right?”
“Right. I was kind of hoping to talk to her before I went in, but … that
might not be possible.” I felt like crying.
“I’m sorry, Dallas.”
“It’s my own fault.”
Emme was silent for a moment. “When she gets back, I’ll talk with her.
I can’t promise anything, because she was so angry and heartbroken, but I’ll
try.”
“Thanks.” I swallowed hard. “Is she … okay?”
“No. She’s a mess, Dallas. She blames herself for falling for you. She
thinks she deserves a broken heart for trusting you again.”
It was like a knife to the gut. I had no words.
“She went to this retreat place to recover some sense of self-worth, I
think. Find her balance again. You really wrecked her.” Then she sighed.
“But I do love a second-chance romance. And for what it’s worth, I think
you’re being sincere about your feelings for her. So I’ll do what I can.”
 “Thank you.” I barely got the words out.
“You’re welcome. And good luck tomorrow, okay?”
“Thanks.”
We hung up, and I flopped back on the bed. My head ached, and my
heart was in a million pieces, but I’d done all I could.
Now it was up to her.

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 TWENTY-ONE

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 MAREN

The knock surprised me.

It was Thursday evening at the retreat center, my last night there, and
not once all week had anyone disturbed me in my room. I’d returned from
the evening guided meditation session and was getting ready for bed when I
heard the soft knock. I opened the door and found a retreat employee, a
young woman, standing there.
“Yes?” My throat was scratchy and I cleared it. I hadn’t had a real
conversation with anyone in four days. The silence was supposed to make it
easier to find clarity and hear your inner voice, and although I was feeling
slightly calmer than when I’d arrived, my inner voice had stayed quiet. I
didn’t feel as though I’d resolved anything. I still cried myself to sleep, I
still missed Dallas, and I was still having the nightmare almost every night.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” the employee said quietly, “but there was
an urgent message for you to call your sister, Emme.”
I panicked. “Okay, thank you. I’ll call right away.”
I shut the door and flew to my suitcase, where I dug out my phone. I
hadn’t looked at it since I got off the plane in Bangor on Monday, and
frankly, I hadn’t even missed it.
Quickly I plugged it in, and when it came on, I called Emme. She
answered right away.
“Maren?”
“Is everyone okay?” I asked frantically. “What’s going on?”
“Everyone is okay,” Emme said. “And I’m sorry to disturb you on your
retreat.”
“What’s wrong?”
 “Oh jeez, now I don’t know if I did the right thing.”
“Emme.” I touched two fingertips to my temple. “Please.”
She sighed. “Okay, but if you’re mad at me for this, I only did it
because I thought you’d want me to. Well, and because it’s romantic, but
—”
“Emme. I’m really not supposed to be on the phone or talking at all
here.”
“You can’t talk there? That’s weird. Why not? I mean, I get the thing
about unplugging from technology, but talking? Human to human? What’s
wrong with that?”
Suddenly I appreciated the atmosphere of silence more than ever.
“Because it encourages us to spend time within ourselves.”
“Is it helping you?”
“Some.”
“Well, good. Before you go back inside yourself, though, I just thought
you might want to know that Dallas is trying to get in touch with you.”
My heart stopped. “He is?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he called me at work.”
“He did?” A wave of dizziness came over me, and I sat on my bed.
“Yeah. He said he’s called and left messages for you.”
“But why?”
“I think you need to hear it from him.”
“Tell me.”
“Gah, I didn’t want to do this. But I’m afraid if I don’t, you won’t talk
to him.”
I took a deep breath.
“He loves you, Maren.”
“No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t love anybody. He told me that, remember?”
“He lied to you.”
“What?” The room was spinning. “Why?”
“Because he’s a man, and when men get feelings with a capital F, they
act like idiots with a capital I. They make terrible decisions and do all the
wrong things. In their caveman minds, it all makes sense somehow. But he
loves you. He told me so.”
“He told me a lot of things. Doesn’t make them true.”
 “Look, just talk to him. Or at least read his messages.”
“You know what, I don’t even want to read his messages, Emme. Like
you said, he lies. And I’ve fallen for too many of them already.”
“Okay, then don’t. I only thought you might like to know because he’s
having that surgery tomorrow. I felt like if there was anything you wanted
to say to him, you might want to say it now.”
“I’ve said everything I want to say to him already,” I said bitterly. I
wouldn’t be guilted into playing the fool again. He’d made his choice. “And
I’ve heard all I need to hear.”
“Okay, Maren.” Her voice was quieter. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I
thought I was doing the right thing.”
I took a breath and softened my tone, too. “I’m sorry, too. I’m not upset
with you. I’m upset with myself. I’m having a really hard time getting past
this.”
Silence. And then, “Do you still love him?”
I closed my eyes, felt my chest tighten. Of course I do. “It doesn’t
matter.”
“If it makes a difference, Mare, when I talked to him, I felt like he was
being sincere.”
“I did too, Emme—that’s the problem! He’s a master at sincere. He can
make you trust him so easily it’s criminal.” I started to cry. “But it’s not
real. And it doesn’t last. He always leaves.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. This is all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m being bitchy
and you’re trying to help. How are you feeling?”
“Great. I saw the doctor yesterday and everything is perfect so far. I’ll
have an ultrasound at ten weeks to confirm the due date.”
“Has Nate recovered from the shock?”
Emme giggled. “Almost. I’ve only seen him faint one other time in his
life, and that was the night he found out about Paisley.”
“So he’s consistent at least.”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Are you going to be all right?”
I swallowed. “Eventually. I hope.”
“Home tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Travel safe. Love you.”
 “Love you, too.” I ended the call and buried my phone in my suitcase
again.

HOURS LATER, I was still tossing and turning in the dark. It was almost
worse than the nightmare. Sleep absolutely refused to come, and the
thought of my phone in my suitcase was killing me.
Should I do what Emme said? Should I listen to his messages? Should I
risk whatever healing I’d done this week, put what little peace I’d found
with myself in jeopardy? Did I want to trade that in for another apology?
Because I didn’t believe for one second that he actually loved me. He
couldn’t.
But something in me would not rest. As if I were compelled by an
outside force, I got out of bed and dug out my phone again.
Just the texts, I told myself as I plugged it in. I’d read his texts and then
put my phone away.
There were two, both from late Tuesday night.
Maren, can we talk?
And then:
I don’t blame you for ignoring me. But if you have it in your heart
to give me a few minutes, I’d really love to talk to you. Call me when
you can.
I frowned at the screen. That did not sound like a man in love. That
sounded like someone who wanted a favor. Or a man who was selling
something.
Well, I wasn’t buying any insincerity today, thank you very much.
Then I noticed he’d left me a voice message on Wednesday morning.
Convinced it could only reinforce my belief that Emme had been fooled just
as I had been, I listened to it.
“Maren, it’s me. You’ve probably seen my messages by now. You
haven’t called, which means you’re either too upset with me to talk or you
need more time to think about it. I get that. I’ll be on a plane to Boston most
of today, but you could reach me in the next couple hours or later tonight.
I’ll be on your time zone by then. I don’t know if Finn told you or not, but I
decided to have the surgery. It will be on Friday. I’d really like to talk to
you before then, if possible. I … hope you’re well. I miss you.”
The sound of his voice sent chills up my spine and blanketed my arms
with goose bumps, but I still hadn’t heard anything that suggested he’d
changed his mind about us. To me, it sounded like he just wanted to
apologize again, and he wanted me to offer my forgiveness before he went
into surgery.
If that was the case, a text back would suffice. A simple I forgive you,
good luck tomorrow. There was no way I could call him, like he’d
requested—I’d break down and cry, and I was so tired of tears.
I typed out the message and hit send. A few seconds later, I got a Failed
to Send text. I tried again, but it failed a second time. Sighing, I gave up on
the text and decided to send an email to Finn. Dallas would probably hate
that, but I had no other option. It was either Finn passing the message along
or nothing. I didn’t have an email address for Dallas.
I opened my inbox. And there it was—a message from Dallas.
Subject: Those who understand us enslave something in us.
I recognized the words right away—they were from his tattoo, the first
one I’d asked him about—and my breath caught in my lungs.
Before I could stop myself, I read through the email, my heart pounding
faster with every word. I covered my mouth with my hand.
Was this real?
I read the entire thing over and over again.
My God, no wonder Emme had called me. If he’d sounded half as
sincere on the phone as he had in this email, I’d have believed him too.
But should I?
My head said no.
My heart said yes.
My gut … I wasn’t sure yet. My inner voice was still silent.
Setting the phone down next to me, I pulled the covers up to my chin
and lay there, shivering and scared and wide-eyed in the dark.
I wanted more than anything for his words to be true, for his feelings to
exist as he’d described them. I’d never heard him so forthright about his
fears or talk about the future like that.
I picked up my phone again and reread the ending.
FOR THE FIRST time in my life, I’m looking ahead and thinking to
myself, I’m not done.
I’m not done living, and I’m not done loving you, Maren Devine.
Not by a long shot.
Granted, I’m not much of a catch right now, but I swear to God if
you’ll give me that second chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making
you the happiest woman alive.
You once asked me to let you love me, and I promised I would. Let
me keep my promise.
Now, then, always and only yours,
Dallas

MY EYES FILLED. My stomach churned. What if this was just his fear and
adrenaline talking? What if he woke up after the surgery and said, Sorry,
changed my mind. What if I showed up at the hospital and he refused to see
me?
But … what if he meant these things? What if my head was wrong?
What if my heart knew the truth? Which part of myself could I trust?
I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply, in and out, aware of each breath,
turning my focus inward. Somewhere inside me was the answer, I was sure
of it.
I heard Madam Psuka’s voice. Then the moment the dream is preparing
you for has not yet come. The story is not done.
I drifted deeper.
Still the voice was hers. Be stronger. Be braver. Trust yourself. Open
yourself up to all possibilities. Stop seeing yourself trapped in a cycle of
heartbreak, and a way out will present itself to you—but not if you refuse to
let it. Not if you refuse love.
And deeper still, until I’m in a room full of people, but they can’t see
me.
I keep trying to talk to them, but I can’t speak. I can’t even open my
mouth.
I look down and notice I’m naked.
That’s when I see the snake.
Slithering through the crowd along the dark wood floor, it’s heading
straight for me.
 Panicked, I start running for the door at the end of the room, carrying
the clock. It’s ticking loudly.
Eventually, I reached the door but discover there is no handle. And it
won’t budge.
For the first time, I turn around and face the snake. It stops short of me.
I hear a voice. It is my own, not speaking aloud, but inside me. It says, I
am not afraid to love.
The snake hisses, as if it heard me.
I welcome the voice, and it speaks again. I am not afraid to love.
The snake begins to vanish.
I am not afraid to love.
The room is empty now; the people have disappeared. I look at the
snake again and discover it’s gone.
I am not afraid to love.
I walk to the center of the room and set the clock on the floor, where it
continues to tick loudly, neither fast nor slow, but with a steady, reassuring
rhythm. Then I turn and look around. The closed door is still there. But
there is another door as well, on the opposite side of the room. It has a
handle.
I am not afraid to love.
I move toward the door, slowly at first, but eventually start to run. When
I reach the door, breathless and exhilarated, I grab the handle and pull hard.
It’s heavy and does not open easily, but I don’t give up. I grasp harder and
pull with all my strength, will it to give with all my might. I don’t know
what’s on the other side, but I know I have to get there.
With one final heave, the door swings open.
“I am not afraid to love,” I whisper.
And I run through.

I WOKE UP WITH A START, my eyelids flying open. Immediately it all

comes back to me—the phone call with Emme, the messages and email
from Dallas, the dream.
“Shit!” I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I look at the clock on the bedside
table and see it’s after seven already. “Shit, shit, shit!” Was Dallas in
surgery already? I’d never replied to his email!
I jumped out of bed and frantically got dressed, brushed my teeth, and
braided my disheveled hair, all the while throwing all my crap into my
suitcase without even folding it. Thankfully, my phone had charged all
night. My first call was to Emme.
“Hello?” she said sleepily.
“Hey, it’s me. Listen. I’m not coming home today. I’m going to
Boston.”
“You are?” Suddenly she was wide awake.
“Yes. I read Dallas’s messages.”
She squealed. “You did?”
“Yes.” My stomach was jumping around like mad. “And at first I wasn’t
sure what to believe, but now I think you were right and he is being sincere.
At least, my gut is telling me that.”
“Oh God, Maren. I’m going to feel really bad if I’m wrong.”
“You won’t have to.” I shut my suitcase and zipped it up. “This is my
choice. I know it’s a risk, but I’m willing to take it. I can’t be afraid of love,
Emme. Madam Psuka was right. Even if it means getting hurt again,
choosing love is always the right thing to do.”
Emme sniffed. “I’m going to cry.”
“Don’t cry. I need you.”
“Anything. What can I do?”
“Can you book me a hotel room in Boston? I don’t even know what
hospital he’s in, and I won’t until I get hold of Finn, but any place will do.”
I glanced around the room one last time.
“Consider it done. How are you getting to Boston?”
“I don’t know that either.”
She laughed. “This is crazy, Maren. But I kind of love it.”
“Wish me luck.”
“I don’t think you’re going to need it, but good luck.”
We hung up, and I rushed out of the room, dragging my suitcase behind
me.
IT TURNED out the easiest way for me to get to Boston was by bus. I
caught a taxi into Bangor in time to get on the nine a.m. coach, and sank
into my seat with relief. I felt like I’d hardly stopped moving since I’d
woken up this morning. Once I was on my way, I used my phone to send an
email to Finn.
Hey Finn, it’s Maren Devine. Dallas reached out to me, and I’m on
my way to Boston. Can you please let me know which hospital he’s in?
Thank you!
I gave him my phone number in case he wanted to text back, then sat
back and exhaled. My emotions were all over the place—anxiety about the
operation, relief about Dallas’s email, excitement about seeing him,
uncertainty about the future. There were a lot of questions to be answered,
but I told myself they could all wait. Right now, the most important thing
was getting to his side. I felt terrible that he’d gone into surgery thinking I
didn’t want him back. Hopefully, I’d be there when he woke up.
Hurry, I willed the bus driver. Hurry.

IT WAS AFTER NOON, and I still had about an hour to go before

reaching Boston when I got a text from Finn.
Maren, great to hear from you. Dallas is out of surgery, and the
doctor said it went well. He was able to get it all.
I paused, dropping the phone to my lap, and tears welled in my eyes. I
closed them in a silent prayer of thanks, and wiped beneath them when I
couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over.
“Would you like a tissue?” asked the woman next to me, pulling a travel
pack of Kleenex from her purse. She reminded me of one of the little old
ladies in my Yoga for Seniors class.
I smiled at her and took one. “Thanks. It’s good news. I’m just a little
emotional.”
“I understand.” She smiled back.
I dabbed at my eyes and went back to the text.
We are at Mass General. He’s in ICU right now, but all vitals are
good. Text me when you arrive and I will come get you.
 I replied, saying I would, and thanking him profusely. I wondered if he
knew anything about the email Dallas had sent and what he thought about
my coming to Boston. If he didn’t know, he probably thought I was nuts.
Then again, he’d told me not to give up.
I texted Emme and Stella and brought them both up to speed, then I
fidgeted and sighed and shifted around in my seat, impatient with the last
portion of the ride. I needed to be there already!
Emme replied that she’d booked me a room at a hotel called The
Liberty, and the reservation was under her name and credit card. I could
switch it when I checked in. Stella replied that she was happy to hear the
surgery went well and wished me luck.
When the bus stopped, I practically mowed people down to get off it
and plowed through the station to get to the taxi line. On the way to Mass
General, I fidgeted some more, and my stomach growled like crazy because
I hadn’t ever stopped to eat anything.
At the hospital, I got out of the cab and rushed inside, where I texted
Finn. He replied in seconds that he was on his way to get me. That was
when I first stopped and thought about what I looked like. I hadn’t even
showered, I was wearing gray yoga pants, a backless, loose-fitting, mint
green top with an orange sports bra underneath, I hadn’t combed my hair
before hastily whipping it into a braid, and a quick look at my feet revealed
I’d worn two different shoes. I’d bought the same pair of mesh slip-ons in
navy and brown because they were so comfortable, and I’d accidentally put
on one of each this morning without knowing it.
I glanced at my suitcase and wondered if it would be terrible manners to
open it up here in the lobby and dig out one or the other color. But before I
came to a conclusion, I heard my name.
“Maren?”
I turned and saw an older, slightly less muscular version of Dallas
walking toward me, holding a Styrofoam coffee cup. The resemblance was
enough to make my belly flip-flop, although, as he got closer, I saw more
differences. His hair was a little thinner and darker, his forehead had more
lines, and his chin didn’t have a cleft. But when he smiled, I saw Dallas
again.
“Hi,” I said, throwing my arms around him before I could stop myself.
He laughed and hugged me back a little awkwardly. “Hi. I’m glad you
made it.”
 “Me too.” I released him and stood back. “Although I’m a little
mortified. I just realized I’m wearing two different shoes.”
Smiling, Finn shook his head. “Dallas isn’t going to care about your
shoes, although that’s pretty funny. Your mind must have been elsewhere
this morning?”
“Uh, yeah. So everything went okay?” I asked nervously.
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Is he awake?”
“He’s sleeping right now. Follow me.”
While we walked to the elevators, Finn explained the surgery to me and
said that even though he’d been awake, Dallas probably wouldn’t remember
much and hadn’t felt any pain. “He’s got to be in neuro-ICU for at least a
day so they can monitor him closely for bleeding, infection, or seizure
activity. Barring any issues like that, he’ll be moved to the tenth floor
tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Okay. Did the surgeon say whether the mass was benign or
malignant?”
Finn smiled. “Looks benign. We’ll know for sure when the biopsy
results are back.”
“Oh, thank God.” I touched my chest, breathing a huge sigh of relief.
“I didn’t tell him you were coming,” Finn said. “I wasn’t sure you
wanted me to.”
I bit my lip. “Will the shock of seeing me hurt him?”
Finn laughed. “No. I think he’ll be very glad to know you’re here.”
“Okay.”
Finn studied the lid of his coffee cup. “He told me what happened.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. We’ve …” He cleared his throat. “We’ve been talking a lot more
over the last week or so. Last night, he sort of spilled his guts to me about
you.” His cheeks went a little red.
“I’m glad. He probably needed someone to talk to.”
“I think he did.”
“I never got any of his messages until last night. I was at a silent yoga
retreat center in Maine. No electronic devices.”
Finn’s eyes went wide. “Really? No wonder.”
The doors opened, and I went out first, still pulling my stupid suitcase.
“Yes, and I have a room at a hotel here in Boston, I just haven’t checked in
yet. I came straight to the hospital from the bus station.”
“Don’t worry about that. Bree or I can take you over to your hotel when
you’re ready. I imagine you’re anxious to see Dallas.”
I nodded quickly. My heart was galloping inside my chest. “Yes.”
“It’s one visitor at a time, so I’ll wait out here. Bree has the kids in the
cafeteria for lunch, so no one’s in there now. I can keep your suitcase out
here in the waiting area.”
“Okay.”
He pointed toward a closed glass door. “Right through there.”
I turned toward it and took a deep breath. My legs felt shaky as I walked
toward his room and slid the door open. They nearly gave out when I saw
him lying there in a railed bed, eyes closed, oxygen tube in his nose,
bandage on his head, an IV in his left arm and another in his right hand.
But his face was the same, and it took my breath away. The room was
sort of dark—the blinds were closed—and I moved closer, careful not to
wake him. My hands kneaded together. I wanted to touch him so badly.
Stroke his hair, caress his cheek, hold his hand. His arms were lying on top
of the blanket…
And that’s when I saw it.
Maren, in beautiful script on the inside of his left forearm.
Tears dripped down my cheeks. When had he done that?
I sniffed, and his eyes opened. He blinked.
“Hi,” I said softly, my heart spilling over with love.
“Hi.” He paused. “Is this real?”
I laughed gently. “Yes.”
“You’re really here?”
“I’m here.” Smiling through tears, I reached over the rail and took his
hand.
He closed his eyes for a moment, almost like he was praying. When he
opened them, they were shining. “You got my email?”
I nodded. “Yes. It made me so happy.”
“Good.”
“Finn said the surgery was a success.”
“That’s what I hear.” He spoke slightly slower and more quietly than
usual, but not enough to worry me. It was probably from the drugs. He had
to be drowsy.
“How are you feeling? Any pain?”
 “No. Not even a headache yet.”
“That’s wonderful.” I stroked the back of his hand with my thumb. “I
like your new tattoo.”
“Yeah?” A shadow of his old smile.
I nodded. “When did you get that?”
“Last week.”
“I thought it was against your rules to tattoo a name on someone.”
“Not when the someone is me, and not when the name is yours.”
My throat closed, and I squeezed his hand.
“I still won’t do it for anyone else, because I don’t know how they feel.
But I know how I feel.” His blue eyes looked dark and intense. “And I
know it’s forever.”
I sniffed again, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. “I love
you, too.”
“No more tears, you.” He closed his eyes. The talking was tiring him
out, I could tell.
“No more tears,” I promised, looking around for somewhere to sit while
he slept. “And you need to rest. I’ll just sit here in this chair, okay? I won’t
leave.”
“No. Come here.” He tugged on my hand.
“What?”
“Come here. In bed with me.”
“Dallas, I can’t—”
“Please?” His eyes opened again. “I missed you so much.”
My heart couldn’t take it. I glanced at the nurse’s station. “Okay. But
only for a minute.”
Somehow, despite the rails and the oxygen and the IVs and machines, I
managed to crawl into the twin bed next to him and cuddle up to his side.
“Much better,” he said.
I kissed his scruffy cheek. “Yes.”
“So you want to move to Portland?”
Smiling, I patted his chest. “Why don’t we wait until after the drugs
wear off to talk about that?”
“I’m not high, Maren. I’m just done wasting time. I want you to live
with me.”
“You do?” I could hardly breathe. Was this the same guy who told me
he was too selfish to be a good boyfriend?
 “Yes.”
“Won’t … won’t everyone think it’s a little sudden? And maybe crazy?”
“Fuck everyone. I don’t care what they think.”
Yeah, it was him.
I snuggled closer. “I’d love to. Let’s get you better first, and then we’ll
figure it out. Deal?”
“Deal.” With effort, he shifted a little and kissed my head. “I’m just
going to say it once more, and then we’re leaving the past behind. I’m sorry
for what I put you through. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course I can.”
He kissed me again. “If you told me I died on the table and this was
heaven, I’d believe you.”
I smiled. “It’s not, babe. This is your life. And it’s only gonna get
better.”
He sighed contentedly. “Good.”
I lay there with him for a few more minutes, listening to him breathe,
reassured by the solid warmth of his body and by his words.
We would have our second chance.
Maybe it was sudden. Maybe it had always been destined.
Maybe it was crazy. Maybe it made perfect sense.
Maybe love was a game of chance, played at the whims of Cupid, as
random as the roll of the dice.
Or maybe it was a story written in the stars, about a boy and a girl
whose hearts wouldn’t rest until they were together again.
Either way, it was always and only him.

OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com
 THREE MONTHS LATER

Dallas

THE SHOP WAS NEARLY EMPTY, and everything was in place.

Even so, I was still a little nervous. Not about what I was about to do,
just about making everything perfect. Maren deserved perfection.
“You ready?” Beatriz came by my station with a grin.
“I think so.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Fuck, I hope she
says yes.”
“Are you kidding me? This girl fell in love with you twelve years ago,
you broke her heart—twice—she takes you back, moves across the country
to be with you, nurses you back to health after brain surgery, says she’ll
move to bumfuck Oregon with you to live on a ranch she’s never even seen
and teach yoga to a bunch of angry teenagers, and you’re wondering if she’s
gonna say yes?” She thumped me affectionately on the shoulder. “What’s
wrong with you?”
I laughed. “It seems too good to be true, that’s all.”
“Well, you deserve it. You’ve been through a lot.”
“What if she thinks it’s too soon?”
She rolled her eyes. “When you know, you know. And trust me—she
knows.”
“Thanks.” I stood up and gave her a hug.
“Okay, I’m getting out of here. The champagne and cake are in the
fridge and the food will be delivered as soon as I let them know to bring it,
so text me when that ring is on her finger.” Beatriz, Evan, and a few other
friends were going to wait at a bar down the street, then come back to
celebrate with us.
“I will.”
She gave me one last smile as she headed for the front. “Good luck.”
I double-checked my station to make sure I had everything I needed,
then wandered up front to wait for Maren.
It was just after nine, and already dark outside. Autumn had come
quickly—it seemed like we’d barely had time to blink, and summer was
over.
After the surgery, Maren had remained in Boston for several days, and
she hardly left my side while I was in the hospital. We agreed to table any
major decisions about moving until after I got stronger, but having
something to work for motivated me to follow all instructions and recover
as quickly as I could.
I moved in with Finn’s family for a month, and Maren visited every
weekend. We all celebrated together when the biopsy results came back
indicating the tumor was indeed benign. Subsequent scans showed that Dr.
Acharya had been able to remove it all, and the seizures, headaches, and
dizzying memories had ceased. Yes, I had a big bald patch and a bunch of
staples holding my scalp together, and at first I couldn’t even take a shower
without help, but that was all temporary. I felt unbelievably lucky and
grateful.
When I felt strong enough to go home, I asked Maren again about
moving to Portland. My feelings for her had only grown deeper and
stronger, Finn and Bree adored her, and even my parents—when I finally
felt well enough to handle a visit from them—fell under her spell. My
mother started hinting around about grandchildren as soon as she saw how
natural Maren was with my niece and nephew, and even though I rolled my
eyes and shut her down, it was in the back of my mind too.
We talked about it a lot, and although she loved Detroit and had a really
hard time moving away from her sisters, she wanted to be with me and was
up for starting a life somewhere new. I fucking loved that about her. She
sold her studio to one of her instructors in August, got out of her lease, and
moved out here right away—without even seeing the house. I asked her if
she wanted to visit first, but she said, “I trust you. If you say the house is
perfect for us, it is.”
 Waking up next to her every morning was better than a dream. She was
patient and kind and forgiving, but she was tough on me too—she made
sure I took all my medications, refused to let me skip checkups and therapy
appointments when I tried to say I felt fine, and she calmed something in
me that had been restless and unsettled without her in my life. She brought
a sense of peace and clarity to my life that I’d never had before. And she
made me excited about the future.
Together we’d decided to take Evan up on his offer to buy property
adjacent to the ranch and build a home. All that would take a while, but she
was as excited as I was about living in the country, working on a
responsible, sustainable ranch (she and Evan were of similar minds on that),
and teaching yoga and mindfulness as part of the youth program. In the
meantime, I was back at the shop several days a week, and she was teaching
yoga at a couple different studios. Life was good.
But I wanted more.
Every time I looked at the lotus necklace around her neck—which was
often, since she rarely took it off—it gave me a thrill. I couldn’t imagine
how happy I was going to be when I saw a ring on her finger.
Maren wasn’t the kind of girl who waxed poetic about big diamonds or
poofy white dresses or having all eyes on her as she walked down the aisle,
but I was hoping she wanted to be my wife as much as I wanted to be her
husband. But I couldn’t just come right out and ask her—not my style at all,
and I knew how much Maren loved a surprise.
So I’d concocted a little plan.
When I saw her coming down the street, I pushed the glass door open.
A cool October breeze blew in with her, carrying the scent of fallen leaves
and her lavender oil. “Hi, beautiful.”
Her face lit up. “Hi. How are you feeling?”
I kissed her lips. “Like a million bucks. You ready?”
“Yes! You’ve been promising me this tattoo forever. Since high school,
I believe.”
“You’re right,” I said, letting the door close behind her. “Let’s do it.”
I took her over to my station and had her sit in the chair. “Okay, put
your arm up here.”
She extended her left arm across the table, and I prepared her skin.
“Did you make the stencil?” she asked.
 “Uh huh.” From my desk, I pulled out the stencil of the words she
wanted inked on her forearm in script, going from her inner wrist toward
her elbow.
I am not afraid of love.
I held it up. “Like this?”
She nodded happily. “Yes! I’m so excited.”
“Okay, close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want it to be a surprise.”
She giggled and gave me a strange look. “You’re goofy, but okay.”
Eyes closed, she leaned back in the chair and I silently pulled a second
stencil and a ring box out from my desk. I set the box in my lap and
carefully applied the secret words to her arm. My pulse was racing.
When I was finished, I lifted the paper and saw the words I’d
temporarily transferred.
Will you marry me?
“Okay,” I said, closing my trembling hands around the ring box. “You
can look.”
She opened her eyes and dropped her gaze to her arm. Her smile faded.
Her mouth fell open. “Oh my God.” She stared at the words, almost like
they didn’t make sense. “Is this—are you—?” She looked up at me, an
astonished expression on her face. “Is this for real?”
I took the ring box from my lap, moved the table aside, and got down on
one knee. Then I opened it.
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands as she stared at the
ring.
“It’s real. And maybe it seems a little sudden, but I feel like I’ve spent
my entire life waiting for you. I thought it was too late for us, but you’ve
shown me that it’s never too late when you love someone the way I love
you. Some things are just meant to be, some people are just meant to be
together, and sometimes, love is forever.”
“Oh, Dallas,” she whispered, her eyes tearing up.
I took the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger. “I never want
to be without you, Maren. You make me a better man. Will you marry me?”
She nodded as the tears began to spill over.
“Is that yes?”
 “Yes. Yes!” Laughter bubbled out of her, even as she wiped her eyes. “I
can’t believe this.” She held out her left hand and stared at it. “Oh my God,
it’s stunning. I’ve never seen one like it.”
“It was my grandmother’s,” I said quietly, my throat feeling a little
tight. “My grandfather left it to me. It’s been in a safe deposit box at the
bank for years. I never once thought I’d need it.”
Her eyes met mine. “Oh, honey. I love it.”
“Are you sure? I had it reset with a champagne sapphire because I know
you like color, and the jeweler said that stone is perfect for rose gold. The
little diamonds on the band are original to the ring—I liked that. But if it’s
not what you want, I’ll get you a new one. I know it’s not very modern.”
She cradled her left hand against her chest as if I’d tried to take the ring
from her finger. “You want this ring back, you’ll have to pry it off my cold,
dead hand. It’s perfect. Perfect.”
“Good.”
She leaned forward, taking my face in her hands and pressing her lips to
mine. “I’ve never been so happy in my entire life. My heart is going to burst
right out of my chest.”
“Mine too.”
“So happy or so shocked!” She giggled and looked at her hand again. “I
thought I was coming here for a tattoo!”
I laughed as I got to my feet. “You can still have your tattoo. I just
couldn’t wait to see that ring on your finger. And you know I love to
surprise you.”
She jumped off the chair and threw her arms around me, and I held her
tight, lifting her right off her feet. “Never stop surprising me,” she
whispered as she clung to me.
“Never,” I promised. I closed my eyes and breathed her in, feeling
overwhelmed with love and luck and gratitude. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I’ve never been so thankful for that stupid brain tumor.”
She laughed as I set her down. “Thankful? Why?”
“Because it brought me back to you.” I cradled her beautiful face in my
hands. “And it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“I love you,” she said, her eyes filling once more. “I loved you then, and
I love you now, and I’ll love you forever.”
I kissed her lips. “I’m counting on it.”
MAREN

I COULDN’T STOP LOOKING at my left hand. Even in the dark, the

ring sparkled and shone. Everyone at the impromptu engagement party at
the shop had commented how gorgeous and unique it was, and when we
had time, I was going to ask Dallas to tell me all about the woman who’d
worn it before me. I loved that my ring had a connection to his history.
Dallas chuckled as he pulled into the garage at our house. “You really
do like it, huh?”
“I love it.” I hugged my left hand against my heart. “I can’t get over
how perfect it is for me. In a million years, I’d never have been able to
describe it. I’m not like Emme, who had her ideal engagement ring picked
out by the time she was sixteen. I wasn’t even sure I’d ever get married.”
“Me neither.” He turned off the engine and we got out of the car. “I
thought that ring would sit in the box forever.”
“Can you give me the real tattoo tomorrow?” I asked. I hadn’t wanted to
wash off the stenciled proposal tonight, because it was such a fun piece of
the story. I’d taken a thousand pictures of it, and sent some to my sisters,
who were thrilled and weepy and sent their congratulations and hugs. I
couldn’t wait to show them the ring, which I’d be able to do next week
when we went back to Michigan for Emme’s wedding.
We held hands as we walked toward the house. It was an adorable two-
bedroom place in a lovely old neighborhood that was perfect for a couple
like us, but I was glad we’d have more space eventually. Already, I was
thinking about a family, which was another thing I’d never been sure about.
Now I wanted a whole tribe. “What do you think about kids?” I asked. “Or
is it too soon to talk about that?”
He gave me a look as he unlocked the door. “You’re not trying to tell
me anything, are you?”
I laughed. “No. It’s just a question.”
“Okay. Good.” He pushed the door open and let me go in first, then he
closed it behind him and wrapped me up in his arms from behind. “Because
I feel like I just got you all to myself and I’d like to enjoy that for a little
while.”
I smiled as he walked me from the shadowy kitchen into the living
room, where we’d left one lamp on. “But after that?”
“After that we can talk.” He kissed the side of my neck.
I spun around in his arms to face him. “How many can we have?”
His gorgeous blue eyes widened. “How many?”
“Yeah. Now that I’ve seen where we’re going to live, I want a whole
gaggle of kids.”
“A gaggle?”
I nodded happily. “Yes! I’m picturing like eight adorable little hippie
children running around the ranch, dirt on their faces, flowers in their hair,
planting vegetables, picking fruit off the trees…”
He shook his head. “Oh my God. You are not putting flowers in my
son’s hair.”
“I will if he wants me to. And who knows, maybe we’ll have eight
girls.”
His eyes closed. “I’m in so much trouble.”
“But you love me.” I kissed his lips. “And I love you, and whether we
have eight children or twelve or twenty or none—”
“Or two,” he said, backing me toward the stairs. “Two is good.”
I rolled my eyes. “Two isn’t even enough for a game of hide and seek,
let alone enough to tend a farm. Hey, can we have peach trees? I love
peaches.”
Groaning, he bent down, picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
“Me too.” He bit my ass cheek through my long cotton skirt. “I’m in the
mood for some right now, in fact.”
I shrieked as he carried me up the stairs and into our moonlit bedroom,
tossing me on the bed. “No! Don’t eat me!”
“But I’m so hungry,” he growled, reaching beneath my skirt and tugging
down my underwear. “And you’re so sweet.”
I laughed as he disappeared under my skirt and buried his head between
my thighs, but before long I was sighing with pleasure, my hands in his
hair, his tongue and fingers working their magic.
Then he was sliding up my body, shrugging out of his clothes, lifting
my shirt over my head. For the millionth time, I marveled that this was real
—this man inside me, this love reborn between us, this future we had
imagined. I held him tight as he brought me to a place where we were the
only two people in existence, where we’d been made only for each other,
and the whole world was ours alone.
I would cherish this feeling forever.

THE END

THANK you for reading Dallas and Maren’s story. If you enjoyed this,
you’ll love Emme and Nate’s story, Only You, available now! Stella’s story,
Only Love, is coming this November 26th.
Want more Dallas and Maren? For access to an exclusive (and steamy)
bonus scene, go to the next page!

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 BONUS SCENE

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for choosing to read Only Him! I hope you loved
reading their story as much as I loved writing it. If you’d like a little more
Dallas and Maren, sign up for my newsletter with the link below and the
first thing you’ll receive is a bonus scene you can’t get anywhere else!

http://www.melanieharlow.com/onlyhimbonus/

Love,
Melanie

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 NEVER MISS A MELANIE HARLOW
THING!

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 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m so grateful to the following people:

Melissa Gaston, Dima Gornovskyi, Kayti McGee, Corinne Michaels,
Laurelin Paige, Sierra Simone, Jenn Watson and the Social Butterfly team,
Rebecca Friedman and Friedman Literary, Flavia Viotti and Bookcase
Literary, Nancy Smay of Evident Ink, the Shop Talkers, the Harlots and
Harlot ARC Team, bloggers and event organizers, my Queens, my readers,
and my family.

You lift me up.

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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Melanie Harlow likes her heels high, her martini dry, and her history with the naughty bits left in. In
addition to ONLY HIM, she’s the author of ONLY YOU, the After We Fall Series, the Happy Crazy
Love Series, the Frenched Series, STRONG ENOUGH (a M/M romance co-authored with David
Romanov), and The Speak Easy Duet (a historical romance set in the 1920s). She writes from her
home outside of Detroit, where she lives with her husband and two daughters. When she’s not
writing, she’s probably got a cocktail in hand. And sometimes when she is.

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 ALSO BY MELANIE HARLOW

The Speak Easy Duet

The Frenched Series

Frenched
Yanked
Forked
Floored

The Happy Crazy Love Series

Some Sort of Happy
Some Sort of Crazy
Some Sort of Love

The After We Fall Series

Man Candy
After We Fall
If You Were Mine
From This Moment

The One and Only Series

Only You
Only Him

Strong Enough (A M/M romance cowritten with David Romanov)

The Tango Lesson (A Standalone Novella)

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