Anya and the Shy Guy (Backstage Pass)
Page 18
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, as if taking in what she’d said. And then he whooped. Loudly. Anya jumped and laughed at the sound echoing around the church. “Yes!” He punched the air, not once, not twice. Anya giggled at his exuberance, hugging herself around the middle as she watched him jump around, fist pumping in a way that the walls of the vestibule had probably never witnessed before.
But then he stopped, planting himself directly in front of her, and looked into her eyes. She reached up and pushed back the hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes again as she touched his face, and then he bent to kiss her. He hesitated for a second with his lips hovering over hers, and then kissed her gently. It was a sweet kiss. It was a perfect kiss. She felt loved. Protected.
And she loved that.
Epilogue
Anya ran to the mailbox and found three letters addressed to her care of Kara Fray, Matt’s mother. One was from the state university, one was from Tulsa, and the other was marked “Studio City”. She opened the Tulsa one first, as she sat on the porch steps.
Jude was staying permanently at Father Howard’s, working at the shelter and helping other war veterans get the care they needed. He sounded good, although he still refused to use a computer in case he was spied on. Maybe that would never go away, but Father Howard had reassured her that he was doing really well. All his issues that made it difficult for him to find regular work made him the perfect person to reach out to other veterans.
A tear squeezed out of one eye as she looked around the front yard. Beautiful tropical flowers grew all around and palm trees dotted the fence line. How was it possible to be so happy, so fortunate?
Matt banged out of the front door. “Everything okay?” He sat next to her.
She swiped at the errant tear. “Jude’s doing well. He sounds happy.” Anya stuffed the letter back into its envelope. She’d write back this afternoon. She kind of loved the ritual of finding nice paper and writing in longhand. And he always commented on the paper she used, which had made her go out of her way to find interesting stationery to write on.
“Anya. What about the other envelope?” He eyed the one in her lap.
“Which one?” She lifted the smaller one and the large brown envelope from the college.
“You know which I mean.”
She hesitated. This was the last piece of the puzzle. The last planet to align. “I can’t…”
“Are you being a fraidycat?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Maybe.” She sighed. “Everything has been so perfect. Your mom letting me have a room here, you’ve been so—” Now more than one tear was threatening to fall. He put his arm around her and pressed his lips to her temple. “—annoying.” She choked out a laugh. “It seems impossible that they would accept me. That we’d be going to college together. It’s too much good stuff to happen at one time to me.”
…
Matt knew it was an acceptance, because he’d received his earlier in the year before he’d gone on tour. And no university sent a thick package of stuff just to say “We regret to inform you…”
And her essay had been a work of art. She didn’t just edit the Rolling Stone article, although she could have, she didn’t replicate her homeless article either, although she could have. She wrote instead about the ways in which allowing herself to trust the people in her life had opened her eyes to the possibilities that lay before her. Had changed her whole world in every way possible. The essay had made him cry when he read it, but that secret he’d take to the grave.
So he’d known, even before the letter came. But he wanted her to believe it could happen. If she didn’t, she’d always wonder if everything would fall away as it had so many times before.
“Anya. You deserve this. You know it. You had a chance to make a fortune, but you chose not to because you didn’t want to hurt anyone. You’ve been on the street since you were fifteen, and still your primary concern was a man who helped you there. My mom loves you, and let me tell you—that doesn’t happen easily. Although, to be fair, she doesn’t know you slip into my room sometimes when she’s asleep.”
Anya nudged her leg against his in a mild rebuke.
“What I’m saying is that you deserve to go to school. And whether this one school says yes or no, you deserve an education. You deserve great things. Don’t ever forget that.” He wished that for just one second she could see herself how he saw her, but he was prepared to keep working on that. Miracles didn’t happen overnight.
“How is Will?” she asked.
“He’s fine. They’re all fine. Since they confronted LJ about…well, everything, they have much more control. Cherry was fired, the new opening act seems to be working out…and the tour has been revitalized with some new numbers that the guys wanted to add. Now stop changing the subject and open it.” He handed it back to her.
She took it, and he swore he saw her hands shake. He wanted to hold her so badly, but she needed to open the damn envelope first.
She tore off the end and took out the clump of brochures and leaflets. “Dear Ms. Anderson. We are delighted to inform you…” Her voice cracked and she started to sob. Like huge, gut-wrenching sobs.
He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped both arms around her. “You made it,” he whispered. “You’re coming to school with me.”
She sniffed and looked at him with her beautiful dark eyes. “We made it. I couldn’t have done this without you, or Will, or your mom. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now how about the other letter?”
Her gaze shifted to the other one and she ripped into it through her tears and pulled out a stiff card. “I don’t believe…” she started, before peering closer at the invitation in her hand. She rubbed her eyes and read again. “I can’t… Rolling Stone nominated my article for an award. They’ve invited me to an awards dinner.”
He wasn’t exactly surprised. The article had been syndicated around the world and every news show had covered it.
“You wrote a great article, sweetheart. Everyone thought so. They’ll probably make a movie about it.”
She just looked at him, and he never wanted her to stop looking at him like that, with eyes pooled with happiness.
He kissed her and then stood with her still in his arms. She shrieked and laughed as he spun with her.
He loved hearing her laugh.
Loved.
The End
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Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Ophelia London, Lisa Burstein, Rebekah L Purdy and Erin Butler for allowing me to a part of this fun boyband ride! Also huge thanks go to Heather Howland (as usual) and to Stephen Morgan, editor extrordinaire—hopefully (for me at least) this is just the first of many!
And last but not least, my husband, whose support is an incalculable factor in me being able to write at all. I love you.
About the Author
Suze Winegardner is an editor and a romance writer. An ex-pat Brit, she quells her homesickness with Cadbury Flakes and Fray Bentos pies. She’s lived in London, Paris, and New York, and now lives exactly where the military tells her to. When not writing, Suze loves to travel with her active-duty husband and take long walks with their Lab. All things considered, her life is chock full of hoot, just a little bit of nanny. And if you get that reference…well, she already considers you kin.
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