But we wouldn’t have privacy until I got out of this one in D.C., though, so we had a while to go. With that knowledge ringing in my head, I pulled away. “I can’t wait to go home.”
She sighed. “Me too. It’ll be here soon. We just have to get back to my parents house, then get through Christmas. Then things will go back to normal.”
Normal? Nothing about me was normal anymore. I was a fucking mess. But I smiled for her even though I knew it was a crock of shit. “Yeah. Normal.”
Her smile faltered, as if she saw through my façade, but she didn’t say anything. Her phone dinged. She didn’t pick it up. “We’re going to be okay,” she said again.
“Yeah, we will.” I hoped to hell we would, anyway. “Are you going to see who messaged you?”
“It’s just my daily inspirational message of the day.” She lifted a shoulder. “You know how I love those little messages.”
I ran my thumb over her lip. “I love that you love those little messages. It’s a-dork-able.”
She flushed. “Shut up.”
“Gladly.” I leaned in, the morphine making me feel high and kinda out of it. “Or you could shut me up.”
“Gladly,” she echoed, completely oblivious to the fact that I was a fucking wreck.
She kissed me, and I tried to stop thinking. Stop feeling.
To just stop it all.
Bonus Scene #2
Finn
I looked around our small apartment, my heart racing faster than a fucking racecar at Daytona. I was actually going to do this. Actually going to ask her the question I’d been wanting to ask her since I fell in love with her. I was going to make her my wife…if she decided I was a lucky enough bastard to have that honor.
I still couldn’t believe she’d chosen me, after three years of being together.
She really fucking loved me, and God knows I loved her, too. So damn much it hurt. I’d lived life without her, and I’d lived life with her. I never wanted to do the former again, and I wouldn’t have to. Not if she said yes.
Stepping back, I studied my handiwork critically. Roses of every color imaginable were in the center of the table in the crystal vase I’d given her two years ago for our anniversary. I’d made lasagna, and had a bottle of sparkling champagne on the table, too.
For her, I’d stick to sparkling cider.
I smoothed my hand over the bulge in the breast pocket of my suit—the suit I’d donned for her—and eyed the clock. She’d be home in five minutes.
For the rest of my waiting time, I ran around the apartment like a fucking lunatic, making sure everything was perfectly in place, and before I knew it, the key clicked in the lock. I froze with a piece of fallen potpourri in my hand. The door opened, and in came my own personal ray of sunshine.
Carrie.
She tossed her books on the counter, her head lowered over something she read in her hand. She hadn’t even looked up yet. Hadn’t seen the scene I set.
With a small grumble, she chucked the piece of paper on top of the books. “Ugh, you wouldn’t believe the crapshoot of a day I’ve—” She turned, and her voice faded. She stared at the table with wide eyes. “Had.”
“Hopefully, it’s about to get better,” I said, dropping the piece of potpourri in the crystal bowl. Another gift from me. “Go in the bedroom and put on the dress I laid out on the bed.”
She glanced toward the big bed that she could see from the door. We hadn’t moved yet because we fit nicely here. It was home, and we liked it. “What’s going on?”
“Just do it,” I said, lowering my brows. “Or I’ll be forced to spank you.”
She bit down on her lower lip, and her bright blue eyes sparkled. Finally. “That’s not exactly a threat…”
“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “Then I won’t spank you.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll go get dressed right away.” As she walked past me, she trailed her fingers over my arm. “You’re all dressed up. Did I forget an anniversary?”
“Not really.” But there was one, in a way. It was three years after I’d decided to get better. Three years after I’d decided to live instead of die. “Just get dressed. I’m going to check on dinner.”
She pursed her lips. “O…kay.”
“Good girl.” I swatted her ass as she passed. She shot me a playful grin over her shoulder and hustled. “Hurry up.”
While she dressed, I went into the kitchen and pulled dinner out of the oven. I listened to the sounds of her stripping naked, my eyes on her the whole time. Her long red hair cascaded down her bare, porcelain back, and she looked so fucking perfect it hurt. She was so fucking perfect it hurt.
I still had no clue what I had done to deserve her, but I hoped I never fucked it up like I had all those years ago. When I’d been in my dark abyss. I massaged my shoulder absentmindedly. We could be happy. I could be happy.
This was going to work.
She came up behind me, closing her arms around my chest from behind. Her floral perfume washed over me, and I closed my eyes, inhaling her sweet scent like an addict. “You look so serious over here. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong at all.” I closed my hand over both of hers. “I’m just thinking about how happy you make me.”
I felt her smile against my back. “You make me happy, too.”
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. She was going to say yes. Of course she was. We loved each other. I just had to open my big fat mouth and ask her. I opened my mouth, but only a squeak came out. Like a little fucking mouse.
Perfect.
“Are you ready to eat?” she asked, her voice a little bit hesitant.
“Yeah. Go head over to the table.” After she started that way, I looked down at the counter. “Get it together, Coram.”
Sighing, I rolled my shoulders and followed her. She sat down in her usual spot, her eyes on the roses. “Those are pretty.”
“You have a job to do after we eat.”
She smirked. “Do I, now?”
“Yep.” I laughed when her gaze dipped low over my body. “Slow down there, Ms. Wallington. I don’t need any help studying tonight.”
“Studying.” Our code word for making love. Laughing, she picked up her fork and knife. “I’m going to eat this fast so we can move on to the fun stuff. Whatever you want to call it.”
We ate in silence—me mostly freaking the fuck out, and her probably picking up on my weird vibe. She kept stealing glances at me, her brow wrinkled, but she didn’t say anything. When she finished eating, she set her fork down and turned to me. “What’s wrong? The last time you acted this strange, you were getting sent overseas.”
“What?” I blinked at her, then set down my utensils. “No. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?” She clung to her dress. “Just spit it out.”
“Pick up the red rose.”
“The rose?” She shot me a weird look. “What?”
I took a deep breath, steadying my fucking nerves as best as I could. “Pick up the red rose.”
Letting out a sigh, she tugged it out of the vase. When she saw the little scrolled note attached to it, she froze, her pink lips parted. “Finn…”
“Read it out loud.”
“Okay.” With trembling hands, she unrolled the note. After licking her lips, she said, “You saved my life with your love.”
When she glanced at me, I smiled at the tears in her eyes. Leaning in, I pressed my lips to hers. She was so soft. So sweet. So mine. “Next, the yellow one.”
“Finn, what is this?” Her lip trembled, and she bit down on it. “Are you…?”
“Don’t ask questions.” I tugged the yellow rose out. “Just follow my instructions. Read it out loud.”
Blinking rapidly, she unrolled the paper. A small sound escaped her. “You are my sunshine, and I never want to live without you.”
I nodded. “Pink now.”
Without arguing, she reached out and snatched it up. “I wanted to know
if you loved me as much as I love you.” She looked at me, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I love you more.”
“Not possible,” I argued. Gently, I swiped my thumbs over her cheeks, smoothing the tears away. “Purple.”
She took a shaky breath. Then she grabbed the rose, and slowly unfurled the paper. “So I have to ask you a question. Look at me.”
Gradually, she turned to me with wide eyes. When she looked where I had been sitting, all she found was an empty seat. Then she looked lower, finding me on bended knee at her feet. She covered her mouth, the purple rose still in her hand. “Finn.”
“You’ve made me the happiest man on the planet by loving me, but I’m going to be greedy. I’m going to ask for more.” I took a deep breath, and popped open the black velvet case. “Carrie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” She launched herself into my arms, making us both tumble onto the floor, with her on top of me. “Yes.”
She kissed me, and we both laughed. I curled my hands around her thighs, the ring forgotten on the floor beside us. Tilting my head, I deepened the kiss, taking control. This was it. This was life at its finest.
She said yes. She loved me.
And she was going to be my wife.
We’d got our happily ever after.
Original Ending to
This was the original ending to Out of Time, before I decided to change it from a novella to a full length novel. Once I made the book longer, a bunch of stuff changed, including the way/place/time that Finn told Carrie he would be leaving. As did the reasons why. Enjoy! --Jen
Carrie
A. Freaking. Mess.
That’s what I was right now. What I’d been ever since Finn told me he might be leaving. Even more so now that I knew the time for the truth grew rapidly closer. It was Sunday evening at five-forty five and I was a hysterical wreck. And I’d been that way all weekend long, especially once my parents were gone.
In a way, I’d been grateful they were here like they’d been. It had been a welcome distraction. But then they went home yesterday, and I was all alone. Last night and today had passed the slowest any day had ever been. I’d gone to the soup kitchen with Darren. Handed out tons of gift cards. Done my homework. Worked on my thesis. Washed my new car. Done research. Cleaned the apartment, which had been an adventure all in itself. Gotten ahead in class, even.
And I’d still had hours and hours to sit around twiddling my thumbs, slowly going insane as I waited for six o’clock to come around. In a matter of minutes, Finn would be here on this beach with me. And knowing he was going to tell me whether or not he was going to freaking war…yeah.
Manic. That pretty accurately described my state of mind.
Despite the “unhappy” circumstances behind this picnic, I’d tried to set a romantic scene, complete with a red and white checkered blanket, a wicker basket, and a pilfered bottle of wine from Finn’s cabinet. There was also a bunch of grapes and strawberries, and a couple of sandwiches for us both.
I’d spent the night at his place last night, putting my clothes away and just being there. I slept in his bed, hugging his pillow, and had laid awake almost all night long. I tugged my navy blue and white sweater down and fidgeted with the hem of my jean shorts. I’d left my hair down for Finn, since he liked it that way, but now I was wishing I’d taken the time to do something with it. If I’d done my hair, it would have taken me even longer to get here, and I wouldn’t be sitting here fidgeting and wondering and stressing.
As Finn would say…this fucking wait was fucking killing me.
But no matter what he said, no matter what happened, I was standing by him. I wouldn’t leave him, and I wouldn’t move on and forget about him. Hopefully he didn’t really think I would. Long ago—at least, it seemed long ago—he’d told me if he went to war I would forget all about him. God, if he really thought that…
I’d have to do my best to show him he was wrong.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I got that tingling sensation that warned me I was being watched. I remembered having the same type of feeling the first night I met Finn, when he’d been guarding me and watching from the shadows.
Who would have known that he would have come to mean so much to me in so little time? That I’d need him so badly I couldn’t imagine a life without him in it. Who would have known the man who was sent to watch me would want me, too?
I rolled clumsily to my bare feet, my heart racing and seeming to painfully climb up from my chest until it felt as if it rested in my throat instead of my chest. I knew that wasn’t possible, of course, but I’d swear to it anyway. He walked toward me steadily, his light blue jeans folded up at the ankle to keep them clean. He wore a grey hoodie and a pair of sunglasses. I couldn’t read his freaking eyes. Had no clue what to expect.
But suddenly it didn’t matter anymore, because he was here.
And that’s all that really mattered, wasn’t it?
I took a step toward him, then another. By the time my foot hit the sand a third time, I was running. I’m talking, hair flying behind you, full on sprint. Finn picked up the pace, too, his long steps growing even faster. By the time we met, I was out of breath and fighting back the tears threatening to escape.
Even though he hadn’t opened his mouth, I just knew what he was going to say.
He caught me in his arms, spinning me in a giant circle and hugging me to his chest. I could feel his heart thumping, beating against my own almost in tandem. He opened his mouth to talk, but I kissed him before he could. I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want my worst fears to become so utterly, horrifically, devastatingly alive.
When I was a little girl, I’d been terrified of monsters that hid under my bed. Now, as an adult, I knew the real terror lie in words and actions and in life or death. Not in scary, hairy, huge beasts.
I kissed him with a desperation I hadn’t felt before, knowing if I stopped he’d tell me the words I didn’t want to hear. Knowing if I stopped, I’d utterly lose it. There was a good handful of people on the beach, and they were probably all watching us with wide eyes, but I didn’t even care. All those silly fears I’d had over the years seemed so freaking pathetic in the face of this.
Of Finn.
He moaned into my mouth and stumbled back, his hands supporting me. I knew I was attacking the poor man, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not ever. From a distance, I heard the waves crashing on the sand and a few voices carrying off from the distance, but I shut it all out. All I wanted to focus on was Finn.
When he broke the kiss off, his breathing heavy and his grip on me unbreakable, I dared a glance up at him. Even with his shades on, I could see the tension in the way he smiled. And the way his shoulders were tight and hard. “Hey, Ginger,” he said lightly.
I forced a smile for him, my hands gripping his shoulders so hard it probably hurt him, but he didn’t so much as flinch. “Hey, yourself.”
“I like this kind of greeting.” He swung me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. “But now I’m not going to put you down.”
“I don’t want you to,” I said, my voice breaking on the last word. When he shot me a concerned look and opened his mouth to talk, I pressed my fingers against his mouth. “No. Don’t say it. Not yet.”
He kissed my fingers and nodded, but he looked away from me. Probably trying to hide his own tortured feelings from me, to protect me, but it didn’t work. I could feel his pain as if it was my own—and he could probably feel mine. “Okay. What’s for dinner?”
“Wine. Lots of wine.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced. Of course it did. “Let me get this straight. You want me to publicly provide a minor with wine? Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He set me down on my feet next to the picnic blanket, and I buried my toes in the cool sand. Funny how that used to feel like such a thrill to me. How naïve I’d been. “I want this to be the perfect date. And once it’s over…then we talk. Deal?”<
br />
“Have I ever denied you something you wanted?” He sat down and patted the spot directly next to him. “If that’s what you want, you’ll get it.”
I wanted to demand he not leave me. Wanted to demand he not go to war.
He’d promised to give me everything I wanted, hadn’t he?
But that wouldn’t be fair. Even I knew he didn’t have a say in whether he left or stayed. It was all up to men like my father. To the men in the government who sat behind desks and demanded that men like Finn go overseas to fight for oil and other crap they tried to put a pretty face on.
“I want you, here with me.” I grabbed a grape and pressed it to his lips. “And I have that now.”
He took the grape out of my fingers, licking them as he sucked it in. Something in my stomach tightened, despite the emotional turmoil I was in, and I leaned closer, watching his mouth hungrily as he chewed. It wasn’t until I looked away that I noticed he still wore his dog tags. I gently grasped the chain and pulled them out from under his shirt.
I scanned the words that denoted his name, social security number, blood type, and religion. Guess I now knew he was O positive. Weird way to find out, though. I didn’t even what the heck type of blood I had, but I knew his. And knowing that this was how they kept track of who was who felt so cold and impersonal.
But then again…that’s how life was, wasn’t it?
“Carrie…”
“I know.” I dropped the cool metal back against his chest and grabbed the bottle of wine with trembling hands. “Can you open this for me?”
He gave me a look, one that said he didn’t like this not-talking thing I was doing any more than he liked giving me alcohol, but I stubbornly ignored it. Once he took the wine, I reached into the basket and took out two glasses, two sandwiches, and the strawberries I’d bought at the local market. They were bright red and juicy and perfect. The best I’d seen all year.
The OUT OF LINE Series Page 62
