“Uh, no. I don’t think you did. Is there one?” Caroline teased. The word boyfriend conjured up images of Jackson’s eyes in Caroline’s mind and she suddenly felt as though she was drowning in a sea of blue…only she didn’t mind.
Bailey brought her finger to her lips and bit at it seductively. “Ooooh, is there ever.”
Caroline burst out laughing. “You’re such a nut! This is why I love you.”
“It’s funny how things fall into place when you’re on the right path.” Bailey’s eyes twinkled with delight and Caroline’s entire face was aglow. “Remind me again why you’re not moving in with Jackson?” Bailey picked up a pair of jeans and aligned the legs before folding them.
When a chuckle came out mixed with an exasperated breath, Caroline coughed. “I’ve told you this, like what? A million times already?”
Bailey huffed. “Just tell me once more.”
“You writing a book or something?”
“Ha! You wish. Just tell me why, after everything that has happened between the two of you, you aren’t seizing every moment like it could be your last?”
“I didn’t want to rush things.”
Bailey handed down the jeans. “Didn’t want to rush things? Why should you? I mean, you only called off your wedding for the guy…and he only almost died.”
Caroline grabbed the jeans and smacked Bailey’s arm with them. “Shut up. Seriously, this is a huge step. I just want to be smart about it.”
“No, you’re right, he’ll probably be sick of you in a week anyway.”
“You’re pretty much the worst friend ever.”
“Yay right! You know I’m kidding.” Bailey nudged Caroline’s ribs with her foot.
“I know. But that thought does linger in the back of my mind,” Caroline admitted.
“What thought? That he’ll get sick of you?”
“Not that, necessarily. But what if it doesn’t work out between us?”
“Do you really think it won’t?” Bailey asked with surprise.
“No, but you never know. I mean, things happened really fast since his accident. I don’t want to be careless. So until we’re sure, I’m living with Tracey.”
“Makes sense.” Bailey nodded with approval.
Caroline folded the last box top and ran tape across it before wiping the dust off her hands on the leg of her jeans. “All done.”
“Should we start loading them into your car?”
“Yeah. We need to get on the road soon.” Caroline glanced at her watch.
“Will it really take us six whole days to get there?” Bailey whined and let out an annoyed breath.
“I don’t know,” Caroline admitted. “I’ve never driven to New York from San Francisco before.”
“I was just asking, jeez.”
“I swear if you annoy me, I will ditch your ass in the middle of Nebraska or something,” Caroline warned, wagging her finger.
“You will do nothing of the sort or so help me God, I will hunt.you.down,” Bailey threatened.
“You’d have to catch me first,” Caroline challenged and tossed the box she was holding at Bailey.
The cell phone’s ring broke up the horseplay. Caroline scrambled around desperately trying to locate the sound until Bailey pointed toward the couch. Caroline dived over the couch and pulled the cell phone out from under a throw pillow.
“Hey, Tray.” Caroline raised her eyebrows as Bailey waved hi and grabbed a box. “We’re just packing up the car now and then we’ll be on our way.” Caroline nodded her head against the phone. “Yep. I know. I can’t wait! I’m so excited!” A smile spread across her face. “Thank you so much for letting me stay with you. I know, it’s just…I know. I love you too. See you soon!”
“We should go,” Bailey reminded her, pointing at her watch.
With one last long, deep breath, Caroline tossed her blue duffle bag’s strap over her shoulder and reached for her brown leather suitcase. Bailey held the last two boxes as they turned for the door.
Caroline paused in the doorway to look around the old apartment one last time. Her eyes followed the walls down the hallway and stopped on the photographs that hung there, sans frames. She saw an old photograph of herself and Bailey from high school that made her smile.
“Goodbye, San Francisco,” she whispered as excitement flowed through her. She longed to see Jackson’s face and couldn’t wait to be back in New York City.
“Let’s go already!” Bailey’s voice echoed in the stairwell outside the apartment door.
Caroline turned, her heart racing with anticipation, and headed out the door.
Epilogue
Caroline was lost in thought. She could hardly believe it had been three years. It seemed like ages ago…like when she tried to remember her life before Jackson. Of course she remembered everything, but the memories didn’t hold the same feelings any more. The drama, the hurt, and the pain she had caused…were all now deeply rooted in the past, a past so distant that it almost felt like another lifetime.
The last Caroline had heard, Clay was rapidly moving up the corporate ladder and was doing well. Apparently, he had recently proposed to his co-worker, Gina. Caroline smiled to herself, thankful that Clay had finally been able to find happiness.
She looked at her reflection in the antique mirror that hung on the dark wall and adjusted wisps of her hair one last time. In the mirror, she saw the reflections of Tracey and Bailey smiling from ear to ear. She grinned back at her two best friends, and thought about how stunning they both looked in their knee-length black cocktail dresses, remembering the fun and silliness that they’d shared while shopping for them. Caroline stood up, adjusted the layers of her long white gown, and walked toward her bridesmaids. She slipped an arm around each of them, wanting to give them each one last hug before the ceremony began.
“You look beautiful, Care,” Tracey said, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Not as pretty as us, but you’re a close second.” Bailey winked.
Caroline laughed. “Well, we can’t all be the super hot bridesmaids…someone has to be the bride.”
Caroline glanced down at the ring on her left hand. A stunning, heart-shaped diamond nestled inside her fiancé’s design. Her heart fluttered against her rib cage with excitement and joy.
“Better you than me—that’s for sure.” Bailey elbowed Tracey. “Right, Tracey?”
Tracey picked up a tissue and leaned toward the mirror, dabbing at her eyes. “Oh definitely. I don’t want to marry Jackson.”
“Hey!” Caroline frowned for a second, then laughed.
Tracey turned and brushed Caroline’s veil from her shoulder. “Are you ready to do this?” she asked.
Caroline’s face brightened. “I can’t wait to do this!”
Bailey handed Caroline a bouquet of white tulips and opened the large wooden door. She peeked out and called, “She’s in here, Mr. W,” and Caroline’s father stepped in and gently took his daughter’s hand.
As the music began to play, Tracey and Bailey walked slowly into the sunlight, while Caroline waited patiently behind. Tracey linked her arm in Tommy’s as they walked down the makeshift aisle; Alex and Bailey followed close behind.
The music transitioned and Caroline fought off the butterflies that flapped wildly inside her. Her dad leaned over to kiss her cheek, and whispered, “You ready?” Caroline nodded and gave him one more squeeze before tucking her arm through his. They walked through the old barn doors and out into the warm glow of the setting sun.
Friends and family stood in rows filled with white wooden chairs, heads turned toward the bride and her father. Caroline smiled at a relative who waved shyly, and continued the slow walk down the grassy aisle strewn with petals. Colorful gerbera daisies were tied to the chairs that lined the aisle, mirroring the bright flowers that dotted the meadow in the farmland.
Her eyes followed the colorful petals up to the altar, where he stood.
The sight of Jackson in his black tuxedo nearl
y took her breath away. Even through the long-sleeved shirt and tuxedo jacket, she could still make out the shape of his well-toned arms and broad shoulders.
Caroline’s gaze locked onto his and everything else disappeared—she heard no sounds, saw no faces. There was only the blue of his eyes looking soulfully into hers.
She suddenly realized that she had never felt more at peace in her entire life, had never felt more comfortable, or felt more “right” than she did at that very moment.
Caroline knew that her choice to give herself to this man for the rest of her life was the right one. There were no feelings of doubt. There was no indecision. There were no questions.
This was where she was meant to be. And Jackson was the man she was meant to be with. How they got to this point no longer mattered. It wasn’t about the past. It was about their future.
Together.
Forever.
They had both always known it.
And today was just the beginning.
Other Books By J. Sterling
In Dreams
The Perfect Game- The Game Series, Book Three
The Game Changer- The Game Series, Book Two
The Sweetest Game- The Game Series, Book Three
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::NOTE TO READER::
PROTECTING TRUTH
is book 2 in a trilogy.
You can download the first book in the series,
WANDER DUST, for FREE*
for a limited time
::1::
A Fight
I can’t imagine an opponent larger than the one before me. His raging eyes, a tornado of blood, make our planned meeting all the more unsettling.
Clenching my arnis fighting sticks, I take a single calculated step to my left. He mirrors my action but certainly not to keep an even distance. His very existence, his purpose in life, is to fight. Mine is not.
I move slowly, crouching for balance, waiting for him to attack.
“What are you waiting for, pig?” I taunt him and laugh. The overgrown man does look like a pig; the gnarled pink flesh of his face is littered with sprigs of wiry red hair. He spits on the floor at the insult and drops a menacing grunt from his exaggerated underbite.
Although name-calling will not win points in the end, it’s part of the act. I need to appear worthy of this fight, capable of winning.
My leather-clad opponent twirls both wooden sticks around his head, spinning them like helicopter blades. They whip around his back and then circle his shoulders three times, blurring with deadly speed.
“Show-off,” I murmur, annoyed that I have so much more to learn.
By now, I’m positive he’s sensed my fear and inexperience. I transmit it through the awkwardness with which I hold my weapon, and the nervous perspiration that drips from my neck. Inside, I wrestle my lungs for control over fits of uneven breathing, while replaying the instructions from my teacher in my head. “Sera, hide your fear behind a facade of courage,” Ms. Swift, my Defense Arts instructor, would say. That would come easily to me for most things, but not for violence.
The revolting man-pig tosses each stick like a baton. They spin at turbo speed, whirling fans in the air, and land in his clenched, sausage-shaped fingers. He grins. A laugh gargles in the back of his throat.
Intuition urges me to end his games and finally attack. This match needs to be over, no matter the outcome. I inhale one last anxious breath, then, with the focus of a raging bull, I throw my petite body at his disturbingly large frame. With cunning instinct, he steps out of the way. I whip my stick, striking a horizontal blow to his head, making contact with his pointed ear. In response, his stick circles and cracks my wrist and retracts for a second nauseating blow. Each shocks my system, fueling a deep and angry fire. A scream erupts from my lips, and I roll forward and jab the blunt end of one stick into his stomach. He arches back, recoiling.
We circle each other. Tension builds, then explodes as we simultaneously attack. Our sticks clack together again and again. High backhand. Vertical blow. Whip. Snap. Inward strike. He leans in, using his Goliath strength to muscle me across the room. I lose my balance, stumbling to the floor. The moment I regain my footing, he smacks my shoulder. The hit sends me flying across the room, slamming into the mirror-covered walls. Glass cracks, shattering. Shards crash to the floor. A splintering pain shoots across my back, and I wheeze.
The creature attacks me, wrenching his sticks in alternating diagonal blows to my head. I block him, leaving myself just enough time to regain my composure. I’m standing, and we’re off again. Sticks cracking, we dance across the room in a deadly fight. The sound reverberates off the mirrored walls. I want to ignore the distracting reflections created, but how can I with a behemoth man-pig, multiplied a thousand times over in the corner of my eyes? Yes, I can run away, wander into another time in history easily enough, but that’s not the plan. I need to win this match.
The beast strikes my side. I return a blast to his head. That area seems to be his weakness. He drops one stick and grabs his forehead with his hoofed fingers. I strike again, a sickening crack to the back of his knees. His legs unhinge and collapse. His bulking mass falls to the floor with a thud, but he isn’t done. Not yet. That would be too easy. Resting on the ground, he swipes his stick at my kneecaps. I leap over it and again when his pole swings back before he rolls to stand. With all my strength, I flip my body over his head. Landing firm, I spin to face his back.
The man-pig falters, unable to pivot quickly enough to defend himself before I raise both sticks and slice the wood through his head. The weapons cut through his skull like lasers, although in reality there are none.
He groans once more, but this time from defeat. Each half of his now divided body wisps away into the air, rolling away in bright blue electrified dust sparkles. The dissipating energy of the hologram causes my hair to stand on end as it passes. It’s amazing to see something so monstrous release into something so beautiful.
“Ten minutes.” A pocket watch clicks off. “You’re getting much better.”
I look up.
Professor Raunnebaum studies me from the classroom door, seemingly pleased with my victory.
“Not good enough.” I wipe the sweat from my brow and collapse on the floor, exhausted. Both sticks roll out of my hands, far from arm’s reach. There’s a wound on my back from the smashed mirror, but I ignore the dull sting.
“Only ten minutes?” I ask, hyperventilating. “Felt like forever.”
“Yes, but what does it matter? Improvement is improvement.”
He wants me to be happy with my weeks of disciplined work, but I’m not. “Maybe we should make the lessons more difficult?” I ask. My chest heaves in and out.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard, Sera. Besides, you’ve practically mastered every defense hologram we’ve created for you to fight. Turner will have to invent new characters and fighting routines to meet your evolved abilities.”
“Then do it,” I snap. I glance over at him just as he raises his bushy black eyebrows and crosses his arms. I know he doesn’t like it when I’m bossy.
“Tell Turner the more knowledgeable and scarier the hologram, the better,” I huff.
“Where’s the confidence, child? Ms. Swift will be most pleased with your enhanced abilities when she returns for fall semester. Your skill level is quite good, probably much better than any Wanderer in your junior class. And possibly much better than your own Protector,” he says with condemnation.
I sit up on my elbows and look at him. “It’ll never be good enough.” My breathing finally calms, and I force air through my nose.
“Why are you pushing yourself so hard? I’ve never seen a paralleled determination in another. Not even one whose position merited such rigorous training.” He examines me.
I glance away, my body instinctively withdrawing from answering his question. I find my reflection in the nearest mirror and lean forward to wipe blood from my forehead, pretending I haven’t heard him. The professor knows I will not answer. He’s asked about my fighting obsession a million times before. I push a dark-brown flyaway behind my ear and wipe the smeared mascara from underneath my eyes.
“It feels so—unnatural—fighting,” I say out loud but more to myself. I ponder the issue. “I’m performing the moves, but I’m not connected.” Hmph. “I think more practice will help.”
The professor shakes his mop of erratic black hair. Every strand moves except for one pure white streak, which starts at his hairline and points off toward the ceiling. “Yes, well, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re a Wanderer, after all, not a Protector.” He waves his finger. Professor Raunnebaum likes to remind me of this point often as though it’s an unchangeable weakness.
Unlike my team members, my job as Wanderer is to open the time travel portal, not to protect, like Bishop, and not to see a relic’s life path, its entire history, like Sam.
“Does Bishop know what you’ve been up to?” he asks. I suspect he already knows the answer.
I sit up completely, dropping my hands on my knees. “He does,” I hesitate, “but—”
“He doesn’t know how much you’ve improved, then?” He finishes my sentence. His black eyes flicker knowingly, reading the conflict on my face. My gaze falls to the floor.
Bishop’s been put in this world to protect me. As his Wanderer, my safety is his job, his life’s goal. My new determination to become a better fighter means I might render Bishop useless.
True, Bishop knows a little about my training. He says he understands my need to feel in control and less like a “damsel in distress.” How can he tell me not to become a more skilled fighter? As my Protector, his sole goal is my safety, and as my boyfriend, he happily gives me whatever I want, whether it’s of a serious or a childlike nature. He’s utterly selfless when it comes to my needs. Unfortunately, I seem to be the opposite, at least on this one particular point.
Kiss Kiss Page 262
