by Aimee Laine
A mature receptionist, ‘Terri’ by her name tag, had probably gotten used to the crazy family members who rushed to the side of their loved ones. “Take a breather there, honey.” She peered at the computer over her reading glasses. “Now, have they been admitted?”
“I don’t know.” With a little more force than necessary, Charley’s hands clenched the edge of the counter.
“Moreland,” Terri said. “Moreland.”
Before Terri could locate Wyatt’s status, James peeked through doors marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’. Charley whipped out a quick “thank you” to Terri and jogged to him.
“Where is he? Where is Wyatt?” She hung on James’s shirt.
James took her wrist. “He’s back here with Lily.” He pulled Charley through the double-door entrance.
Curtains and closed doors lined the hallway as doctors in white coats and nurses in colorful uniforms walked in and out, between and around the rooms. Lab technicians pushed carts and walked with brisk purpose. James pulled her to the fourth room. As he reached it, he turned to look at her but didn’t say anything and opened the door to let her pass before him.
The occupants lay concealed behind curtains. “We got them in the same room.” James smiled at Charley as she turned toward his voice.
Charley pulled back the first curtain by a few inches. Lily lay in the bed, curled up under starched white sheets and cotton blankets. A monitor followed her vital signs as Cael sat in the chair next to her.
He twisted toward the interruption when Charley peeked in. “She’s fine,” he whispered, “just sleeping.”
Charley nodded to him in acknowledgement and stepped forward to the second curtain. With one finger, she pushed it apart just enough to peer in. Wyatt sat on the edge of the bed, pulling wires off his chest. Monitors began to bleep and blare, echo and bounce off the walls of the tiny space.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing that,” Charley said over the noise.
She snuck through the rest of the way.
He stopped, his expressions so full of love it rained on Charley like spring droplets in the sunshine. A new beginning lay before them, its path free of obstructions. Before she could move, the door to the room banged open, and a nurse and a technician rushed in. They yanked the curtain around the bed and stopped.
The nurse shook her head as she rushed to the spot where Charley had stood. “Sir, we need to keep the monitors on you for a little while.” She pushed him back to the bed as the technician pressed the alarm buttons and quieted the blare.
“Told ya.” Charley’s voice hitched.
Wyatt held out his arms, and she rushed forward, ignoring the tech and the nurse, and wound her arms around his neck, leaning her body against his. Tears of pain mixed with joy fell like a deluge from her eyes; she cried a year’s worth in a minute. When her hitches faded, she pulled herself from Wyatt, but only by an inch.
“Ma’am?” the nurse said.
Charley turned to her.
“We really need to get these back on him,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, okay.” Charley stood to Wyatt’s side, his hand in hers. The nurse reapplied the pads to his battered chest and reconnected the wires to the monitor.
“I was coming to find you.” He let his head rest against the pillow again.
“I could see that.” She wiped a hand under her nose with a laugh.
“Ma’am?” the nurse asked.
Charley looked to her again.
“Are you his wife?” she asked.
Charley looked to Wyatt.
“As good as,” he said.
The nurse hesitated a moment as if in consideration. “He’s been a downright disaster since he regained consciousness. I know it’s late, or early, depending on your perspective, but can you make sure he remains on this bed until all our testing is done and his doctor clears him to move about?”
Charley hiked one leg and slid it onto Wyatt’s bed. He shifted to the side as she brought the other one up and snuggled into his side, reclined her head on his shoulder.
“You can count on me.” She closed her eyes.
Epilogue
As day turned to night and black replaced blue, the ocean turned a satiny azure. The sun sank behind them as the ocean surf beat against the sand. Charley stood at the rail of the beach house, the wind whipping through her curls and the silk robe she wore but hadn’t tied. Behind her, Wyatt rained kisses along her neck.
“The sunset’s effect on the ocean is beautiful. Why don’t you watch it?” Charley giggled as Wyatt continued to lay his lips along her skin, following a path from her ear, down her shoulder.
With his hand, he stretched out her arm and continued to the tip of her finger.
“Naked with an ocean view. Can’t get more beautiful.” Wyatt returned to her neck.
She lifted a hand behind her and rested it against Wyatt’s head. His lips remained in place, but his hands ran the length of her body. She smiled at his moan and the pressure he added from behind.
“Are you sure you can handle me?” she asked.
His hands caressed her like one would a cat—fingers tickled and massaged, rubbed and pulled. “I can if you can handle me.”
“There’s one last thing,” she said.
Wyatt groaned but continued his sensual exploration of her skin.
“I told you before that this is it for me—the last time. My body will hold this shape after midnight, and that’ll be it. But—”
“There’s a but? I kinda liked the eighteen thing you had going on this morning. It suited you.”
Charley nudged him. “I’m going to be thirty-three, Wyatt. Remember? We agreed. One year younger. It’s pretty much permanent now. Will be in another few hours.”
“And you’ll remember everything, right?”
“Yes, but only if you stay with me. You’re the key to that. You know how a smell can bring about a memory from years ago? One you’d even forgotten? You’ll be like that for me.”
Charley turned in his arms and leaned against the rail. She ran her hands down his face, across his battered chest, and trailed her fingertips down his abs until she brought them back up and wound them around his neck again. She cocked her head to one side as Wyatt mirrored her in the opposite.
He leaned toward her and kissed her with the undying passion of three lifetimes about to merge into one.
“So we stay together and you remember everything. We don’t and you’re a flower in a vase with no water?”
“Yup.” Charley giggled at his metaphor. “I’m well prepared for it if you think I’m too much for you.”
“Ah. James and Cael. I get it now. That’s why you guys live together.”
Charley nodded. They worked and lived as a team so they could take care of each other. Charley found herself at a final point in a journey that most never reached. The choice she desired most looked into her eyes as if he were as much in love with her as she him.
“So what do you want?” He nibbled at her throat.
“I never want a single wrinkle or gray hair, though those will come.” She laughed at herself. “As for the final look, I don’t know. I liked Mira.”
“I like you,” he said, “just the way you are. I think I said that before. But I’m okay with thirty-three. Don’t want people thinking I’m cheating on my wife.”
Charley laughed and pulled away from him. “Are you sure? Because this is your last chance, too. Once midnight passes, there’s no turning back. Not just on my looks. You try and jilt me, James and Cael will hunt you down, dispose of your body and call it an accident.”
Wyatt didn’t even flinch. “I love you, Charley Randall. I have since the first day I met you.”
Charley smiled against his lips. “I love you, Wyatt Moreland. And I’ve loved you longer.” She tapped him on the nose.
Wyatt kissed her again. “And if you decide I’m not worth keeping around?” He smiled against her.
“You’ve always been worth
that. I tried to push you away three times before, but I never forgot you or stopped loving you. The type of love changed each time as you grew and matured, but it never died. I wanted you to have everything in life and didn’t think I could be a part of it. I fought it every step of the way. Of course, you wouldn’t remember all that, just my time as Mira.”
“No?” Wyatt cocked one eyebrow. “What about the lullaby?”
Charley’s surprise came in the form of a smile and a quick shake of her head. “How—”
“I hear it in my dreams. Took me a while to figure out what it was, but you hummed it at the hospital.”
Charley laid her head on his chest and sighed. “So, sometime, early summer, we make it official and formal? Lily thinks she can plan the whole thing right down to the last detail and bake the cake, dress the tables, design the flowers—all of it.” Charley rolled her eyes at the thought, but tornado Lily would do it justice.
“I think I can handle that.” Wyatt rubbed his nose against hers.
Charley laughed, a deep, happy, love-infused sound that reflected her true desires. “It’s a deal, then. Happy Birthday, Wyatt.”
“Happy Birthday, Charley.”
Acknowledgements
Oh, to get to ‘The End.’ It took a beginning, somewhere a few decades ago, to a teacher-Mom and a Dad who instilled in me a love of reading. So, first and foremost, I must thank my parents. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. After them comes my hubby; this is what the blood, sweat and tears are for. To my kids, who believe Mom is actually attached to her laptop … this is why. To my sister, who had the very, very, very first draft of Little White Lies in her hands … trust me, this one is way better, but thank you for even remotely attempting to read that one. To Claire Gillian, aka AuburnAssassin. Wow. Um. What to say? How many times can I change up a story in the first draft, while you’re reading, and you still actually want to read it? I bow to your patience and would like to know if you can bottle some of that and share it with me. To J.A. Belfield, yes, James will have his story and his growl and they’ll all be for you, baby. E-hugs from ‘across the pond’; I can’t thank you enough. To Angie Carlsen, my first ever non-family member, non-writer reader … thank you for your encouragement and the praise that every new writer wants to hear (oh, and the note to spice it up a bit. Hopefully, you noticed that I did). To Kris Fullbrook, who read the version you all see here and used such glowing words that my heart soared, to the folks on Scribophile.com who bore the brunt of my first chapter woes, threw preemptive strikes on my poor use of semicolons, and both praised and ripped my writing to shreds, I will be forever grateful. And finally, to my editor, Julia Helo Gonzales and everyone involved with J. Taylor Publishing … you rock.
Aimee Laine
Aimee is a romantic at heart and a southern transplant with a bit of the accent (but not a whole bunch). She’s married to her high school sweetheart, and with him, she’s produced three native North Carolinians, two of whom share the same DNA.
With an MBA and a degree in Applied Mathematics, there’s absolutely no reason she should be writing romance novels. Then again, she shouldn’t need a calculator to add two numbers, either … but she does.
Photo by Brian Mullins Photography
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Author
