Fervent
Page 24
“It boils down to don’t leave me, I need you.” The grief surges with every exhale. “I’ll miss those crystal blue eyes, your wholesome laughter, and your beautiful heart.”
The emptiness inside my heart expands. Nothingness threatening to take my soul, leaving me lifeless. “Make the pain disappear,” I sob.
“Aspen,” Dad touches my shoulder. Wrapping an arm around me, he pulls me toward him. Gently rubbing my back, he whispers, “it’s time for the service. Come with me. This will pass.”
Those words unhinge me. Tears burst out, and my chin trembles. Pain forms in the pit of my stomach, coming out like an uproar from my throat.
“When will it stop hurting?” I kiss the coffin caressing it one last time.
“In time, sweetie,” Dad responds hugging me tightly. “Time will heal your heart. I’m so sorry you lost him. He was a good man.”
He was the best. The loss is more than my heart can take. I don’t think I’ll survive. Glancing at the coffin, I send a silent prayer. Numb me. Freeze my heart. I don’t want to feel again
In the beginning The first time I saw you my heart whispered, “that’s the one.” ~ Anonymous
Hunter
Living in one of the biggest cities in the world means more people are out and about at all hours of the day—even at night. Lights illuminate the sky. There’s not a moment of silence. The cars drive around with their headlights on. I can’t see a single star in the sky. Nights like tonight make me wish I lived in the country, a house in Upstate New York. I’d trade my penthouse for a piece of land where I can watch the sky, littered with dazzling stars, relax near a lake, and listen to the backdrop of crickets in the long, fresh grass. Instead, I’m hurrying through midtown Manhattan. I fight the crowd as hundreds of people bustle in and out of the theaters on Broadway, all of them dressed in their best.
Debating between fighting for a cab or walking faster, I stop to check my phone. H’s picture and name flash on the screen as I pull it out of my jacket pocket. Over, we are over, I repeat inside my head. Once it stops, the notifications appear. I have thirty texts and eight missed calls—from her.
Why can’t I find an ordinary woman? My brothers ask why I’m even looking for a woman. They don’t have time for relationships and would rather play the field. I’m the youngest of four, and we couldn’t be more different. I’m the one who prefers routine. Is it so wrong to want the same person next to me at night?
The dating scene is complicated. Being me makes it at least a hundred times harder. If given a choice, I would date a woman who doesn’t know who I am, like the one coming down the sidewalk at the moment. Her hair is straight black; she wears a pair of jeans and flats, her figure a perfect hour glass. Out of habit, my eyes fall on her hand to look for rings. When she comes close to me, I see the stream of tears falling down her cheeks.
“Sorry,” she says, as she bumps against my shoulder.
I grasp her elbow breaking her fall. “Careful, sweetheart. Are you okay?”
She shakes her head; her eyes focused on the ground. Her sobs are muffled by the honking sound of a car.
“Is there something I can do to help?” her head tilts to the left; I remove the black curtain blocking her angelic face. There’s a need inside me. “The Everhart Complex” as my brothers would say, yearning to erase her pain. “Can I walk you home?”
“No, thank you.” She dries the tears with the sleeve of her light jacket.
“What’s your address?”
She snorts. “I live in Queens. I have a long way to go.”
Not letting her go, I hail a cab helping us both inside it.
“Where in Queens?”
The beauty lifts her head, her dark eyes almost as dark as her hair. “No, thank you. I’ll walk.”
“This one’s on me,” I order the driver to head to Queens. “What’s your address?”
“Sorry, usually I don’t . . . it wasn’t a good night. A week—or a year . . .” she apologizes, searching inside her big, black purse. “Park Avenue and Seventy-second Street, please.”
That’s not Queens, but I’m interrupted by the buzzing sound of my phone. I pull it out of my jacket and regret it as I see a new text from my brothers, and Henrietta, my ex.
H: We need to talk.
Scott: Your ex is harassing me.
H: No one will tell me where you are. I think this break is taking too long.
Fitz: H is texting me. You said it was over.
I text my brothers from the group chat. It is over.
Scott: Let her know, and tell her to lose my number.
Fitz: Stop being a serial monogamist. But if you must, find someone less . . .
Clingy, fake?
Scott: The word you’re looking for is fake.
Stop sending me texts; I want to type or throw my phone out the window. Being the baby of the house has few benefits, in general, it’s a pain in the ass. My brothers continue texting for the next few minutes. Giving me unsolicited advice on how to get the perfect girl. Not that either one of them has landed a girl—or plans on doing as much.
The woman next to me snorts. “Is she always that bold?”
I turn my attention to her; hers is on my phone. “Do you always read over people’s shoulders?”
H: We have to get back together. We have something great going on.
H: At least give me a chance to talk about the summer.
H: Can we rent a house in the Hamptons? My parents would love to join us.
“What do you mean?”
She twists her lips to the left while her dark, blue eyes stare at the screen. “She wants you to rent the house. As in you pay for it.”
My eyes narrow, the memory of last December hitting me hard on the head like an ice-cold bucket thrown from the sky. H wanted a big cabin in Vermont for the winter. I paid for it, and her family enjoyed it all fucking winter long.
“No. You shouldn’t overthink it.” Her eyes brighten, not sure if it’s the unshed tears or the light hitting her face. “Or regret it. Next time, try to get to know her before offering her a trip to Barbados.”
The cab stops right at the corner of Park Avenue and Seventy-second.
“This is me,” she says, sighing. “Reality awaits. Let’s confront my master, my demons, and beg for a little help.”
“Sounds like you don’t want to do it.”
She hands me a ten-dollar bill. “Thank you for the laugh.”
“At me?”
“No.” She smirks. “Maybe.”
“Should you be begging for help?” I don’t assume, but maybe she’s going back to some rich guy who will solve her money situation.
“In this case, yes. Let’s hope he forgives me and opens his home and wallet for a few days.”
With that, she shuts the door, dragging herself off to the third building on the left. I wonder where she’s going and who she is visiting. Mostly, why do I care about her and her name?.
Acknowledgments
I am so grateful to so many people. First and foremost, to all my readers. You’re the power that pushes this engine. I am grateful to have you. Thank you for reading my words, and for supporting my books. Thank you so much for those emails and notes, they mean so much to me.
My husband for his continuous love and support, not sure where I’ll be without you, babe.
To the amazing group of editors that helped me shape Fervent. Paulina, Ellie, Virginia, Marla, and Mo Stysma.
Stephie Walls who was writing but still made time to go through the manuscript and helped me polished it. I’m so thankful for everything that you do for me.
Thank you to Debra and Drue who help continuously help me pushing my books and my brand.
My beta readers, Yolanda, Colleen, Christine, Melissa and Patricia. Thank you for reading the first draft of Fervent and helping me with the Everhart boys who are proving to be amazing and challenging.
To Hang Le. I’m thankful for her patience, her talent and her friendship. I love
you so much.
To my Chicas, you’re the best fans in the universe. I love you from here to the moon.
Thank you to Give Me books. To all the bloggers, and event organizers. Your effort and energy are what makes my releases such a success. Thank you so much for everything you do for them, I appreciate every single one of you.
Also By Claudia Burgoa
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Until I Fall
Finding My Reason
Flawed
Unexpected Series
Unlike Any Other
Unsurprisingly Complicated
Uncharted
Uncut
Undefeated
About the Author
Claudia is an award winning, international bestselling author. She lives in Colorado working for a small IT company, managing her household filled with three confused dogs, two daughters wrought with fandoms and a son who thinks he’s the boss of the house. And a wonderful husband who shares her love for all things geek. To survive she works continually to find purpose for the voices flitting through her head, plus she consumes high quantities of chocolate and wine to keep the last threads of sanity intact.
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