by Megan Walker
“I probably would have decided I was hurting you. But I wouldn’t have left. And you could have told me to knock it off and be there for you. You’re good at that.”
“Think you would have listened?”
“Yeah. Because I listen to everything else you say. You seem to have that effect on me.”
She holds me tighter. “It’s not true, what you said about me not needing you. I do.”
That pit in my stomach comes back. “Maybe. But not the way I need you.”
“No, I do,” she says. “Every bit as much.”
“I believe you want to be with me. But if I was gone, you’d still have your family, and your life. You have so many good things.”
“But I wouldn’t have you. The way you love me—” She shakes her head. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. You’re focused on me. I matter to you.”
“Of course you do,” I say. “That’s what a relationship is.”
“It’s not what all relationships are,” she says carefully. “If my cancer came back, you’d stay with me.”
Oh. She says that she wasn’t in love with her boyfriend who left her, that she broke up with him when she was diagnosed, and that was for the best. I believe her, but I can still see how it would sting, never knowing if you’d find someone who would want to stay.
“Of course I would,” I say. She burrows her face into my neck, and I hold her close. “You’re sure it’s going to come back.”
“No,” she says. “No one can know, really.”
“I mean emotionally. You feel that it will.”
She’s still for a moment, and then she nods.
I understand that. This sense of impending doom, that every bad thing that can go wrong will. But I also don’t want to be something she’s doing because she’s scared of the future.
“If you knew that it wouldn’t,” I say, “and that you were going to die in your nineties of unrelated causes in a nursing home, would you still want to be with me?”
“Yes,” Allison says. “Because I’d want you to be there with me in that nursing home, and for us to have had this beautiful life together.”
I can see it—Allison as one of those little old ladies who’s always bitching that no one listens to her, and me mostly deaf from all the loud music I’ve played over the years, pretending that I can hear everyone even though I can’t, carrying on my own side of the conversation, oblivious to everyone else.
But I’d know what Allison was saying, what she was thinking. Because we’d have been together so long, we wouldn’t even need to talk anymore to be in sync.
And I’d misinterpret her just to annoy her, because ninety-year-old me is probably still a dick.
“Since I recovered,” she says, “I’ve been so focused on getting things done. Too focused. You remind me of all the things I want to do that aren’t work related. Like spend time with my family.”
Like have one of our own, I want to add.
She smiles at me, and I’m caught in those warm, beautiful eyes. “You make me think about what I really want out of life,” she says.
“You make me remember how to want things.” I press my forehead to hers. “And you’re at the top of that list.”
That’s something I know will never change.
Twenty-eight
Shane
Three months later
I get my copy of the interview I did with Rolling Stone the same day it hits the newsstands. I’m afraid to open it. I have no idea how the interviewers decided to paint me after I opened up about everything. I mostly did it because I felt I owed it to Anna-Marie to set the record straight—about the lies I told, the way I behaved. We’re finally friends again, and I want to do right by her. And the rest of it, well. They were saying it anyway. I hope things will calm down now that I’m not treating it like a secret.
Ripping open the envelope, I sit down on my stool next to Allison’s work desk. We’re sharing our living room studio now, with her fabrics and sketch pads stacked next to my amp and sound board and guitar stand. She’s on her laptop responding to her manufacturer, but she looks over as I pull out the glossy cover.
Damn. There’s me and Kevin on the cover of Rolling Stone. That’s a dream I never thought I’d see happen—especially with the headline: “I lost my mind there for a while.” Beckstrom opens up about post-traumatic psychosis, ex-girlfriend Anna-Marie Rios, and life after Accidental Erotica.
Allison abandons her email and turns to face me, sitting sideways on her chair. Kevin and I stare up at us from the cover. We look somber, like we’ve just been to a funeral. And I guess we kind of have.
“Damn,” Allison says. “My fiancé is sexy.”
I laugh. “You needed to see me on a magazine to decide that?”
She rubs my forearm. “No. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate your hotness in many forms.”
I kiss her and then open the magazine, flipping to our article. I knew the reporter was eating up everything I told them, but damn, they were thorough. It’s all here, from the real story of what happened between me and Anna-Marie to the pain of losing JT and my falling apart mentally after the accident. It’s embarrassing, having that be public, but the rumors went crazy after the last article broke, and I wanted to set the record straight.
Yes, I’m taking anti-psychotics. Yes, they’re working. Yes, I still have nightmares, but they’re getting better. Yes, I’m seeing a therapist who wants me to try all kinds of crazy things like holding buzzers that alternate pulses in my hands and staring at a pencil while she moves it in front of my eyes while I process old memories.
It makes me feel crazy, but it’s helping. I’m feeling more like a normal person every day. Not my old normal, which I think now was just one long fight to avoid feeling, but a new normal, where I have feelings and I don’t need to lash out to protect myself from them.
It’s weird as hell, frankly, but for the first time in my life, I’m feeling things I want to be feeling. Allison’s a huge part of that, and I’m grateful for her every day. I’m also grateful that Kevin and Maya decided to stay in LA, after all—I meant it when I said I would make it work even if he moved, but it’s sure as hell nice not to have to.
The inside article has several more pictures of me and Kevin, and a big, full-page one of me and Allison. There’s a long section about how we met, and the influence she’s had on me. I smile while I read the long quote about how much I love her, and how much her support has changed my life. I couldn’t have done any of this without her, the pull quote reads. I’m not sure I would have survived.
Allison leans against my shoulder. “I think you give me too much credit,” she says. “I didn’t do any of the hard work.”
“You put up with me,” I say. “That’s got to be hard work some days.”
She shakes her head. “Not as hard as you think.”
I’m not sure about that, but I believe she believes it. It’s true what I said, though. I couldn’t have done any of this without Allison. She hasn’t done the work for me, but she’s given me a safe place to do the work, and a future I want to work through it for. She underestimates how important that’s been, but I don’t.
Allison impatiently turns the page. “Please tell me they printed the stuff about the festival.”
They did. The article ends with a long section where I talk about the plans for the festival—the concept and the process of getting together bands who want to play. Kevin and I have been contacting lots of the bands we know, but I’m hoping that this article will result in some people calling me.
It can’t hurt that the reporter caught the rumor that Alec Andreas has agreed to headline my first event. While I can neither confirm or deny that publicly until the ink is dry—something that won’t happen until I get a lot more of the particulars ironed out for the contract—I’m glad buzz about that is gett
ing around without my help.
I may have invested money in Allison’s business, but she’s invested a lot of energy in mine, and I couldn’t be happier with the way everything is coming together, for her and for me.
There’s a loud hissing sound from the other room, and then Lord Shelldon, Allison’s cat, comes shooting into the room and jumps up on her work table, looking seriously affronted. He’s followed by the kitten Allison gave me—Sir Snugglesworth—who isn’t quite dexterous enough to leap after Shelldon, so he sits down next to Allison’s chair and mewls pitifully.
Shelldon glares me down. The love in the relationship between him and Snugglesworth only goes one way, and I’m not sure Shelldon is ever going to forgive us for bringing this little ball of fur into his life.
I bend down and pick up Snugglesworth, who was small enough to fit in my palm when Allison gave him to me, but is starting to be a two-hand cat. I move the magazine and set Snugglesworth on my lap, and then twist the ring on my finger—a simple titanium band.
“Are you worried about the reaction to the article?” Allison asks.
“No,” I say. Most of this isn’t new information—just my side of the story from a reputable source. People are going to react how they’re going to react, and I’m okay with that.
“Nix is coming over later for her fitting,” Allison says. “She’s going to die when she sees that article. Somehow I think it’s still a novelty for her that I’m dating you. I wonder if she’ll get used to that before we get married.”
I doubt it. Nix doesn’t exactly treat me like a celebrity—more like the older brother she never had. But she’s also the kind of person who milks all the fun and excitement out of life that she can, and I have a feeling she’ll be milking her connection to stardom for a long time to come.
I look up at the dress hanging in the doorway—a smooth, black sheath dress with a skirt that’s floor length on one side and cuts up to mid-thigh on the other. Nix begged Allison to make her a bridesmaid dress when Allison asked her to be her maid of honor. I think she was even more excited about that than she was about my idea for the wedding. Since Allison beat me to proposing—tying the ring she gave me to the collar of our new kitten—I’m planning the wedding, and everything except the date and Allison’s and Nix’s dresses is a complete surprise. I ran the whole thing by Nix to make sure she thought Allison would like it, then made a hefty donation to the Los Angeles Zoo to convince them to let us do a simple ceremony in the giraffe enclosure.
“Nix said she needed to talk to you about wedding details,” Allison says casually. “Any chance you’re going to give me a hint?”
“Nope,” I tell her, and she pretends to be annoyed. I lean over and kiss her, and we get carried away, both moving off our seats to press against each other. Snugglesworth complains as he slides to the ground, claws scratching at my jeans, but he lands on my shoe and then immediately darts across the room, chasing something I’m pretty sure he imagined. The magazine falls to the floor, too, pages ruffling at our feet.
I run my hand through Allison’s hair, pulling her to me, completely wrapped up in this woman, who I love more than anything in the world. I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to end up with her, and I don’t know how I could ever be good enough to be worthy of her.
But I’m damn well going to try.
Acknowledgments
There are so many people we’d like to thank for helping make this book a reality. First, our families, especially our incredibly supportive husbands Glen and Drew, and our amazing kids. Thanks also to our writing group, Accidental Erotica, for all the feedback.
Thanks to Michelle of Melissa Williams Design for the fabulous cover. Thanks to Amy Carlin and Dantzel Cherry for being proofreading goddesses, and thanks to everyone who read and gave us notes throughout the many drafts of this project—your feedback was so greatly appreciated.
And a very special thanks to you, our readers. We hope you love these characters as much as we do.
Janci Patterson got her start writing contemporary and science fiction young adult novels, and couldn’t be happier to now be writing adult romance. She has an MA in creative writing, and lives in Utah with her husband and two adorable kids. When she’s not writing she can be found surrounded by dolls, games, and her border collie. She has written collaborative novels with several partners, and is honored to be working on this series with Megan.
Megan Walker lives in Utah with her husband, two kids, and two dogs–all of whom are incredibly supportive of the time she spends writing about romance and crazy Hollywood hijinks. She loves making Barbie dioramas and reading trashy gossip magazines (and, okay, lots of other books and magazines, as well.) She’s so excited to be collaborating on this series with Janci. Megan has also written several published fantasy and science-fiction stories under the name Megan Grey.
Find Megan and Janci at www.extraseriesbooks.com
Other Books in the Extra Series
The Extra
The Girlfriend Stage
Everything We Are
The Jenna Rollins Real Love Tour
Starving with the Stars
My Faire Lady
You are the Story
How Not to Date a Rock Star
Beauty and the Bassist
Su-Lin’s Super-Awesome Casual Dating Plan
Ex on the Beach
The Real Not-Wives of Red Rock Canyon
Chasing Prince Charming
After the Final Slipper
Su-Lin and Brendan Present: Your Wedding
All-Night Dungeon
Turn the page to read the beginning of Su-Lin’s Super Awesome Casual Dating Plan,
book eight in The Extra Series.
One
Su-Lin
At my sister Mei-Ling’s wedding reception, the hotel ballroom is draped in shades of cream and blush and twinkling crystal, with red accents at every table and double happiness symbols etched in gold on the napkin rings. All perfectly chic. Well, perfect if you’re Mei-Ling and you want a wedding that looks like it emerged fully formed from some “Modern Chinese-American Weddings” Pinterest page.
I think it could use a little character, personally. A little fun. But the first thing my sister did after asking me to be her maid of honor was to hand me a list of things I am not to do at her wedding. Number one on this list was “Anything that fits Su-Lin’s definition of fun.”
I should be insulted; after all, I was the one who introduced Mei-Ling to her now-husband, Wes Chen. I practically made this wedding happen. If I want to perform my maid of honor speech with my Ruby Van Raspberry sock puppet and cap it off with a mic drop, I should be allowed to. Begged to, even.
Numbers two, three, and four on the list:
2. No sock puppets.
3. No speaking in accents from your YouTube show or anywhere else.
4. No mic drops.
My sister knows me all too well.
But I’m not insulted. I know her pretty well, too, and it’s not that she doesn’t love me or my “definition of fun.” She’s just kind of anal about things sometimes, and her wedding being Modern-Bride pristine is one of those things. I can support that.
And so far, so good. The outdoor wedding ceremony went perfectly—not a single drop of rain despite Mei-Ling’s panic the night before that LA would somehow be deluged in a Biblical-level rainstorm. The tea ceremony was all traditional and sweet and kind of boring, which is pretty much what my sister wanted. My sock puppet (and accent and mic drop)-lacking speech even seemed to hit the right notes of saccharine and snooze, and the audience ate it right up.
Not that I actually spent much of the day mentally present for any of this (speech included). An actual transcript of my brain today would look something like this:
Su-Lin’s Brain at the wedding ceremony: Wow, Brendan looks s
uper hot in a suit.
Su-Lin’s Brain at the tea ceremony: Yep, still hot in that suit.
Su-Lin’s Brain while giving her big speech: How does he look even hotter now than earlier today, wearing that same suit? Ha, I could make a birthday suit joke in this speech. Auntie’s head would explode. And maybe Mei-Ling’s. I shouldn’t do that to my sister on her wedding day.
Su-Lin’s Brain during speech, part two: It’s too bad I couldn’t make that joke. Brendan would have thought it was both super cheesy and hilarious. Also, I bet Brendan looks even hotter in his birthday suit.
Su-Lin’s Brain, right now: I probably shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about my best friend naked, even if he is my wedding date.
In an effort to take my brain’s advice, I decide to peel my gaze away from said best friend, who is currently standing at the edge of the ballroom, looking at something my little sister Lan is showing him on her phone. (Lan also got a list, and number one on hers was “No cell phone.” Lan’s fifteen, though, and probably needs an actual phone-from-hand detachment surgery before she could comply with that.)
Before I manage to actually turn away, Brendan looks up and meets my eyes. He smiles that incredible smile of his, and I flush all over. Is it just in my head, or does that smile seem to contain a little something extra today?
I smile back, and give him a little wave. His grin widens, and he runs a hand through his bright pink hair—not a look that all guys can pull off, but he sure as hell can. I finally listen to my brain and head over to Mei-Ling, before my best friend can read in my expression all the thoughts I’ve had today about him pulling off all sorts of things.
Like my clothes, for instance.
Okay, that’s enough, Su-Lin. You’ve only had two glasses of champagne. Keep it together.
