Everly After (31 page)

I don’t know why, but I open a new message. It’s not as though she’s here. She might never see what I’m about to do. A part of me wishes, though, that she’d walk through the lobby entrance and race over to throw her arms around me.

I type:
Take care of yourself, Everly
. I erase it and try again:
You are the realest person I know. That’s the truth you’ve been searching for. Don’t give up
. I pause, my thumb hovering over the backspace key. I hit it until the screen is blank and write:
I’ll be waiting.

I save it to the drafts folder, then hand the phone back to the woman behind the counter. I don’t ask after a forwarding address, even if that’s the only thing I want. I can wait if that’s what she needs.

I walk down to the beach and climb up the steps to the rocky outcropping of ledge jutting out into the turquoise water. The sun is warm against my skin, the sky a brilliant orange, as I lie down and listen to the waves slosh against the weathered stone. I think I’m dreaming when saltwater starts dripping on me, soaking my T-shirt and jeans.

I open one eye, but it’s hard to make out the shadow hovering over me.

“I’ve never kissed you in Italy before.”

I tear off my aviators and push onto my elbows as I drown in the sound of her voice. Everly leans down and kisses me before I can move, straddling me in her wet swimsuit. Her arms slip around my neck as I sink back to the ground, her body against mine.

Around us, life spins on. Even as we lose ourselves to another kiss, the waves keep crashing, the sun keeps sinking, our hearts keep beating. It can all keep moving. Life can keep changing and throwing shit our way, but me and Everly? We’ll keep on moving, too, together. And it’ll be okay with time.

Truth.

Everly

Three months later

I pull the sash tighter on my trench coat and step out of my small office building in the East End. The air is still heavy with the scent of rain, and the streets are mirrors—pools of sky and clouds covering the roads as the sun peeks out for a quick hello. For all the gray and rain, London and I have gotten along splendidly since I arrived in September.

It’s much too nice out to take the Tube, so I decide to walk back to the flat I share with Gemma and her roommate in Dalston. Julia and I are still mending that relationship, but we do have dinner together every couple of weeks. I like having her and Gemma in my life. I like having girlfriends again.

The smile on my face has been an accessory today, much like my red lipstick. Happy looks good on me, I’ve discovered. Funny that it’s taken twenty-two years to figure that out. The letter in my purse is burning a hole there, the secret too good to hold back any longer. I’ve been in and out of meetings, had an appointment with a new therapist at lunch, and then back to work. I’ve liked having my days busy. I’ve liked working to make other people happy.

I dial my favorite number and wait, a nervous flutter in my stomach as it rings and rings. And then his voice breaks through, and I toss my head up to watch the sky, moving over so the rest of London can get home to their suppers. I’m never in a rush if Beckett’s on the line.

“Yes, darling?”

As always, as ever, his voice is smooth, maybe a bit breathless. I chuckle to myself, unable to find the words I wanted to say at first. “I could get used to that name,” I say finally.

I hear his thundering footsteps in the background. He’s been a one-man army since I left his aunt’s to start work in London. We stayed in Capri for a day and then took a flight back to France and packed his car up with the few boxes left at his apartment. He stayed to finish up in Étretat before he joins me here in London—well, hopefully.

“You should. I’m not going anywhere,” he says. My grin widens. “I’ll call you darling all day if you’d like.”

I know it’s early yet for us. I know that things happened quickly, that we fell for each other ass backward and we’re still learning about one another. I get that—I do. I know it won’t always be easy. We both still have so much to figure out on our own, but there’s time to sort out the rest.

“I miss you,” I confess, pushing past that ugly feeling in my gut, the voice that suggests he doesn’t miss me. I’ve been learning to ignore that voice more and more. It hasn’t been easy. I hear a large crash over the line and stop, someone bumping me from behind on the sidewalk. “Are you packing and talking to me?” I hear him swear in the background and then the sound of something being kicked. “Beckett?”

“I’ve hauled enough up and down these fucking stairs that I think I’m qualified as a Sherpa now.”

He says these silly things, and I swear he’s my favorite person.

“So packing…how’s it going?” I lower my voice as I enter the boutique, waving at the girl behind the register. A few others mill about, but my eyes find what I want from across the room.

“The place is nearly empty. I heard back from the estate lawyers today, and it looks like I’ll be able to join you in London soon. If you’d still like that…” He’s teasing me. I close my eyes and envision that grin of his. I miss being able to reach out and run my hand over the curve of his lips, see the way his eyes crinkle when he truly smiles.

“Maybe.” I brush off his comment and run my fingers over the navy wool. I can be a tease, too. “Beckett, do you think I need a few sweaters for winter in London?”

“Jumpers?”

It’s been our thing lately. I say the American words, and he gives me the British equivalent. Even faced with the possibility of me going to school back in the States, it’s been our way of enjoying the time we have together now.

“Are you planning to stay on, then?” I don’t get the chance to answer before he asks, “Where are you?”

“Oh, in some boutique.” I flip over the price tag on the sweater and wince. I have enough money for school, but my trust has been terminated. “I’m right around the corner from my place.” I put the navy sweater back and step closer to the front of the store. I do need sweaters. And lots of tea. “Thought I’d call.”

“Everly?”

The pink sweater—jumper—is cuter. I lift it up with my phone wedged between my ear and shoulder and hold it up against me. “Hmm?”

“Buy the damn jumper.”

“You’re very boss—” My words catch as I turn and see his profile through the shop window, those blue eyes of his shining, reminding me of finding him on that beach in Capri. My hearts stops, and I trip over my feet, nearly forgetting to set the sweater down. I rush out the door, run, and jump into his arms. We almost tip over, but he holds tight, like always.

“Hiya, pet.”

I pepper his face with kisses. Three long weeks of being apart. “Why are you here? How? What are…?” His lips trap mine for a few minutes, quieting my questions. “You tricked me.”

“There’s something you need to tell me, I think?” he whispers into my ear. “Gemma told me I should get to London today, that you have news.”

And then I remember. I remember and wiggle out of his arms and dig through my purse. I grin as I take out the admissions envelope and shove it at his chest.

He makes such a spectacle of opening it on the sidewalk on a busy London evening. Behind him, the sun glows orange as the night chases away the day. He’s a strong silhouette anchored before me, grounding me to the present. The rest of the world carries on, rushing past, and we’re stuck in this one moment. His reaches out his hand for mine, his grin turning into a full smile.

“You’re staying here in England? With me?”

He’s been accepted to finish up his undergrad at London School of Economics and Political Science while he works part-time at
The Guardian
. I’ll only be an hour away at Oxford, studying for my master’s in social migration.

I take back my letter and fold it up, placing it in my purse. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him. For everything on this crazy journey of ours, this moment might be my favorite.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend in London before,” I whisper, my lips brushing over his neck.

He kisses my forehead, and we stumble home, drunk on each other and the giddy promise that tomorrow we’ll have another day and another after that. That we have endless tomorrows if we’re lucky. And for that, I’m thankful he crashed my party that April night in Paris.

I like my chances.

The End

I want to thank you, yes you, my lovely reader! I hope you enjoyed
Every After
.

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If you enjoyed
Everly After
, keep reading for a sneak peek of my next New Adult release,
Between Everything and Us
, available January 2015.

-Between Everything and Us-

Matisse Evans is determined to make her sophomore year of college successful after failing out of a prestigious New York City art school and spending a horribly boring gap year at home. Despite her focus, time isn't on her side as she struggles to hold down three jobs so she can afford her first apartment while juggling course work. In the chaos of it all, Beau Grady moves in and shakes up her world. A college dropout and tattooed bad boy, the rumors about Beau mean one thing for Matisse—trouble. Paralyzed by the fear that she's missing out on life, Matisse discovers plans may unravel, but what rises in their wake can be worth the uncertainty.

After spending the summer couch surfing, Beau Grady moves into an empty room at his ex-girlfriend’s Portland bungalow, skipping his senior year of college to spend his days working at a Vietnamese food cart instead. Once a star hockey player and gifted student, he’s put his life on hold after receiving a life-altering diagnosis, complacent to live in the moment. Hiding behind false rumors and bad habits, Beau falls for Matisse, letting her believe the worst until their relationship blooms into something they both can’t ignore. Falling for her means having to face a future he’d rather forget, but loving her just might be worth it.

***

Between Everything and Us
, is the first book in a new series about four college roommates in Portland, Oregon. This New Adult romance is recommended for readers 18+ due to mature content.

Excerpt of
Between Everything and Us
by Rebecca Paula

Beau

I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding out on my mattress. Whoever is pounding on my door is basically taking a pickaxe to my head and prying apart my skull.

Damn.

Quiet wins for a few seconds, enough for me to get my shit together and not puke all over the floor. The mattress dips next me before a hand slowly creeps across my waist, then slides lower. I open one eye and tilt my head over the pillowcase, trying to bring last night’s hookup into focus. It’s usually a good thing to know, not that I’m complaining about the present course of things. Except for all the noise.

“I’ll use the air horn,” the voice threatens from the other side of my bedroom door.

Not a pickaxe then, just my roommate, Matisse, the human wrecking ball.

The hand that was seconds away from a great idea, freezes, then falls away. But the girl’s cheap perfume rolls over my jersey sheets and suddenly I’m stuck on a roller coaster, trying to keep my stomach down while I’m assaulted with the overwhelming smell of cotton candy and stale cigarettes.

“Beau!”

I swear my roommate’s found a battering ram.

“You use that air horn, sweetheart,” I yell back, clearing my throat. “I’ll piss in your precious paints.” Apparently bourbon has the magical ability of transforming my throat into sandpaper. My voice sounds just as smooth.

I remain still, but the world gives a chaotic swirl around me anyway. Everything’s blurry, even the blond and pink head beside me, the girl’s hair tangled and wild.

Fuck, what’s her name?

“I’ll key your bike,” Mati shouts back, not missing a beat. Before I can tell her that she won’t lay a hand on it, my door swings open and crashes back into the wall. “You promised, Beau.” I hear her trip over my crutches by the door. “Shit, I’m sorry.” My door slams shut again. “I didn’t think you were…” Her voices dies off from behind the other side of my door.

I snort, pawing for the sheets to cover up. Mati might have guessed I had company, I usually do. But judging by the sound of her colliding into the wall before her hasty exit, I don’t think she counted on me being naked.

The blonde next to me makes an angry hiss at the interruption. The fact that she hates me now instead of in a few hours really doesn’t make much of a difference. In fact, this is easier. I won’t go as far as to thank Mati, but having her barge in might be helpful in the future. Helps speed along the unpleasant goodbyes.