Finding Him

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  My own voice mail.

  I pressed play on the one I’d saved.

  “Julian!” Mom’s voice was filled with laughter. “Did you drop off all those historical romance novels? They aren’t even out yet! Who did you sell your soul to? I won’t care, I just want to sell mine too. These are my favorite authors! Have I ever told you how proud I am of you? Or how much I love you? And not just because you bought me books, though that doesn’t hurt. I know you’re still upset with your brother and I know I keep beating a dead horse, but . . . I just want to know that my boys have found love and forgiveness with each other. It’s all we have on this earth, Julian. Money is fleeting, you know this, but love, love is forever, and Bridge loves you—so does Izzy. I want you to know I keep asking every nurse if they’re single, and I think most would leave their husbands for you. Hah-hah, that’s horrible. Don’t laugh, I’m the worst at joking.” I smiled as tears slipped down my cheeks. “Okay, another doctor’s going to poke me with something that’s supposed to make it better when we all know it makes it feel worse. Never forget who you are, Julian—mine. My son. The best son in the world.” The voice mail ended.

  I stared straight ahead.

  And then I did something I hadn’t done in a long time.

  I called my brother.

  “Julian?”

  “I’m at the hospital.”

  “Shit, are you okay? I’m on my way . . .” I could hear him tripping over things.

  “No, Bridge, I’m fine. I’m not here because I’m injured. Keaton hadn’t been feeling well. She passed out—she’s pregnant.” I just blurted it.

  The line went silent and then, “Are you calling because you’re excited or because you’re in need of a few paper bags to breathe into and a scrip for Xanax?”

  I actually smiled at that. “I’m excited. She’s . . . struggling.”

  His sigh was heavy. “Let her come to terms with it. It’s been a really hard year for you, for her, and honestly, man, the media hasn’t been the kindest to her. I know you’ve been avoiding it, but the comments on her last Instagram post are enough to make you sick. On top of that, the girl from the restaurant sold the picture to some celebrity gossip blog. They put you guys on their front page. I didn’t want to tell you, but there’s speculation all over the place, and people still aren’t over his death, over this love story between them, so they don’t understand how she could be.”

  “It makes sense,” I admitted. “It just . . . hurts.”

  “Love hurts,” he said frankly. “It’s not easy, and even though you don’t want to talk about it, it’s not like it was easy for me and Izzy. I mean pretending to be a dick all the time was completely exhausting.”

  “Fuck you.” I laughed.

  He joined in. “I betrayed her, remember? I accepted money because I thought it would help. I wasn’t guilt-free, and then I took her, stole her, not realizing the full story. My point is this: you fight for love because the minute you have a taste of it, you realize why wars are fought in honor of it. It’s the most precious thing in the world, and it’s worth waiting for . . . and fighting for.”

  I licked my dry lips. “When did you get so smart?”

  “I take pills, though I think they’re for erections since they’re blue?”

  “You just had to make a joke.” I snorted out a laugh.

  “Hey, brother . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Good to have you back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s your laugh, the real laugh, not the one you use in public. It’s the one that means you’re actually happy despite the shit storm you’re in—it’s good to have you back.”

  “It’s good to be back.”

  “Now go tell her you love her.”

  “On it.” I was about to hang up when I stopped and said, “Thanks, brother.”

  “Any time.”

  I smiled and slid the phone into my pants, then went back into the room.

  The very empty room.

  I looked around. Maybe she was in the bathroom?

  Panicked, I walked out and asked the nurse where she was, only to have the nurse give me a funny look. “She was just discharged.”

  “That fast?”

  “We aren’t that busy today.” Her look intensified. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Just heartbroken, abandoned, pissed. “I’m fine.”

  I tossed my coffee in the trash and made my way out of the hospital as fresh stupid snow fell all over me.

  And I cursed Noah to hell for making it impossible to love the person he left behind.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  KEATON

  I needed to think.

  And I couldn’t think with Julian around me. He wanted to wrap me up and hold me tight, he wanted to take away the pain and make it all better. And all I did was hurt him—because I didn’t know what to do.

  I was pregnant.

  With Julian’s child.

  Part of me was overjoyed.

  The other part of me was terrified.

  Of the future.

  Of what people would say.

  And it stung that he was right. Julian was right. I was making it about me, not about Noah, but it felt like I couldn’t separate the two.

  I hailed a taxi.

  With every intention of going back to my apartment, but something made me want to go to his. Because his felt like home, because it felt like us.

  The car pulled up in front of the modern building, and I was reminded of the night I went home with him, knowing how it would end, because I couldn’t stay away, because he was everything I hadn’t realized I needed in my life.

  Snow kissed my face as I slowly walked toward the door. Barry waved at me when I reached the security desk.

  He frowned. “You don’t look well.”

  Do not cry in front of a relative stranger. “I’m feeling a bit sick. Is, um, Julian back?”

  “Not yet.” He grinned.

  I was just getting ready to walk past him when he called out after me. “Between you and me, I’ve never seen him this happy. I would do anything for that man. His piece-of-trash father did a number on him, but I always promised myself I’d hold my tongue when it came to Edward Tennyson.” He spat the name.

  I turned around. “Sounds like you’ve known the family for a while?”

  He nodded. “Used to work at Tennyson Financial, until his father fired me a day before I was going to retire, making it impossible to claim all of my retirement.”

  I gasped. “That’s horrible! And illegal.”

  “Eh, tell that to a Tennyson. It doesn’t matter anyway. Julian found out what his father did and asked me what I wanted to do. Didn’t give me money, just asked, ‘What sounds good?’” He shook his head with a smile. “Such a peculiar question, like he knew I wanted to keep working to stay busy. I think I said something like ‘Well, I love people, so being a doorman would be a nice fit, plus it would keep me semiactive.’” He shrugged. “A day later I was starting work in his building.”

  I tilted my head. “His? Building?”

  Barry gave me a funny look. “He owns the whole damn thing, owns another one in Hell’s Kitchen too. Julian has an eye for real estate. His mom, bless her soul, picked out colors for the apartments in her last days.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “I wish I could have known her.”

  “You got the next best thing,” he said with a wink. “He has a lot of his mom in him, Julian. He cares—sometimes too much.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, nodding. “He does.”

  “You have a good day.” He gave me a small salute.

  And I rode the elevator in emotional silence thinking about what Barry had said. I knew all those things about Julian, but hearing the respect in his doorman’s voice almost made me feel worse.

  Because Julian was everything.

  And deserved better than the words I had said without thinking.

  I typed in Julian’s code and the door
unlocked, letting me into the silent apartment. I walked around a little bit, and then I went to the table where my laptop sat.

  I opened it again, this time without shaking.

  And I read the last few comments Julian had written.

  Not being able to speak to you would break my heart—this would be difficult for anyone—he was very brave, wasn’t he? Letting you accompany him into death so perfectly, knowing it would leave you with a permanent scar.

  I burst into tears until I couldn’t see the computer screen. It took a few moments before I calmed down and read the last few paragraphs Julian had written.

  And then, with shaky hands, I typed my peace.

  The love Noah and I had wasn’t fleeting, but it was different from the love I feel right now. Our love was new, exciting, undying. Meeting Noah was like meeting my best friend, someone who I would do anything for. Now that you know how we fell in love—I think it’s time to tell you how the story ends. You see, I thought I would write this book, type “The End,” then go mourn his life until I was sick with it. But he wouldn’t have wanted that. In fact, he was adamant that if he married me it wouldn’t be fair to the man I fell in love with next. “Your second love is always your true love,” he said. “Your first love is where you make all your mistakes, and I refuse to die knowing you wasted so many stolen kisses with me, when they were supposed to be his.” It’s like Noah knew the minute we found out treatments weren’t working, he was already letting go, he was already floating away, telling me in as many words as he could that it was okay. So I’m okay writing “The End” to our story because I know that’s what he wanted. He didn’t want me to tell our story because of him—he wanted me to tell it because he knew it would help me. He knew I would need closure to this chapter so that I could start another chapter one.

  I started writing this story thinking it was the end of something great, and not realizing it was also the start of something beautiful, something wonderful and new, something that would knock me off my feet. The reason you see comments in the margin of this book, the reason I’m keeping them, is because this isn’t just one love story. It’s two. Both are different. Both are beautiful. The man I first loved left this earth—and he left me with an angel with the name Julian Tennyson to stay with me and help me realize that it’s okay to have two loves, that my love for Julian doesn’t make my love for Noah any less powerful. When someone dies we don’t lose that love, we just make room for more. It’s the one thing that death blesses us with: the ability for our love, our hearts, to stretch in the face of loss. Mine did. By the time this book is published, I’ll be having a baby, and I’d like to think that Noah had something to do with that too . . . I’d like to think the snow falling outside as I type this is another omen that this is how our story was always supposed to be, and that he’s finally at peace.

  The End

  I left the computer screen open, and then went and lay down in Julian’s bed . . . our bed. And prayed he wouldn’t be mad that I’d left the hospital, or worried. I still couldn’t sleep, so I grabbed my phone and typed out at your apartment then sent the text.

  He didn’t respond.

  Ten minutes went by.

  Another twenty.

  I shouldn’t be upset, because it was my fault. “I’m so sorry, Julian,” I murmured.

  “Me too,” came his voice.

  I jolted up out of bed. He looked like I felt.

  Absolute hell.

  I burst into tears when he made his way over to me and pulled me into his arms. “Did you mean it?”

  “No! Of course not, I was just upset, I think I love you—no, I know I love you and this baby—” I stopped. “Why are you smiling at me?”

  “I meant what you typed on the computer, did you mean it?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. “Yes.”

  “You typed ‘The End.’”

  “Because I knew I needed to make room for a new beginning,” I admitted. “One with you.”

  “Not just me.” Julian grinned. “With us.” He touched my stomach. Butterflies erupted as he stared at me in awe and said, “It’s going to be a boy.”

  “Men!” I laughed through my tears.

  “But even if it’s a girl . . . we’re going to call her—”

  “Your mom’s name, we’re going to name her after your mom.”

  He sucked in a breath. While I watched him and wondered out loud, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  “Easy.” He kissed the tears streaking down my cheeks. “Snuck into my cabin with a pointy weapon and tried to fight an elk for my love.”

  “Um, that’s not exactly how things—”

  He kissed my words away. “So we remember things differently.”

  “You threatened me—” Another searing kiss, and then I forgot all about what I was going to say as he peeled my shirt over my head and made me forget every single protest I could have possibly had against arguing.

  And when we were naked in our bed, a tangle of arms, legs, mouths, and confessions, I realized that even if it’s messy and makes no sense—that doesn’t mean your love is any less real or true.

  It just means it’s different.

  “My heart grew for you too,” Julian whispered against my lips. “Now about that cat . . .”

  Epilogue

  JULIAN

  The cabin

  Three years later

  “YOU DID NOT JUST BUILD A FORT WITHOUT ME!” Bridge shouted over the mountain of snow Izzy had built to barricade herself in. Their little Jill looked like she belonged in A Christmas Story as she tried to meander from the snowball stash back behind the fort for protection, and Leila, well, Leila was just making snow angels then stomping in them for the sheer joy of making snow go everywhere.

  I shared a look with Keaton, who had just picked Leila up and was nuzzling her cold face when another snowball came flying by my ear. “Bridge, I will end you!”

  “You will end me?” he mocked. “Could you sound any more like a dad right now?”

  I burst out laughing and then ducked as another snowball came flying. He really did have great aim.

  Had someone told me a few years back that I’d be back at my family’s cabin with my own family, with my brother, his wife, my wife . . . our kids, I would have scowled and laughed in disbelief.

  Now, it was everything.

  My family was everything.

  My wife.

  My child.

  Our future children.

  I’d like to say that the minute the story was published, things were perfect. They weren’t. We realized very soon how much privacy we would need for our family, to protect ourselves from people who had no business judging the way we lived our lives.

  People were angry at first that she moved on. Angry that I helped her write the story, and the angriest are usually the loudest. The book spent weeks on all the bestseller lists, and slowly but surely people started to see we were real, that our love wasn’t just something born out of loneliness or publicity, but something real. It helped that we did almost all of the press tour for her book together, holding hands, explaining how we fell in love, much to the joy of every single person who interviewed us and was moved to tears by the time the interview was done.

  The response after our little girl was born was more gentle, maybe because people saw that what we had wasn’t a fling, or maybe they just sensed our love for each other wasn’t fleeting but forever.

  I proposed when she was six months pregnant, and married her when Leila was old enough to attempt to be the best ring bearer in the city.

  And I let go of the guilt.

  It didn’t happen fast.

  It was a slow unpacking of years’ worth of guilt for not being there for my mom, for caring more about my dad, and it was becoming a dad myself that helped me realize that fathers are still human, still struggling to do the best we can in a world that doesn’t make it easy.

  And I found out that Keaton was right. Love grows; it gr
ows until it can’t be contained, and then it grows some more.

  Another snowball went flying. I sent Keaton a helpless look. “Are you going to watch me protect Winterfell all by myself?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You and that show . . .”

  “HEY!” Bridge stood like he was offended.

  Bingo.

  Direct hit as my snowball sailed into his face, covering him in snow. “Hey, you okay, man?”

  “That’s it.” He started charging toward me, only to slip on more snow and get it in his pants. More shouting, cursing as both moms covered tender, young ears. And rather than feel guilty that I was missing out, I was thankful for the time I had now.

  To not just make things right with my brother.

  But to make my mom truly proud, by being a good father.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I’m so thankful to God that I can write stories and that I get to work with amazing publishers like Skyscape, who truly want to bring that story to life, and to every single ravenous reader out there! My husband was super helpful with this book. I kept telling him I had this story idea, and he was the one that was like, “Well, write it!” I could not have done it without the help of Maria, my amazing editor who basically went, “You can do better, lol.” Hey, sometimes we need tough love like that! I don’t think I’ve ever been stretched so much (in a good way). This story and the one it follows are a part of my soul, and I felt like they needed to be told. Thank you to my insanely awesome beta readers, who helped me every step of the way even when I had to do a slight rewrite. To Melody and Kay, my editors, who helped pick out the places where I could make the book stronger. And to all of the Rockin’ Readers who put up with me constantly teasing them with excerpts! Nina, Jill, Becca, Erica, you’ve all helped so much, especially with my writing schedule and helping me navigate what has easily been the most stressful, heartbreaking, yet incredible year of my life. To the bloggers and readers who support us authors constantly, I really won’t ever be able to thank you enough. You are the reason I get to do what I love, I am eternally grateful for your support and loyalty, and I hope you enjoyed this one! If you want to catch up, you can find me on www.rachelvandykenauthor.com or on Insta/Twitter @RacheVD. If you’re feeling frisky, join my interactive reader group via Facebook: Rachel’s New Rockin’ Readers! Until next time! Hugs, RVD.