by Melissa West
I closed my eyes and dipped my head. “See, that’s the problem, Ethan. It was never about you. It was me. I will forever be grateful for our friendship, and I hope someday we can become friends again, but this,” I said, pointing between us, “never really worked like it should. I’m sorry.”
“But, don’t you think it could? If I tried? Don’t push me away because you’re afraid.”
I shook my head. “I’m not afraid. I know I walked out on Preston when things got tough, but I’m not that girl anymore. It’s different with Colt. It’s—”
He waved his hands. “Don’t say it.” His eyes shot up to mine. “Don’t tell me that you love him.”
I sighed, looking away.
“You love him?”
The hurt in his voice made me want to cry, but I had done nothing wrong here. I didn’t cheat on him. I would never do that. I lifted my head and focused on him, sure of myself for the first time in a long time. I wasn’t lost Kara anymore, the overly happy, go-with-anything girl. I was in control of my life now. I knew what I wanted to do—and I knew who I wanted to be with. “I love him very much.”
“Then . . . I guess there’s nothing left to say.”
I watched Ethan leave from my bedroom window, my heart heavy. I was always the person who wanted to please everyone, to make everyone else feel sure and safe. But this time, I was taking care of myself first, something I had never done once in my life. I waited until Ethan’s car was gone, then grabbed my keys and opened the door, prepared to run over to Colt’s, only to find him outside my door.
“Look, I’m sure you probably have a lot to think about, but I’m not giving up on this. You are everything to me and I—”
I took one step, wrapped my arms around his neck, and crushed my lips to his. He smiled against my kiss, and I pulled away to look at him. “I’m not giving up on this either.”
“All right, then. I have something to tell you.”
My chest tensed at what he might say. Some long-lost Sheila in Australia. That his father was moving them out to L.A. I stepped aside for him to come in, and we sat down on the sofa.
“I don’t want this to freak you out.”
“Oh, I’m already freaking out,” I said, laughing uncomfortably.
Colt threaded his fingers through mine and turned to me. “I was accepted to the architecture program at Savannah College of Art and Design. It’s a fantastic program that could teach me a lot. But it would also allow me to be less than two hours . . . from you.” His eyes met mine. “I realize that could be scary for you, so I wanted to talk to you about it before I officially transfer.”
A smile stretched across my face. “You’re going to be in Savannah? You’re going to be in Savannah!”
He smiled back. “I’m going to be in Savannah.”
I cleared the space between us, straddling him, too happy to be so far away. Colt pushed my hair away from my face and leaned in slowly, gently touching his lips to mine. “I love you, sweet Kara.”
I grinned at the name. “And I love you.”
He lifted me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and walked us to my room, closing the door behind him, and then he laid me down on my bed. I stared up at the man before me. I had once seen him as a gorgeous, free-spirited guy who I longed to know. But now, I knew the boy inside the man, and I knew with absolute certainty that Colt was meant for me, and me for him. We belonged together.
I smiled at the thought, and then he was over me, and all thought was gone. It was just he and I, bound together.
Always.
Epilogue
“Is that the last of it, man?” Taylor called from the bottom steps.
We had spent most of the day packing up Colt’s things into his 4Runner. Classes would begin the following week, and already I was struggling to keep from crying. Colt had finalized his transfer to SCAD, and though I knew he would only be a few hours away, I already missed him. I could feel myself trying find a way to cope, remembering that I had a lot of other great things going for me, like working with Rose this semester. I had a lot going on, and I knew once he was there and I was here we would settle into a routine. Two hours was nothing. I had done long distance before, after all. But these miles away felt longer, Colt’s absence harder to take. The only thing that helped was that I trusted him more fully than I trusted anyone. More fully than even myself. I loved him, truly loved him. The first person I’d ever loved in my life.
“Hey, Kara, can I talk to you for a second?”
I glanced over at Taylor, my eyebrows raised. Everyone else was outside. Why would he want to talk to me? “Yeah, sure.”
“Just between us?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“I know you worked at the center this past summer, and you’ve probably seen lots of different things, so I was kind of hoping you might be able to help.”
I set down the box I’d been holding. “Okay . . .” I said hesitantly. I didn’t know Taylor all that well, and while I thought he was a cool guy, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to unload his deepest feelings to me.
“It’s about Sarah.”
I released a breath, curious if he had the same suspicions as me. “Okay.”
“I think you know that we’ve been hanging out. Well, more than hanging out. I like her. A lot. Which is why I’ve gotten worried that she might have . . .”
“An eating disorder?” I whispered, just in case anyone was around that could hear us.
He took a step closer. “You’ve noticed, too?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve wondered, but she’s always been very health conscious, so I didn’t know if her weight loss was just that.”
“Have you seen anything?”
He eyed the door nervously. “Not seen. Heard.”
I nodded slowly. “Oh, no.”
“Yeah, and when I try to talk to her about it, she shuts down. We’re barely anything right now. She’s all closed off, but I don’t know why. I know her parents are big health nuts and I think her mom pushes her to stay on a strict diet. But there’s something else, too. Something more. I’m worried about her.”
I started to respond when the door opened and Preston and Colt walked in, followed by Sarah. She glanced from Taylor to me, her eyebrows drawn together, and I reached down to pick up the box I’d set down. “I think this is the last of it,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t give me away. I’d never been one to hold my tongue, but this was different. Sarah was vulnerable right now, and if we pushed her too hard it could backfire on us and she could pull away. I tried to give Taylor a look as I turned for the door, but his eyes were on Sarah, some silent exchange going on between them.
Colt took the box from me, and we walked out together to his 4Runner. He slid it into the backseat and then turned to me, the moment we’d both been dreading finally here.
“Well, that’s it, then,” he said.
I shook my head and reached up to hug him, telling myself that I wouldn’t cry. Not yet. I would wait until he was long gone to cry. He kissed my nose, then my cheek, then gently kissed my lips. “I’m going to miss you,” I said.
“I’ll miss you, too.” He held me close for another minute, but then pulled away.
“You’ll call when you get there, right?”
He smiled. “I’m sure I’ll call well before I get there, but yes, I’ll call.”
“And we’ll plan a visit in the next few weeks?”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “I won’t be able to wait a few weeks. I’ll probably come knocking on your door next weekend.”
“Is it terrible that I hope you do?”
The rest of the gang joined us out by his car, and Colt walked over to shake the guys’ hands and say goodbye to the girls, then he returned to me and kissed me again, before closing his car door. He gave me one more fleeting look, and then drove aw
ay.
I watched his car turn out of Charleston Haven, and though I knew he would be miles away from me, I felt content. I was loved and I was in love, and that was enough for me.
I walked back to my apartment and sat down on my bed, Rose’s notes about me spread out in front of me. I flipped to the first page and laughed at the words possibly crazy, circled twice. I then flipped to the last page of her notes and scanned down the page, my throat closing up as I read her final word:
Special.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s funny. Every time I set out to write one of these pages, I get stumped. The writing world can feel very much like a solo job, but in actuality, it takes many people to put out a book—many of whom have little to nothing to do with the book. It’s our family, our friends, the random stranger on the street who inspired you.
For me, as always, I’ll begin with God. Thank you for all and everything.
Thank you to my amazing agent, Nicole Resciniti, who is the light that guides my career. Thank you for always being supportive, for saying what I need to hear, and calling me out when something isn’t working. I adore you, truly.
Thank you to my editor, Laura Fazio, who has spoiled me in the best possible ways. Your edits are perfect, and your enthusiasm makes the process a joy instead of work. The Charleston Haven series would not be half as good as it is without your influence. Thank you a thousand times over for putting up with me!
To my amazing husband and daughters, Jason, Rylie, and Lainey. You make my life so complete. To my extended family, who supports me through this craziness—Mom, Dad, my sister, Christi, my niece, Meagan, and my mother in law, Mary. Thank you so much for being there, for babysitting, for listening to my calls at all hours. I love you very much.
Thank you to my critique partners/readers/friends, Rachel Harris, Rhonda Helms, and Lia Riley for reading early drafts and honestly telling me what sucked. This book is complete because of you.
To Chloe Wine, for helping me with Aussie slang and just generally rocking.
To Kayleigh Gore, for always reading for me and making me feel like I am much cooler than I am. I’m not sure I could publish a book without you.
Thank you to the amazing support of the NA 2014 group, you know who you are. I stay sane because of each of you.
Thank you to Rachel Harris, Cindi Madsen, Lisa Burstein, Tara Fuller, Christina Lee, Megan Erickson, AJ Pine, and Stina Lindenblatt for the continued support. I feel so fortunate to know each of you!
And finally, thank you so much to my readers, old and new. I could not be more thankful that you are reading this story, and I hope beyond hope that you love it as much as I do!
For updates, prizes, and sneak peeks at my work, please consider joining my newsletter: melissawestauthor.com/Contact.html. Or come hang out with me on Facebook at facebook.com/groups/MelsMadhouse.
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Want to see how the Charleston Haven series began? Read on for an excerpt from Melissa West’s PIECES OF OLIVIA, available now.
Someone should warn you that move-in day at a college is the last day you should actually try to move into your dorm. I stared down the line of girls waiting to get on the elevators, all of them with stacks of suitcases and boxes and microwave-refrigerator combos, which should have already been in our rooms, but evidently there was a shortage this year. I eyed my own set of suitcases and the line again. I could drag them up the three flights of stairs to the third floor faster than I could get there waiting in that line.
I tilted the heaviest one on its wheels, tossed the second on top, and started for the stairwell door around the corner. There was no line there, surprise-surprise, so I took my time pulling my suitcases through the door and lifting them one step at a time up the stairs. By the time I reached the third floor, my face was dripping with sweat and I found myself wishing I’d taken my parents’ offer to help me move in.
At the time, all I could think about was their sad expressions as they asked me for the hundredth time if I was sure. Sure I wanted to ditch Columbia for the College of Charleston. Sure I wanted to live in a dorm on campus (forget that all freshmen were required to live on campus). Sure I wanted to have a roommate in said dorm instead of living alone. The list went on and on and on. They didn’t understand. I couldn’t live that life anymore. Every part of it brought back memories I couldn’t handle. I needed a change. And not just a change in geography. I needed a complete change—different town, different people, different me.
I needed to be able to grab bananas from the produce section without running into someone who knew and getting that sad look as he or she asked how I was doing. I mean, how did they think I was doing? I hated pity. I hated the long look people gave you and the slow headshake that said poor little you. I knew sadness. It was a longtime friend of mine now. I didn’t need reminders of how closely it clung to me every time I went to the grocery store.
I heaved my suitcase through the third-floor door and glanced around for room numbers. I was 3-F and my roommate was some chick from Gator Town: Gainesville, Florida. I pictured a surfer girl, complete with sun-bleached blond hair and bronzed skin, who used words like totally and awesome as though they were worth gold each time you said them.
I tugged on my UPF 55 shirt, glad that I’d been smart enough to pick up a few. Long sleeves at the beach in August would cause a few looks, and I wasn’t prepared to explain the real reason for them. But with UPF shirts, I could just claim a crazy interest in sun protection. Plus with the tiny shorts I paired with them, I felt sure I could go about without too many questions. Or so I hoped. Thank God my legs weren’t scarred. Otherwise I’d have had to go to college at some snow lift in Colorado, and I hated cold weather.
I reached the hall for rooms 3-A to 3-H. Most of the doors were open, and I tried not to peek inside them as I passed. The hall was completely alive with excitement and commotion. I wondered if it would always be like this or if there were study hours or something. I finally came to the door for 3-F, which was closed, no sounds coming from inside. I grabbed the knob and turned, relieved that Gator-girl wasn’t there yet, until I flicked on the light and heard a grumble from across the room.
“Damn, shut the light. I’m working off a buzz here.”
I turned around to see a guy in the bed on the left side of the room, a white sheet tangled around him, exposing his bare chest. My eyes roamed over him, and for the first time, I understood how Bella could be attracted to Edward’s paleness. This guy’s skin could rival a vampire’s for sure, but instead of looking like it belonged to a hospital patient, it was startlingly creamy with just a hint of a golden undertone. His shaggy brownish-red hair scattered in a mess across the pillow, and although I knew I should ask a myriad of questions, I just found myself staring.
His eyes peeked open and he tossed one of his arms over them to block out the light. “You must be Olivia,” he said, his voice thick from sleep.
I waited. Hot or not, I didn’t know this guy. He could be here to steal my virtue . . . or the virtue I had two years ago, but still.
He climbed out of bed, a pair of low-hanging navy pajama pants with little yellow characters the only thing on his flawless body. I took them in before glancing back at his face. “Tweety Bird?”
“Goldfish. It’s an inside joke.”
I nodded. “Ah.”
He brushed his hair out of his eyes. It was the sort of hair you wanted to touch just to see if it felt as perfect as it looked. “So . . .”
“So . . .” I smiled. “Are you going to tell me who you are and why the hell you’re in my dorm room?”
He smirked. “I see you’re not as small town as you look. Where are you from?” He reached behind him for a T-shirt thrown across a desk chair. He had that deep Southern drawl that reminded you of warm syrup on pancakes, slow an
d delicious and entirely too tempting.
I considered lying, but that would only delay the inevitable. “Westlake,” I said, bracing myself for his reaction. What happened never made national news—thank God—but everyone in a two-state radius knew and felt inclined to ask as soon as they heard where I was from.
He glanced up at me before slipping the shirt on, and I prepared for the question, the change in his tone, but instead he said, “I take it back. You are small town. Rich. But still, small town.”
For a moment, I was too startled to respond. I had yet to meet anyone who heard where I was from and didn’t launch into questions too personal for a friend let alone a stranger. I opened my mouth to remind him that (a) Charleston wasn’t exactly New York City and (b) he still hadn’t answered my question, when the door behind me burst open and a tiny girl rushed in. She had the look of one of those flyers on a cheerleading squad—five-foot nothing, blond hair in loose pigtails that hung over her shoulders, and dressed in just a tank top and jean shorts.
Jean shorts. Trisha. My chest constricted as memories poured in, and I had to take a step back so I could breathe. Trisha hated jean shorts.
“I’m so sorry! So sorry!” the girl said, her tone entirely too high for such a small space. Gator-girl, I presumed. “This isn’t what it looks like.” Then she turned on the guy. “I told you eight a.m. exit, dude. It’s twelve-thirty!”
I started to tell her I didn’t care regardless. I hated that stereotypical bullshit, where guys could hook up with whomever and be cool, but when a girl did the same thing, she was a slut. I decided it wasn’t the time.
The guy shrugged. “What do you want from me? I was drunker than I thought. Happens to the best of us. Besides, look at her. She’s cool with it. Aren’t you?”
Both of their gazes fell on me. “Um . . . should I come back later? I can just . . .” I started for the door when the girl reached out to stop me.
