Timestorm (42 page)

“I don’t know.” I dug through memories I’d been avoiding for months. “Around nine in the morning.”

She nodded. “That’s pretty soon. Okay, all we need to do is find one difference and then maybe you can imagine a new outcome. How did that Holly react to someone with a gun? Or was there time to react?”

“She threw a shoe and used pepper spray.” I squeezed my eyes shut, hating how the tiniest of details brought back all the feelings I’d had in that moment. Dr. Melvin said I was experiencing PTSD and I would probably go long bouts without any problems and then one small trigger could bring me right back to the worst times of my life.

“Jackson, look at me,” Holly said firmly, and I opened my eyes right away. “I wouldn’t need a shoe or pepper spray to disarm and turn a gun on someone and you know that.”

True. Even after the loss of my extensive brainpower, I was still a pretty good shot, but Holly was better. Not that this Holly had any experience in the field, but she’d been shooting at the range for months as part of her part-time CIA trainee program.

My body relaxed about ten percent.

“What else is different?” Holly asked, recognizing that her technique might be working.

I reached up, taking her face in my hands. “You and me. We’re different. I’d never let that bullet hit you again. I’d never leave without you knowing how I really felt, without professing my undying love.”

She laughed and brushed her thumb across my cheek. “See? Your color’s back to normal.” Her fingers drifted over my jaw, down lower until she rested them at the pulse point in my neck. “Your heart rate is almost normal now.”

I slid my hands inside her robe. “It’s never normal when you’re around.”

“What a line.” She rolled her eyes and then her face turned serious again. “It sounds like you shut that other Holly out and that didn’t turn out well. I know some of what you’re going through, but you won’t throw that burden all the way on my shoulders. And I think you need to. You can’t let me in halfway, Jackson.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I rubbed the back of her neck with one hand and pulled her almost all the way on top of me with the other. “But I can’t exactly think of each and every possible trigger for memories I’ve tucked away and spill them all at once.”

“But you tried to tell me you were fine a few minutes ago,” Holly pointed out. “If I hadn’t pressed you for details, you wouldn’t have told me what was bothering you. For once, I want you to say exactly what’s going through your head. I can handle it.”

I looked up at her, studying her expression. Could she handle everything? Yes. But did I want to taint this Holly with all the horrible memories? I wasn’t quite ready to decide that but I did have other things on my mind that I could throw her way. “I was just thinking how much I love you and how many times a day I stop myself from telling you because I don’t want to drive you crazy. And I want to…” I rolled her over onto her back and leaned down, my mouth hovering close to hers, “buy an apartment for us to share, and have a dozen babies with you and send half to public school in Jersey and half to a private school on the Upper East Side and see which half turns out better. Maybe we’ll send a couple of them to secret-agent school, too, you know, keep up the family biz. Emily can teach them all eight different languages. And then we’ll get old and fat and probably bald, too, and I’ll love you even more because you’re willing to love the old, fat, and bald version of me.”

Holly was laughing so hard, tears were streaking down the side of her face. “You’re so full of it, Jackson. A dozen babies in a New York City apartment? And we’re not even married?”

I closed the gap and kissed her, then pulled back just enough to see her face. “I’ll marry you, Holly. I’m ready right now. I’ve been ready forever so you just tell me when, all right?”

Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open. “Did you just—?”

“Propose,” I finished, giving her another kiss. “I think so. But you said not to hold back.”

“Right, I did say that.”

I laughed at her shell-shocked expression. “Relax, Hol. Don’t freak out on me. I do want to be with you like that, but I also want you to do everything you’ve ever wanted to do—the second goal trumps the first, so no matter what happens with us, I’m going to feel happy at some level at least knowing you’re okay and you’re happy.”

“I’m happy right now,” she said with such certainty. “And I’d be even more happy if you’d admit this whole conversation is just a ploy to take advantage of my roommate being at class all day.”

“Yes, it totally is.” My lips traveled down her neck and then she was kissing me long and slow, our clothes falling to the floor one article at a time.

*   *   *

A couple hours later, we were exiting Holly’s dorm, the sun hitting us in the eyes after having dozed off for an hour or so. I tried to stay calm as we headed toward Holly’s first class of the day, but there was no stopping my gaze from roaming the area, looking for a delayed performance of my last attempt at living through October 30, 2009. But there was no threat in sight.

We walked for several minutes hand in hand, chatting about fall-semester class schedules, Emily, my dad, Adam, and also Holly’s training. When we reached the building where Holly’s calculus class was held, she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to face me.

“You don’t scare me, Jackson Meyer. You, your past, your plans for the future—I’m not afraid of any of it. I’m only afraid of admitting that it doesn’t scare me. I hope all these flashbacks and horrible experiences stop haunting you eventually, but even if they don’t, I’ll be there beside you, helping you through it.” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “You’re not perfect, but you’re perfect for me, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”

I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her off the ground. “Me either.”

We stood there in the middle of the sidewalk kissing for longer than would be considered appropriate and then Holly buried her face in my neck, and said, “I’d jump in front of that bullet, too, if it kept it from hitting you. I’m sure that’s not something you want to hear, but I’m just as willing to save you as you are to save me.”

She lifted her head and I touched my forehead to hers. “You’ve already saved me, Holly. At least a dozen times.”

“Good.” She kissed me and then disentangled herself from my arms, reaching for the door of the building. “Then it’s settled. We’ll keep doing what we’ve been doing and everything’s going to turn out fine. We’ve got time to figure out all the details.”

Time. Yes, finally we had time.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank my husband, Nick, for his continued support and love. My kids, for being proud of these books that they aren’t even old enough to read yet. My entire family, who have all gone out on the front lines, preaching the word of Tempest from day one. I have amazing parents, in-laws, aunts, siblings, cousins, uncles, nieces, and one amazing grandmother. I’m the luckiest author alive for all the family support that I have.

Also thanks to my agent, Nicole Resciniti, who may not have had much direct involvement with this series coming into it so late in the game, but she helped me through that emotional turning point all authors must face where we have to answer the question: What now?

Timestorm
beta readers, you guys are all so amazing. Some of you went so far above and beyond your beta-reader duties, I should be bequeathing my firstborn to you. I’m sorry in advance if I forgot anyone! You have my permission to harass me via e-mail and I will send you lovely presents—Kari Olson, Mark Perini, Erica Haglund, Malinda Childers, Heather Sheffield, and Chersti Nieveen.

My editor, Brendan Deneen, deserves one of the biggest thanks for the existence of this series. Sometimes I feel like we made a big pot of stone soup, beginning our journey together from basically a one-line premise: A boy witnesses his girlfriend’s murder, accidentally jumps back two years in the past, and tries to prevent her death from occurring two years from then. As we got more and more excited about the project, and as it started to become a book, others began to join our party, tossing more ingredients into the pot. And now it’s finally finished.

Those contributors to the pot of Tempest-series soup include a blend of author friends, publishing people, and other random non-family members: Nicole Sohl, Jessica Preeg, Rachel Kelleher, Tom Dunne, Joe Goldschein, Breia Brissey, Pete Wolverton, Roni Loren, Anne Marie Tallberg, Brittney Kleinfelter, Eileen Longo, Matthew Shear (who recently passed and I know is greatly missed by the wonderful people at St. Martin’s Press), and Beth Revis.

To the Tempest series fans, thanks so much for riding this wild wave with me. I have loved and appreciated all your support, reviews, and feedback. I hope this final installment is everything you wanted it to be. It’s heartbreaking for me to leave Holly and Jackson behind, to leave this story and these characters. I’ve been in this world for nearly four years and I’m attached to it in a way that will probably never be replicated in any future books because it’s my first. But knowing that the series can continue to fall into new hands helps me to see this ending as a new beginning.

ALSO BY JULIE CROSS

Tempest

Vortex

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JULIE CROSS lives in central Illinois with her husband and three children. She never considered writing professionally until May of 2009. Since then, she hasn’t gone a day without writing.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.

An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

TIMESTORM.
Copyright © 2014 by Julie Cross. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.stmartins.com

Cover photograph of man and woman © James Porto

ISBN 978-0-312-56891-7 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-02073-4 (e-book)

e-ISBN 9781250020734

First Edition: February 2014