by T. Torrest
Arianna put on her best Star Search smile and said, “All these lucky people get to go inside and catch a private viewing of Swayed. Wouldn’t you all love to be in that theater?” The crowd answered with hoots and hollers, making her laugh and add, “Oh, I’m sure I know why you’re all really cheering,” Arianna teased. “It might have something to do with a certain actor…” The crowd started in again, but then she put a hand to her headset and added, “And oh, here he is now, folks… the star of Swayed, Mr. Trip Wiley!”
The crowd’s pitch turned positively fevered, going completely nuts as they waved over the velvet ropes, just screaming his name. It was a little scary, seeing the manic energy of so many fans. I guessed the people out there were already hip to his existence, more so than the rest of the world. But clearly, that was about to change. I’d seen his newest movie. I knew what was going to happen to his status.
The camera cut to a shot of a stretch limousine, and I felt my pulse speed up. Finally, I was going to see Trip in a tux! He emerged from the car looking beautiful, of course, and my heart swelled at the thought that this man was going to be all mine very, very soon. He gave a wave as the crowd got even louder, drowning out whatever Arianna was trying to say. He stood there for a quick moment, basking in the sound of the mob’s cheers.
And then I saw him turn back toward the limo and hold out his hand.
For Jenna Barnes.
She materialized from out of the car and promptly draped herself over his good arm. To say I was astonished would be a gross understatement.
I watched as they sauntered gorgeously up the red carpet, smiling ear-to-ear, and met up with Arianna at the entrance to the theater. Even with the microphone, she had to speak loudly in order to be heard over the thunderous noise.
“Trip Wiley! Good evening, sir. How are you feeling tonight?”
Trip was dazzling. His shiny white grin reflected the strobe of camera flashes as he returned, “I feel good, Arianna. Anxious to get in there and finally see this film, I’ll tell ya.”
You already saw it, Trip. With me.
I still couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing, but my eyes managed to slide toward the cast peeking out from under the cuff of his tuxedo.
It was stark white.
Arianna put a hand to her headset and said, “And we all know who this lovely lady is with you. Trip, care to introduce her to our audience?”
Trip and Jenna shared a smile before he smirked and answered, “Well, the lovely lady is Miss Jenna Barnes… Soon to be Mrs. Trip Wiley.”
Arianna looked surprised, but I was positively blown away. My ears started buzzing, and it felt like I’d just taken a knife to the brain, but I managed to hear Arianna offer her congratulations as the crowd just went crazy. “You heard it here first, folks. Trip Wiley and Jenna Barnes are engaged!”
She’d gone on to blabber something about “heck of a weekend”, but by that time, I’d pretty much gone deaf. I registered the overturned paper plate and my abandoned pizza crust… and the fact that I’d somehow wound up on my knees.
There I was on the floor, stunned and broken, trying to figure out what to do next. I couldn’t shake the sight of that bitchy underwear model hanging onto Trip’s arm. I wondered if he was going to be a nervous wreck watching his movie, if she was going to be the one to hold his hand and get him through it.
Everything was falling apart again.
Between my job and my fiancé, I thought I had done everything right. Thought I had checked off all the boxes that labeled me neatly as a Responsible Adult. I had bided my time and played all of my cards, and in spite of my “grown-up” choices, all I got out of it was a shadow of the person I had one day hoped to be. I had, somewhere along the way, lost myself.
Until the day a beautiful, blue-eyed man walked through a hotel room door and reminded me of all that I was capable of, had me reassess my options, choose to be the grown-up version of myself I’d always planned on. He’d brought hope back into my life. He’d given me back my happiness. He’d given me back me.
But I was watching that beautiful, blue-eyed man walk down a red carpet with someone else on his arm.
The soon-to-be Mrs. Trip Wiley.
Goddammit, Trip. That’s not even your real name. Does she even know that she’s actually signing up to be Mrs. Terrence Chester Wilmington the Third? Does she even care?
I knew I had to stop this. There was no way he could marry that woman. Not if I had anything to say about it. I mean, how could he marry her when he was in love with me? I could still get on that plane and go see him. Maybe just the sight of me would be enough to stop him from making such a huge mistake. She was completely wrong for him on every level. This whole thing was completely wrong. He had to know that.
I suddenly realized that no matter what justifications I used to try and appease my disjointed thoughts, there simply was no way to spin this around. He’d just announced his engagement to the world, for godsakes. By the time I was scheduled to step off the plane the following evening, the story would already be on every entertainment show, splashed across every magazine. It would be a footnote after every headline:
“SWAYED” TOPS BOX OFFICE
Film’s Star Trip Wiley Engaged
What was he supposed to do after that? Re-announce his engagement? To another woman?
I knew then. The reality had finally hit me: He’d chosen this. He’d chosen her.
It was too late.
It was over.
The hurt hit me then, the positively earth-shaking, soul-shredding ache that overtook every fiber of my being and collapsed my trembling body to a crumpled heap on the floor. My hands went to my face as the tears poured out; every hope I’d ever allowed myself to have was gone, every dream I’d ever had was through.
Through the hurt came the humiliation, because—let’s face it—despite his choices, I was the one who made this happen. The fact of the matter was, Trip had offered me his heart, and I hadn’t accepted. At least not in time, anyway. And oh God! I’d told everyone where I was going! I was going to look like such a loser. The revelations just made me cry harder from the shame.
I bawled into the carpet as my fists punched the floor, my shoulders shaking, my stomach turning. It was a child’s cry, but then again, it was a child’s dream. I was not Cinderella. Never had been.
I couldn’t stop my sobbing, and I was too distraught to even try. I let myself cry until every teardrop seeped from my exhausted body, every ounce of energy drained from my wasted soul.
Wrecked and torn, crushed and lost, I could feel myself breaking apart, my insides shattering into a million pieces…
…and I was sure I’d never be put back together again.
After an eternity, the racking stopped. The heaving ceased. The tears refused to come.
I took a deep, unsteady breath and picked myself up off the floor.
There was nothing left to do but go home.
THE END
Remember When 3
(The third and final installment of the Remember Trilogy)
COMING SOON
About the Author:
T. Torrest is a New Adult author from the U.S. Her stories are geared toward readers who know how to enjoy a good laugh and a dreamy romance. A lifelong Jersey girl, she currently resides there with her husband and two boys.
A Note from the Author:
Wow. I just want to thank you for holding this book in your hands right now.
When I first put “Remember When” out to the masses, I never dreamed it would become such a beloved story. But so many of you have gone out of your way to let me know how much that book touched you and how you fell in love with the characters. Your kind words have meant so much and gotten me through many a moment of writer’s block!
I want to let you know that I truly grappled with ending this story on a cliffhanger of sorts.
But, let’s face it, we all went into this knowing it was a trilogy. *ducks for cover*
On th
at note, Book Three is already under construction, and I plan to get it out to you just as soon as I possibly can. I’m going to ask (read: beg, plead) for your patience.
I promise it will be worth the wait!
If you haven’t already done so, please come “like” the TTorrest Author Page on facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/TTorrest-Author-Page/127136890800725?fref=ts
We have lots of fun discussing books, movies… and the eighties!
I also love to get friend requests on Goodreads, and if you’d like to drop me a personal message, my email is [email protected] . I always do my best to write back!
And lastly, as always, if you enjoyed reading this book, I ask you to tell your friends, loan it out, and please, please leave a review (without spoilers!).
Word of mouth is truly the only way we indie authors survive.
Acknowledgements:
I want to acknowledge a whole bunch of incredible people in regards to this book.
But I think I shall start with the BLOGGERS.
My God, you girls are insane. Whether you wrote a review, highlighted my book on your page or went full-on “squee” with the thing, I owe every ounce of Remember When’s success to you.
First and foremost: Gitte and Jenny from Totally Booked Blog. Just above and beyond. I have no words to properly convey my gratitude. Your enthusiasm has been contagious, and I thank you for it.
Kristine from The Schwartz Reviews; Abby and Dawn from Up All Night Book Blog; Dawn, along with Kristie, Jennifer and Lisa (“I’ll never wash this cheek again, Davy Jones”) at Three Chicks and Their Books; Audrey at Elle N’ Dee Blog; Susan and Lucy at Hearts on Fire Reviews; Kathy and crew at Romantic Reading Escapes; Brandi and the girls at Sugar and Spice; Monica at If These Boobs Could Talk (teehee); Kelly, Joanne and Liz at Have Book Will Read… Every one of you has kindly taken your time to read, review and/or help promote the book, and I thank you as well.
My new friends at the KDP boards and on Facebook, especially the “likers” on my page, the talented, generous people at both Bookaholics Anonymous and Book Babes, and the prim, proper, and upstanding young ladies over at Word Wenches. You all are huge hunks of fabulous slathered in awesomesauce.
Speaking of awesome… Hi there, readers! It’s been great getting to know you. I want to thank you ALL for taking this ride with me, but I’d specifically like to call Kay Miles out by name. She is not only responsible for introducing me to the Totally Booked girls, but has weaseled me into the BA Facebook group as well, which includes such big-name authors that it makes me want to puke. Thanks for the hookup, sister.
Fellow author, Stevie Kisner: My sounding board, my beta reader, my confidant and friend. I’m so glad to have met you. Someday, I plan on getting my butt to the ABQ and plying you with massive amounts of alcohol. I love your guts, you rotten skank.
Fellow writer Casey Moore Smith: My new friend and unofficial editor. Your feedback has been insightful, but your contributions toward RW2 have been invaluable. (You have no idea how badly I wanted to write that as “you’re” just to give you an aneurysm.) Any mistakes in this novel are mine and mine alone.
Both Stevie and Casey voluntarily put their lives on hold in order to help me during the mad dash of last-minute changes and edits. Saying “thank you” is not nearly enough, but THANK YOU. I hope one day to repay you both for all you’ve done.
And now, my real-life peeps:
I’ll start with my sister Diana (because she’ll kill me if I don’t). Thanks for being a First Reader… Although, I suspect your enthusiasm was due more to the fact that you simply can’t wait for anything. Ever. And no, I will not tell you how RW3 ends.
I’d also like to thank the other members of my family for reading and raving about RW, right along with all my friends—old and new—who have done the same. Again, a special *mwah* to my high school girlfriend Dana for putting up with me throughout the cover design.
I have to give a shout-out to my father-in-law for letting me hole up in his house for writing seclusion. I don’t think I would have been able to finish this book in time without the obsessive writing marathons that took place in your home. Oh. And I swear to baby Jeebus that I was not the one that broke your fridge.
Also, Mom and Dad… Thanks for everything, ever, but in regards to this book… Your support and encouragement have meant the world to me. I also want to thank you for stepping in to help Mike with the boys while I was away.
On that note… Michael! My very, very understanding (and totally hot- hehe) husband. You have stepped up your game these past months, and don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve indulged your wife in this little writing venture and have never once complained about picking up my slack with the house and the kids whenever I was in the middle of a creative spurt. I might spend my days with dreamy book boys for a living, but you are the love of my life.
Lastly, but certainly not least… My boys… I want to thank you, again, for your patience. I am amazed by the both of you each and every day, but today you get it in writing: You. Are. Amazing. (And I love you to pieces.)
xoxo
P.S.
There are way too many surprises in store for Book Three, so I apologize that I can’t even offer a teaser excerpt. However, to give you all something extra, I have included a special chapter in Trip’s POV from the original Remember When.
It was originally an exclusive bit posted on Totally Booked Blog, but just in case you missed it, I’ve decided to include it here. Enjoy your Trip fix!
* * *
TRIP
Monday, November 26, 1990
Finally, it’s almost lunchtime. I don’t think I can stand another minute in calculus, not only because Piven’s a boring tool, but because Margie Freakin’ Caputo never seems to be able to just shut the hell up.
She’s chewing my ear off, wondering aloud about where the party’s gonna be this weekend. Yeah, okay, sweetheart. I can take the hint you’re throwing at me. No need to ram it home. And by the way, you and me? It’s never going to happen.
When the bell rings, I have the excuse to ditch Margie. I grab my books and dump them in my locker on the way to the cafeteria.
Layla is already there.
I haven’t seen her since Saturday night, when I went to her house after Homecoming. I’d expected to see her at the dance with Cooper Benedict, but she wasn’t there with him. In fact, she wasn’t there at all. I didn’t know what to make of that at first. Word around school is that the two of them have been dating on and off for years. Which sucks for me, but the thing is, I actually like the dude. He’s a decent guy. We got off to a bit of a rocky start that first week I started here, but I think he finally saw he was being a little too territorial. He eventually backed off when he realized I wasn’t looking for a turf war.
I didn’t realize until the dance that they obviously must be “off” right now, and figured screw it. I’ve waited long enough. Wait too long, and those two might end up back “on” again. I’m a patient guy and all, but I’m not gonna wait forever.
So, that’s why I went straight from the dance to Layla’s house. There I was, standing under her window like an idiot, trying to find a way to ask her out. I was all set to do it. Right then.
And then she invited me inside.
Woulda been nice if her father hadn’t come home, however, because I had to ditch out before I even got my foot in the door. Mr. Warren seems like a nice enough guy, but I don’t think he trusts me. It’s like he can see all the ideas I have running around my head about his daughter. Most of my thoughts are pretty tame. But some of them… Hell, I wouldn’t trust me either.
I left Layla’s house and went home, with the intention of calling her the minute I got in the door. There was no way I was going to ask her out over the phone or anything, but at least I could’ve made plans to see her the next day. At least I could’ve laid the groundwork.
But when I walked into the foyer, I saw that the old man wa
s up. Just sitting there in his fucking chair in the den, a goddamn glass of scotch in his hand. I started to turn, just wanting to get the hell out of there. I didn’t know how many drinks he had in him, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t really want to know.
I really don’t want to get into all the gory details about the whole situation. Just know that the guy tends to drink himself into a stupor most nights, and I’ve learned over time that it’s best to just avoid him when he’s like that. Asshole.
But then I heard him start in. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the pride of the Wilmington family.”
I probably should have ignored him and just headed upstairs to my room, locked the door, and waited for him to pass out. But that night, I didn’t do it. The guy just really pisses me off when he’s like that, and I thought, fuck him. He wanted a fight and I was going to give it to him. That night, I found myself talking back to him, so sick of just ignoring his slurry jabs. Next thing I knew, I was trading shoves with the drunken bastard. It almost got really ugly. My mother came down and managed to break us up, and I spent the rest of that night trying to make her feel better about the whole thing.
The next day, my father apologized—he always does—but Mom made me take her to church and then lunch just to get the two of us separated from him for a few hours and have The Talk about getting him some help. Again.
