Bonus Chapter Two (Liam’s POV)

That One Time in Paris

Warning: This Chapter Contains Adult Language

Evelina O’Shea is a silent siren. She must be. It’s the only thing that explains why every time I look at her my brain scrambles, and I willingly lead my ship toward unsafe waters, ready to be capsized. 

I was on my way home. I was safe. 

And for whatever reason I went back to the bar, ready to throw reality into her face for once. Then bam, I saw her rubbing her head and any feelings of animosity sunk into the frigid waters of our relationship, never to be seen again.

Years separated by this woman did nothing to crush the power she has over me. The pull. The yearning. The itch to just be in the same place as her, even if I’m on the receiving end of a scowl while I’m there. 

Eli was right, this woman may kill me this time.

Originally, I came here hoping if we spent some time together she would see that I’ve changed for the better and that I’m not the arrogant asshole I was in high school and college. Not to say I was as terrible as she painted me, but I deserve a good portion of the blame, otherwise I would have seen how much her disease was affecting her. If I had known then, I would have begged her for a truce. Instead, I poked and prodded and, according to Caleb, drove her to a few nights at the hospital. Which honestly, is information that would have been nice to know while it was happening instead of after, when I, brooding in my rejection confided in Caleb, and he destroyed everything I thought I knew about the relationship between Evie and me.

I thought we were playing. I thought it was just a quirky relationship. 

I didn’t realize the burden I had become on her. 

Standing here in the flickering light of the Métro car, I no longer harbor false pretenses about us. Evie will never trust me, she made that clear in the alley. It doesn’t matter what she knows or doesn’t know about our past, that woman holds a grudge better than anyone I’ve ever met. 

The cabin is relatively empty, so my distractions are minimal and I give in to the temptation to soak in Evie’s presence. The dim light overhead casts her silhouette in shadows, but I’ve traced the slope of her nose and pout of her lips a thousand times, she doesn’t need a spotlight for me to admire her, she’s radiant enough on her own. Yet, for all the familiarities, there’s something about Evie, about the way she holds her head, and the sag of her shoulders, that’s unlike any version of her I’ve met in the past. It’s as if a sense of sadness has wrapped itself around her and now she’s carrying it around like an oppressive wet blanket.  

And that would fit with the out-of-character-to-me statements she’s made in the past week. The one’s about life sucking most of the time. I don’t know how, but I want to show her it doesn’t have to. I want to help her overcome whatever shit she’s dealing with to make her feel this way. 

“For the love of god, Liam Kelly, will you please stop grinning at me like some love-struck fool?” Evie scowls, leaning against a metallic pole. 

I shake myself out of whatever I let my face fall into. I haven’t been monitoring and keeping it in check as I should, but luckily with this whole fake relationship thing, I can play it off. 

“What? Can’t a fella be happy to be taking a stroll with his darling girlfriend?” Don’t say fella. It’s never fella. I rub a circle over my heart, trying to wipe my sweaty palms and get my heart to settle. 

I expect the scowl to deepen, maybe even a patented Evie-Eyeroll but her face softens, and she cocks her head to the side, scrutinizing me under the light. “Did I cut you?” she asks, motioning to my hand. 

God, she’s beautiful. “Huh?” I blink myself out of my daze. 

“Your palm, you’ve been rubbing it since I grabbed it earlier with Harmony, and I’m worried I might have cut you or something.” 

Oh shit. Have I? 

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I thank the low light of this cabin car for concealing it. When Evie touched me earlier, it was the first time she’d done so tenderly in I don’t know how long, and I liked it way too much. 

I shake my hand out by my side. “Just a tic. You’re fine.”

The announcement for the next stop sounds in the background, and Evie picks her lean off the pole. I guess this is our stop, then. She continues to study me, and I try not to give away that I’m freaking out. This is the closest she’s been to the truth, and if I’m not careful, I will give myself away soon. 

Once, I let myself hope she would eventually let the past go. Hell, I let a sliver of that hope exist when we got here, and Caleb and Eli said she wanted to see me, but I know better now. If anything, our fight in the alley re-established her disdain for me, and it’d be better for me to remember that and keep quiet about my feelings. 

“Okay, as long as I didn’t hurt you,” she says with a softness that completely defies every thought I just had. 

The sentiment surprises me as a breeze from the sliding doors slaps my cheeks, and we step out onto the concrete platform. An amalgam of smells follows the initial gust of wind, disoriented, I struggle to form a response. “All good, baby.” I wink. 

I fucking wink. 

“But I appreciate the concern.” 

Good god, man, why do you hate yourself? 

Evie glares, and I want to kick myself, apparently, I’m physically incapable of not making this weird. “No, no freaking way am I letting baby pass your lips in reference again to me. Off-limits.” 

She furrows her brow, and her mouth thins into a harsh slash. It’s a dance I’m overly familiar with. Except, currently, Evie’s harsh slash of a mouth has a quirk to it, a slight upward curl tugging on the left side. It’s an unconscious tell that she’s secretly enjoying our game but knows she shouldn’t.

I could handle this information with maturity. But something about being next to this woman rarely inspires that feeling, so instead, I scratch the scruff on my cheek and think as Evie shivers against the wind barreling down the staircase. “What would you prefer me to call you then? Sugar?” 

Another glare, another glorious twitch of her lips. “I’m sorry. Are you a forty-year-old man with a toupee and too much chest hair?” 

“Damn. You caught me. Don’t tell Natale, though. We have a good mom/son dynamic going.” 

Evie fights back a laugh, making a terrible sound in the back of her throat, and my grin grows. 

I got her. 

With an extra bounce in my step, I hop up the concrete stairs, sensing the warmth next to me has left a little too late. 

She’s probably in pain after working on her feet all night. 

I pause at the top of the staircase, waiting for her, and turn to see her struggling more than usual to finish the final ascent. “Sweetheart?” I ask, offering out my hand. I don’t know if she’ll take it, but I’ll offer it, anyway. 

“That’s a Caroline-ism.” Her palm slides against mine. With a gentle grasp, her fingers curl around my hand. “Thank you,” she says with an exhale. 

A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm when skin meets skin. I hope she’s not planning on getting this hand back ever because it’s mine now. 

Don’t be weird. 

And try not to overthink everything and panic. She can probably feel your pulse like this. 

Since I marched back into the bar, determined to tell Evie what happened the night of her debutante ball, I can’t help but shake that something has shifted between us. Something happened in her thought process while I was gone. I don’t know what, maybe Eli talked to her—hopefully not too much—but I can feel the wall she always kept up between us, the one she slammed down over herself in the alley, slowly dismantling. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

Growing chaos overwhelms me as we stride forward toward an expansive opening. Lighted discs fly into the night sky, blinking against the dark expanse. Miniature statues laid out on blankets sporadically flash along the sidewalk and people with keychains full of Eiffel Towers clink along beside the growing crowd. 

Before my injury in college, football was my entire life, and then recovering from surgery took its place, so I’ve never had time to travel. I was admittedly a tad anxious and bitter that the first trip my dad sent me on was to Paris, not wanting to reopen the wound I only mildly pretended was closed, but now taking everything, including my present company, in—I’m glad I’m here. Even if the slight tightening of my chest has reaffirmed my “I’m definitely a homebody” suspicions. 

Evie drops my hand and marches a few strides ahead of me. I quicken my pace to catch up. 

“Would ‘duck’ fit the bill?” I ask.

She rounds on me, her I’m-not-going-to-let-you-know-I-enjoy-this-glare resting on her face, and I give myself a mental high-five. Outwardly, I play, putting my hands up in surrender. “Okay, so duck puts you in a fowl mood, got it.” 

Evie’s mouth caves into a subtle smirk. Which is basically a full-bodied grin as far as I’m concerned. 

When in doubt, pun it out. 

It’s a relatively new mantra in our relationship, but it seems to work for us. In the past I couldn’t have handled coming up with so many but a few years ago, I bought a book of puns and basically memorized them to help me write pun-filled postcards I secretly send Evie every month. I’m not proud I needed to invest in a piece of literature for it, but Evie’s always been the brilliantly creative one, and I’m more of an analytical thinker, so it had to be done if I wanted to keep the habit going. 

And I did, want to keep it going, because I heard her talking to Eli about them on the phone one time, and it was the first time I’d heard genuine joy in her voice talking about something I did. 

“I’m delighted that my misfortune is bringing you so much joy,” she says a sentiment hanging in her voice that I’ve heard over a thousand times—frustration. “And I admit I deserve it, but if you could drop the act for five minutes so I can breathe before I take on Harmony Part Deux, I’d appreciate it.” 

“I’m not reveling in your misfortune, Peaches.” 

“Then what would you call this—” She gestures between us, her tone still clipped. Okay, so maybe goading her wasn’t the best play here. 

Be honest. 

I rub the back of my head, my mind internally cringing. I have nothing I can call it other than what it is. “Flirting?” 

She blinks. Once. Twice. “You’re flirting with me?” 

“Apparently not very well,” I mumble, shoving my hands into my pocket. I could have all the moves in the world, but the minute I’m near this woman I’m reduced to nothing more than a decrepit animatronic puppet on one of those amusement park rides.

Evie glances around, like she’s trying to puzzle out my last statement. And I don’t blame her, it was weird and mopey, and out of character for how I usually play it around her, but between the jetlag, the unfamiliarity of this place, and trying to navigate my emotions with Peaches, I’m too tired to hide much right now. “Like for practice?” she whispers. 

Right. Practice. For our fake relationship. The thing I could use as a shield to hide behind so I don’t have to temper my feelings as much. That could work. 

“I figured with this crowd. Harmony might see us before we see her. Probably a good idea to keep the ruse up, just in case, right?” 

Yes. Good excuse. Proud of you, man. 

Evie doesn’t buy my shit. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and skewers me with a narrow gaze. The second most dangerous way she could look at me, because those damn eyes are a loaded weapon even if she doesn’t know it. I’d do anything she asked me to if she just batted her lashes and looked at me a certain way.

Which is why I’m a twenty-seven-year-old man pretending to date her when there’s no apparent advantage for me.

“I believe your card said something about being head-over-heels in love with me, not for you to maintain your typical teasing demeanor.” 

Oh, Peaches. Can’t you see they’re the same thing? 

Nope. I can’t say that. 

“And I vaguely recall you recently scolding me in a Métro car to stop ‘grinning like some love-struck fool,’ so why don’t you figure out what you want, Peaches, and then let me know.” 

Deep in thought, Evie furrows her brow and pinches her lips together. “Why are you helping me, really?”

Because I love you, and you’re finally giving me a chance to be close to you. 

Thoughts spiraling inside, I shake my head and smile softly at her. “I guess I just figure I owe you. 

“Oh.”

Again, she’s soft and welcoming, and I don’t know what to make of it in contrast to our fight in the alley. 

I study her eyes and don’t see the challenge or the malice that usually hangs there, just Evie. Full of a little more melancholy than I remember, but the daydreamer, the one who saw the world with a beauty I never could, gazing back at me. 

I’ve been staring for way too long. I clear the ball of nerves lodged in the back of my throat. “So tell me, Peaches, how are we playing this?” 

“Well.” She fidgets, dropping her weight to her other foot and pulling at her fingertips. “Caroline did tell me to ‘aim a little lower’ when it came to you, and Harmony congratulated me on ‘reaching up,’ so I guess the doting, worships-the-ground-I-walk-on boyfriend dynamic’s a bit unrealistic anyway. We can say we’re just enjoying each other’s company for a change.” 

My brow furrows. I couldn’t have heard her right just then. “I’m sorry—your mother said what?”

Evie lowers her eyes to the ground. “To aim a little lower, it’s not a big deal. I mean, she’s right, anyway, so I get it.” 

My stomach drops. Are people seriously telling the woman I fucking worship that she’s somehow beneath me? “I don’t think I do, though.” 

“People won’t buy you falling first, that’s all. So if you don’t want to get caught, we shouldn’t push it.” 

Sweetheart, I fell so long ago, you don’t even know. No, this isn’t okay. Why would anyone say this to her?

I cross my arms, forbidding my internal turmoil from escaping the confines of my chest. “Well, now I think you’re doubting my acting skills.” 

If I play, maybe I can poke her out of the wave of sadness that just crashed against her.

“I saw you in our school performance of Chicken Little. I was very unconvinced the sky was falling.” She keeps her voice light, but her eyes stay transfixed on a cigarette lying half-smoked on the ground. She toes it with her shoe, studying it like it’s about to be a piece for her next blog article.

She’d probably make some gorgeous philosophical metaphor out of it, and I’d lap it the fuck up.

How flames of intoxication can be burnt and crumbling on the ground in a matter of seconds or something like that.  

“Evie—” My hand twitches as I reach out and tuck my fingers under her chin. “Why would your mom say something like that? Does this have to do with what she thinks happened the night of the ball?” 

“Oh, well, yeah.” She swallows. “Sort of.” 

Suddenly, a new light is shed on a lot of our previous interactions and I’m able to make good sense of most of them. Especially her drive to make everything a competition with me, a drive that seems to have burnt her out in college, if not sooner. Of course she’s bitter.

Or is she? I can’t help but read into the fact that she had a perfect opening to throw blame at me, again, and she chose not to take it. I want to momentarily change subjects and ask, “I’m sorry. What revelation did you have after I left? I missed something,” but trying to convince Evie that whatever message people have been telling her for years is dead freaking wrong is more important.

 “Okay, so I’m the one who messed all of this up. Let me play the part of adoring boyfriend and fix it.” A lock of her hair falls against her cheek, and my hands are far too close, I have to wrap it around my finger and brush it away or I’ll suffer a lifelong itch of dissatisfaction. I have other cravings of course, too, desperate to bend my head down and press my lips against hers, but I’m also wicked pissed for her, and right now, the rage is saving me from my more foolish desires. 

“If—you insist.” She glances up at me like she has a similar war battling inside, and once again, that scary feeling of hope sparks alive in my chest. 

“If you believe the shit they’re selling, I do.” I can’t fix what they’re saying, but hell am I going to let her believe any of it. Her breath hitches and it draws my focus back to the fact that my hand is still resting on her cheek and I’m making this weird. I withdraw it, flexing it at my side, trying to get the sparks her skin elicited to chill. “As long as you’re comfortable with it.” 

“I mean, who could say no to a little flattery?” She bats her eyelashes, and I’m done for. 

“Great, then it’s settled. I’ll adore the fuck out of you, and everyone can go screw—” I nod, striding forward. Reaching up? Seriously, who says shit like that to someone? 

“Liam?” Evie’s voice halts my inner tirade. 

“You know you aren’t obligated to do this, right? I appreciate it, and I’m sorry for what I said in the alley, but I can find another way to get through this.” 

There she is again. More unfamiliar softness. An actual apology. 

And there it is again, that feeling I swore I’d never let myself have around her. Hope. 

“I know, Peaches. Don’t worry.” I squeeze her hand, dragging her through the crowds of people until we turn a corner, and the sight of an illuminated tower slams me in my tracks. It’s… huge. I know that is a profoundly simple thing to say, but… as I stare up at it, I am overwhelmed by its enormity. I’ve seen it in Evie’s blogs, and we came and picnicked here a few days ago, but there’s something about its contrast against the dark expanse of the sky that hits differently. Everything quiets, like all my senses are concentrated into my sense of sight so I can fully appreciate how cool this is.

“Nana would have loved this,” I manage.

“She really would have.” 

Slowly, the surrounding sounds trickle back in. The rush of the water. The chaos of chatter. And the faint sound of some guitar slowly strumming a Rick Astley song. 

“Are we getting RickRolled right now?” I bite down a snicker at the contrast between the song and the romantic Parisian atmosphere. 

It’s kind of hilarious.

“Yes. Yes, we are. I’m so sorry that’s what’s playing during your first time.” 

“Company isn’t half bad.” 

Warmth fills my side as we stand together. It’s a tiny moment, but it’s perfect. None of the shit from our past exists in this tiny bubble. We’re just here, two people remembering someone so important in both of our lives. 

“Thank you for coming to my rescue multiple times, especially after I was horrid to you,” Peaches sighs. “I’m going to try my best not to jump to conclusions anymore, I promise. If you owe me anything, I at least owe you that.” 

I temper the grin threatening to bust across my face because those words are everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. “Can’t say I was exactly a knight in shining armor with that rescue, but you’re welcome.” 

“I’d have been worried there was an invasion-of-the-body snatchers situation unraveling if you didn’t tease me while you were helping. But I’m sorry for getting us into another situation. I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted to do on Friday night.”

Yes, my plan to work on my thesis and brood was ruined. What a shame. 

“Honestly, standing here with you right now kind of makes up for it, even if I had told Harmony this morning I had work to do tonight.” 

“How—but—you met her tonight.” 

Should I have mentioned that? Shit. I go to rake my hand through my hair but realize the heat I’ve felt to my side is my pinky locked with Evie’s. Okay, play it cool. We have been standing like this for a while and she’s for whatever reason not moving her pinky either. 

Using my other hand, I thread it through my hair. “She DM’d me on Instagram earlier, followed it from the tag in the photo or something. Said if I wanted someone to show me around Paris, she would be more than happy to.” 

I said no because I still hope Evie will do it someday. 

“That bitch.” The words shoot out of Evie’s mouth, and I almost laugh out loud at the venom that accompanies them. When we were growing up, Evie was refined and reserved with everyone, even me, or at least she tried but it never quite fit right. Since I’ve been here, though, it feels like she’s shed that part of her and become more of her natural self.

I like seeing this new side of her.

More than I should.

Because I didn’t need another reason to adore this woman.

“I’m so sorry.” She shimmies her shoulder, shaking something out, and meets my eyes. “I know this isn’t real, and I have no right to be jealous. It’s just that she doesn’t know that.” 

The embers of hope I’ve tried to squash flicker to flames inside my chest. She’s jealous? Well, how about that? 

“You can let her know I’m very taken if you want, Peaches.” 

“You know what? Maybe I will.” 

Hope is for suckers, man. Don’t let it consume you.

A weird throaty sound leaves Evie’s throat, almost like a self-deprecating whimper. “I appreciate your dedication to our situation, but you didn’t have to say no if you wanted to go—I mean, she’s totally your type, and I shouldn’t have tried to get in the way.” 

I slide my eyes to hers for the first time during this conversation. “You think that’s my type?” 

“Maybe not to a T, but come on, it’s Harmony. She’s gorgeous.” 

“That’s not really where my attention was, so I’ll take your word for it.” 

“That’s fair. You were probably too busy focusing on getting out of the situation as fast as possible, huh?” 

No, I wanted to milk it for all it was worth, but I’m trying not to be selfish anymore and didn’t want to torture you. Nope, can’t say that.

“No, Peaches, that wasn’t where it was either.”

“Where exactly was your attention, then?” Peaches asks in a nervous tone. Her pinky tightens against mine and she fidgets a smidge.

My stomach flips. Now would be the time if I wanted an opening to bare my feelings. But I’m so terrified that she’ll laugh at me that I can’t bring myself to do it. 

I glance past her shoulder, and a familiar face in a flood of strangers catches my eye. Harmony. 

Maybe I can let out the truth that’s threatening to explode out of me at any second without giving myself away. 

“Why would you ask that?” I ask, tugging her back to me and gently cradling her cheek in her hand. “It’s always right here.”

Evie blinks like she’s trying to make sense of what is happening, and then Harmony’s voice sounds over the crowd, and her face falls. I release the tension of anticipation in my chest. She bought it was all a ruse then. 

“She used to be cute, I guess. But now it’s like if Shrek and Strawberry Shortcake had a baby, and he’s gorgeous.” Harmony shouts, and I consider murdering anyone who’s ever made Evie believe stuff like this, but I’m not sure about the French legal system, and I’d rather not become intimately acquainted with it.

“She probably gives good head.” A second voice sounds. 

What the fuck? I shouldn’t be surprised, only a few minutes ago Evie was telling me people say shit like this to her face. But hearing it in person is still somehow surprising.

“Hide me.” Evie’s small voice whispers, and I nod. Because if we don’t hide from them, well, bad things might happen.

I glance around, eyeing the statues at the platform’s edge that should provide us with some suitable cover, and tug on Evie’s hand, dragging her over. Using my body, I try to obscure her even further. People hate PDA, and maybe if they think we’re doing something else, they won’t look this way for too long. 

A tear drops down Evie’s cheek, and my heart falls with it. 

“Ignore them.” My thumb strokes away another passing tear. 

“They’re not wrong.” Evie laughs. 

“Seriously, Peaches. You’re beautiful.” 

I can fix this. I have to. Dammit, maybe if I’d been more honest with my feelings in the past, this wouldn’t be an issue because at least she’d know how I felt. 

She snorts in response, like she can’t believe the shit I’m selling. 

It’s not shit, Peaches.

“Evie, look at me.” This time, the frustration in my voice doesn’t soften. I hate that people have been saying this, I hate that she for whatever reason believes it. And I hate that it’s affecting her this way. 

But maybe I can still fix this. Maybe if she just saw—I lower my mask and gaze at Evie like I do when she doesn’t notice my attention is on her and channel every thought and feeling I’ve ever had about her into that stare, she’s the most magical human I’ve ever encountered, I’d do just about anything she asked, she has my heart on a string for the taking, she’s my person—no matter how fucked up things are with us. I still believe we were made for each other at some point. 

Her breath hitches. 

Good. 

“I’m looking at you,” she says.

“Good, and do you see what you do to me?” 

“Drive you up a wall.” 

This time, it’s my turn to snort. “You have no idea how true that is.” I brush another tear off her cheek. “How you continuously sucker punch me with those big blue eyes. And that damn hair of yours that sparkles in the sun and drives me wild.” 

Evie’s face picks up a bit, like what I’m saying is working, but it’s not where I want it to be yet, so I go all in on something I know will make her laugh, something I know she’d know I’d never make up. 

“I expect you to be very mature about this information in the future, but Evie, I shut a door in your face the other day because I was hard, and I panicked.” 

She blinks at me. “I’m sorry—I’m—uhm, I’m going to need you to repeat that. You, what?” 

Of course, she would make me say it twice. “I got a boner.” I mouth.  

A large, boisterous laugh releases out of her, and I can’t help the grin that spreads wide across my face in response. Making her laugh is intoxicating. 

“That’s the story you’re going with? I didn’t know ogres and bonnet-wearing dolls were your things.” 

“You’re so fucking stubborn, it’s ridiculous.” I sigh. “Maybe I should tell Harmony the story instead.” 

“Don’t you dare. I’m Harmonie’d out.” 

“And honestly—” Harmony’s voice grows closer. “Those big-ass cakes are her brand or whatever, but she doesn’t have to eat the entire thing herself—” 

Welp, French legal system, here comes me.

“On second thought, share away,” she grits out. 

Gladly, Peaches. 

“Oh, okay, good.” I shoot my head toward the voices. 

“I was joking!” She shrieks, grasping my shirt and tugging me towards her. 

The action takes me off guard, and I manage to catch myself inches from her lips. Her gaze zeros on my mouth and that dreaded feeling of hope flickers again. 

Maybe she wants to kiss me too. Maybe I’m not misreading this for once.

“Evie, listen—” 

“There you two are,” Harmony’s voice interrupts us before I have the chance to make a huge mistake. “We almost missed you.” 

“Oh, Harmony. Hi.” 

“This is my friend Samantha,” Harmony says. “She’s new to the city, but she reached out, and I just had to take her under my wing.” 

Evie buries into me like she doesn’t want whomever Harmony is with to recognize her. Lilacs and sugar overwhelm my nostrils, and I savor the feel of her against me. 

“Oh my god,” another voice behind me sounds. “Harmony, I think that’s totally Cheese Girl.” 

Odd moniker. Probably why Evie didn’t want to be noticed by her.

I arch my brow, mouthing, “Cheese girl?”  

“I may have been doing shots of Cheez Whiz on the Métro,” she whispers. “It was not a particularly proud moment, and I don’t wish to revisit it.” 

“It is. That’s the girl that choked on Cheez Whiz.” 

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Harmony snorts. “Eevee’s habits were always interesting.” 

Since murder is frowned upon, I do the only thing I can in this position. Make Evie laugh and everyone else around me, confused. I pretend to nip at her neck with a low growl. “God, I love the way you work a can of cheese.” 

“You do love your cheese.” Evie pats my chest and kisses the tip of my nose. “I call it his little feta-ish.” She winks, and I have to bite down hard on my knuckle to suffocate my laugh.

Proud of herself, a twinkle I thought was lost passes through Evie’s ocean of a stare, like the sun cascading off the water in glittering waves, and I bask in the glow. I did that. I brought the sunshine back to her eyes.  

There’s a beat where I become so transfixed, so lost in Evie, that I couldn’t tell you if Harmony says anything, or if she left us, or what, but then Evie’s apple bobs, and the twinkle fades, and reality comes back to me once more. “Will you look at the time? The tower is about to sparkle.” She gestures for me to get off her. “Oh, actually. Harmony, would you mind taking a photo of us for Instagram?” 

“Lord knows your traffic needs it.” 

Evie takes my hand. I follow her to an empty spot and wrap my arm around her waist, careful not to pull her in too close in case she can hear my heart hammering out of my chest. 

“This pose is boring,” Samantha yells. “Y’all need to kiss. It’d be gold on Insta with the sparkles.” 

A ball of excitement swirls and churns inside, wreaking havoc on my intestines and I tense, trying to get it to calm the fuck down. “I’m fine with it if you are.” 

Fine. About to die from anticipation and need.

Whatever you want to call it.

“Are you sure?” 

“It’s just a kiss.” I shrug while my inner turmoil suggests otherwise.

Evie doesn’t look sold, but I won’t push her. 

“We’re on a time limit with the sparkles, guys.” 

“Just a kiss, totally fine.” Evie nods in agreement. “It is the better photo.” 

“Then we probably should do it.” 

“Yeah.” She shakes her hands out at her side with an accompanying shoulder shimmy. “We should.” 

I wrap an arm around her waist, resting it on her back. Dipping my head, I bring my lips to her ear. “Slight note. Maybe don’t do your nervous energy dance before we kiss next time.” 

Next time. 

Like I’m expecting there to be a next time, ass. 

I kiss her cheek because if I don’t, I will bust out all over her when my lips meet hers. “I’m going to kiss you for real now, Peaches. 

She nods, blinking her eyes open, and that vast ocean, full of rocks and doom, is the last thing I see as I cradle the back of her head and bring my lips to hers. 

Her strawberry curls tangle in my grasp as I brush against her lips, careful not to expose more of myself than she needs to see. 

I’m anxious I won’t be able to restrain myself if I let any more of myself press against her. 

That’s it, that should be enough—

In an instant, Evie’s mouth crashes against mine, ravishing it. And my heart is spiraling with surprise. It takes a minute for my head and my heart to catch up. Evelina O’Shea is kissing me—a full-on, passionate embrace. I’ve dreamed about it over the years, only to wake up and realize it was fake far too late, but this is real, right? 

She nips at my bottom lip, waking me out of my stupor. A growl thunders in my chest like the part of me I’ve left caged for what feels like an eternity has been released and is finally getting some satisfaction. 

I’m overwhelmed with the need to feel and taste every bit of her. As if I know this is my only chance, and I will catalog everything I can in the short time I have. 

My hands sweep over her soft curves and I memorize the feel of her body underneath my palms. Scorching. A work-of-art. Perfect.

The taste of her and the heat of her hungry mouth sends shockwaves through my system. I’ve never been able to tell Evie how I feel, fear always ripping my words away, but maybe like this, I can at least show her.

I trace the soft fullness of her lips. You are breathtaking.

She slants her head to the side, opening her mouth and granting me better access. You are everything I’ve ever wanted.

Passion becomes impossible to withhold and I grip the back of her head, crushing my lips against hers. I lo—

“Okay, we got it.” Harmony’s voice floods back into my reality. “You guys can quit mauling each other.” 

Each other. 

We were both mauling each other.

Tick. Tick. Boom. Here come’s that damn hope.

Ready to engulf me whole.

Evie pulls away, and I’ve never decided I dislike someone I’ve barely talked to more than the way I feel about Harmony in that moment.

I want to keep going, I have so much more left to say to her. Instead, I let my forehead fall to hers. “I think she knows I’m very taken now, Peaches.” I remind myself that this is all for show. 

For Harmony.

So maybe she’s not that bad.

“And you doubted I could fake it.” Her fingers stay resting in my hair, and I catch my breath, arm wrapped around her back. 

“You win.” My eyes flicker to her lips, and I contemplate kissing them again. Once wasn’t enough. I thought I could get it out of my system, that it wouldn’t live up to what I had built up in my imagination, but I was so wrong. 

Evie glances at me. A nervous shiver passes over her before she turns to Harmony. “How did the sparkles come out? I’m never sure in the dark.”

“Perfect, honestly, dream kiss,” Harmony says, glancing at my phone with a groan before shoving it back in Evie’s hand. “So we got a text from a friend to go to their apartment for a party, so we’re going to have to leave you guys here.” 

I use my remaining moments as Evie’s boyfriend to my advantage, tossing my arms over her shoulders and pulling her tightly against me. “You want to go back to my apartment?” 

“That sounds good,” Evie hums as my fingers trail up her arm. Goosebumps prick her skin as she looks through the photos of her simultaneously giving me life and destroying my world. 

“You want my jacket? You’re shivering.” 

“I’m fine. Thanks for taking this, Harmony. Did you want one with you and…Samantha, was it?” 

“Oh, uhm. We’re good, actually. We’ll catch you.” 

As Harmony fades away, I let go of Evie and turn towards the musician who Rickrolled us earlier now playing Coldplay, careful not to catch her eye as I bury all my feelings back down. 

“You want me to walk you home?” I ask with a subtle sigh. Repressing everything again seems damn near impossible after a kiss like that.

“Oh—no. It’s. You’ve. I need to. I’m just going to—” 

Right. She’s so uncomfortable with what happened that I’ve reduced her to stutters. Better figure out how I’m going to overcome never kissing her again because hell if she’s going to want to after this. “I get it, Peaches. It’s fine.” 

“I’ll see you Monday?” She asks, pulling at her fingers. “If you want. I mean, if the offer still stands for another practice date.” 

“Yeah. Monday’s good.”

“Awesome. I’m looking forward to it.” 

I should release her from all of this, put her out of her misery. “Harmony’s gone, Peaches. You don’t have to torture yourself anymore.”

“I’m not.” She bounces on her toes. Sure looks like torturing herself to me, but okay. “I meant what I said earlier about trying not to jump to the wrong conclusions anymore. So I’m looking forward to catching up and getting to know you again. If you want.” 

“Oh.” I can’t hide my surprise at this shift. Whatever happened between the alley and now, I don’t care, this feels like a new start for us. This could be good. My lips curl in a smile. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot, actually.” 

“Great. Then. Well. Bye,” she says, wagging her fingers in the shape of a gun my way as she does a poor rendition of the moon walk.  

It’s probably not advisable for me to stare at her much longer, because I’m way too tempted to run after her and kiss the crap out of her again. One kiss is never going to be enough for me.

And maybe it doesn’t have to be.

My lips tingle with the remnants of our embrace and I brush my fingers over them. A strong blaze of hope licks my nerve endings as Evie leaves and my insides burn brighter than the iron structure illuminated in the starless sky in front of me.

Shit.

There’s no way this ends well for me, huh?

Bonus Chapter One (Liam’s POV)

FGK Bonus Chapter One

In Their College Years

Warning: This Chapter Contains Adult Language

“Kelly, your girl’s here.” Owen Jacobs tips his chin toward the oak door littered with bumper stickers swinging in the mild Alabama winter breeze.

“Oh, which one’s his girl?” A petite brunette draped on his lap perks up. I feel bad, but I have no clue what her name is, and honestly, I don’t think Owen does either. Since he’s decided he’s entering the draft this year, he’s been careful not to get too attached to anyone.

Lucky bastard.

“She’s the redhead,” he supplies, sipping his beer.

“She’s strawberry blonde, and she’s not my girl.” I swirl the foam remnants of my room-temperature draft beer, keeping my eyes trained on the bubbles slowly dissipating along the bottom of the glass. I’m desperate for something to focus on so my vision doesn’t wander and drink in the thing it’s really thirsting for.

“Oh, he does have it bad.” The girl on Owen’s lap laughs, wiggling until she draws out a hearty grunt. “Why weren’t you like that with me?”

“Because I’m a mature man who acts on his feelings,” Owen teases into the woman’s ear loud enough for me to hear because he meant it for me. His lower hushed cadence as he whispers something more private confirms it. He’s always giving me shit for how I act around Evie, and I get it. I swear I can be charming with just about everyone but her. But he doesn’t understand what it’s like to have held a candle for someone for so long that the line between where I begin and the flame burning for her ends is one big blurry mess, and no matter how many times I try to suffocate the damn thing, it seems to burn harder, faster, deeper, never letting up, always on the edge of engulfing me whole.

The drag of the stool next to me pulls me out of my sulk. Owen rises as the brunette holds his hand and tugs him towards the door. “One sec.” He grins. A firm hand falls on my shoulder. “Maybe take a page out of my flattery is the best form of flirting playbook instead of whatever playground shit you normally go with.”

“Or I could sit here and brood while she ignores me because it’s easier, and I’m more comfortable with familiar rejection instead of getting kicked in the balls a new way.”

“Right. That’s not pathetic at all. Listen, we’re going to—”

“It’s fine. Desert me here even though you were the one who forced me out.”

“Any chance—”

“I don’t know her name either.”

Owen and I started rooming together Freshman year, and as a quarterback and wide receiver tandem, we’ve worked hard to know each other on a finishes-each-other-sentence level.

“Ah. Shit.” He scratches his head with a sheepish look as he approaches the girl at the door and strands me with an empty beer glass as my only distraction against doom.

Which doesn’t amount to anything when the temptation of turning and getting a dose of Evie itches at my core.

The guards to protect my heart slam into place. I know I shouldn’t look, but I’m not strong enough to deny myself the brief high. From the moment I saw her when I was little, looking at Evie has always been this spellbinding, paradoxical experience. Like the hold that gazing up into the first quiet, glittering fall of snow every year has somehow mixed with the rush of running onto the field to the deafening roar of a hundred thousand fans.

Out of the corner of my eye, her strawberry hair catches my attention, and I can’t hold back any longer. I shift my gaze in her direction, drinking her in before she realizes I’m staring, and an icy front slams down over her soft features.

Her curls tumble down near her back, falling along her shoulder. Her posture holds straight and perfect, with a high jutted chin, like she’s always held herself. Grace suits her in her stillness, even if her coordination betrays her at other times.

I don’t have much time to admire her Pacific-blue eyes before she senses my stare and shifts her gaze in my direction. The thin-lipped scowl and the hardening of her features should follow any second now.

An unfamiliar twinkle passes over her face as she lifts her hand, waving at me, and a smile curls her pink-bee-stung lips up.

My heart somersaults in my chest. Okay, this is good. We can work with this.

Oh, wait. No. She’s not waving her hand. She’s waving a finger.

The middle one, specifically.

Yeah, that sounds more like it.

I shake my head, letting a little dimpled smirk sit on my face because stuff like that isn’t supposed to get to me, and in some weird ways, it doesn’t. Although, I wish we were both playing this game because we liked to tease each other and not the one-sided game it’s become over the years.

Toasting her with my glass, I take a sip. Her brow furrows while I come up empty on the beer front. Right, I had already established that there wasn’t any beer left in this glass.

Well. It was an empty gesture anyway, seeing as Evie’s leaving tomorrow for a semester abroad, and I don’t feel cheery about it. Since my mom broke the news to me, it’s consumed me. No doubt she’s going to meet some charming French man who has a thing for doe-eyes and hair that shimmers in the sun, and I’ll be doomed to a life relegated on the sidelines watching her unbridled happiness with someone else at family parties.

Being in love with the sister of the guy who adopted you into his family is a curse.

Shit. Focus, turn back, and face front, Evie’s head this way.

Lilacs and rosewater hit my nostrils before she brushes against the side of me, shimmying to make room for herself, even though the other side of the bar had plenty of openings. She leans her lithe body over the countertop, propping herself up on her forearms and rising on her toes to grab the bartender’s attention. Her ass during all of this finds its way directly in front of my face.

Don’t stare.

She moves a bit, not obvious, but enough to draw my attention. And hell, she has to know what she’s doing, right?

I could try Owen’s suggestion for once. Compliment something. Her cardigan. Her dress. No, she’d only be suspicious. Maybe I could ignore her. Not take the bait. Be strong.

“Stalking me again, Peaches?”

I am a weak, weak man.

Her shoulders bunch high to her ears with tension, and I can feel the accompanying eye roll even if I can’t see it from this angle. Slowly, I push my long sleeves up to my elbows. When she meets my gaze again, her eyes will snap to my exposed forearms and linger there. Embers of hope will spark along my skin with her appreciative glance, and then it’ll vanish the minute she meets my eyes. Evie’s attracted to me. It’s not a secret, and sometimes it boosts my ego. Still, most of the time, it’s just a slap in the face. A reminder that no matter how physically attracted she is to me, my personality is so repulsive that I’ll never be able to overcome that part.

“You know, it’s funny, Wonder Boy, that you traveled halfway across town to the bar near my dorm when you have a perfectly adequate one near your own house.”

It is funny. It’s also a point I argued with Owen when he suggested coming here, but his argument for coming was compelling, even if it’s staring at me with a scowl right now. “They have the coldest beer in town. Didn’t you see?” I hitch a thumb to the fluorescent sign in the window boasting that claim.

It’s top five at best.

Evie’s lips twitch in amusement before locking in on my flexed forearm with parted lips. When she does this, I wish I could tuck my finger under her chin and lean in, brushing my mouth against hers, being granted access with earnest and a long suffering sigh of relief.

I shake the imaginary reality free from my head. Daydreams aren’t something I typically entertain since all they do is inspire false hope.

“What are you doing out, anyway? Shouldn’t you be packing?” I try to keep the bitter edge off my tone. I know she’s not deserting me here, but I’m a little sensitive to being left for some traumatic reason that I don’t feel like revisiting.

“Already done, so the girls wanted to take me out for one last celebration.” She nods over my shoulder at the group of women she’s hung out with since freshman year. I’ve tried to talk to a few of them, but I always get this weird feeling that our conversations are being assessed to see if I’m marriage material. A prospect I’m not interested in since I’m the last person on earth the woman with my heart would want to marry.

Evie grabs a tray of shots and turns. Her chest brushes against mine, and her eyes widen with the contact. There’s a beat where she stills. Her breath hitches, and her eyes flicker to my lips with a heavy-lidded gaze. Huh. That’s new.

My tongue darts out, swiping the beads of beer lingering there, and her breaths come in slower and more pronounced. It’s subtle. Something an outsider would miss. But I see her—and right now, Evie isn’t just attracted to me—there’s something more profound, and I’ve been chasing this girl for so freaking long that I’m not ready to let it go tomorrow.

“And you didn’t invite your oldest friend to celebrate with you? Peaches, I’m hurt.”

She meets my stare. A challenging gleam hangs in her eyes. “You want to celebrate me, Wonder Boy, be my guest. You know where we’ll be, what with your cute little stalker tendencies.”

Unfortunately, I am a creeper, so I do know. She’ll move into the other wing of the bar, where there’s a dance floor, with her friends. Evie never dances, instead she’ll sit on a couch alone as her friends gather on the dance floor after a few shots.

I’d feel bad, but she seems happier alone, like she’s trying to force friendships that don’t fit.

“I won’t be holding my breath for you, though, so if I don’t see you, I’d say it’s been fun, but you know.” She shrugs and her cardigan falls slightly, exposing her bare shoulder. The tray wobbles in her grip, and I shoot off my stool, catching the bottom of it with a sigh before she’s covered with cheap liquor.

“Who the hell thought sending you to get the damn tray was a good idea?” I groan, taking ownership. “Go, I’ll get myself one too and be over.”

Heaven knows I’ll need it with what I’m about to try to do—get Evie to admit that maybe there is something more there. Leave her thinking about me as she leaves for France. Something. I don’t know. But I’m sick of being a footnote in her life when she’s everything to me.

“How do I know you won’t poison mine?” She arches a brow, assessing me with a skeptical gaze. “Maybe I should stay here.”

Scratch that. I’m not a footnote. I’m the fucking villain.

Why do I prefer that to being nothing?

“Sure, spend more time with me because you don’t trust me. What do I care?” I glance down at her, and my lips curl. Evie was a good five inches taller than me until our junior year of high school, and she used her height to her advantage, lording it over me in our fights, so there’s a silly part of me that revels in winning some weird vertical competition we silently had.

A tiny groan passes over her lips, and I raise a brow. “Okay, my company isn’t that bad.” I grump.

“Not every moan I make is about you, Kelly.”

And cue choking on air.

“I meant—I didn’t mean. I—fuck.” She presses in on her abdomen, and I want to tease her and make her blush over her choice of words, but I also know as much as Evie tries to hide it when she’s in pain, and right now, that’s the case.

“Okay, why don’t we get you sitting with your friends, and I’ll come back for my shot.” Grabbing the crook of her elbow, I navigate her toward the back room.

“I could have waited. I was fine.”

“Mhm.” I ignore her. “I’ll be back soon. Try not to moan too much without me.” With a wink I drop the tray on the table.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want you here.” She hollers over her shoulder.

“Too late, Peaches. I’m ready to celebrate the fuck out of you.”

I take a deep breath and head to the bar, her tiny breath hitch playing in my mind. Maybe Owen is right; I need to change how I approach this.

Better late than never, right?

***

“How can you drink this much?” Evie giggles. Her palm falls on my arm, and flames lick up my forearm, headed straight to my heart with the contact. “I fucking hate you right now.”

“It’s your fault for making everything a goddamn competition.” I laugh back, reveling in a moment I can’t help but feel has been fifteen years in the making. For the past thirty minutes, my ass has remained firmly in the same spot, and yet, what started as a wide gap of separation between us has somehow diminished to nothing. Evie’s knee is brushing against mine, the heat of her scorching my side, and she’s flirting with me. She has been, I swear, since she walked into the bar.

As if the heat was too much for her, Evie threw her cardigan off not too long ago, and now her silky bare arms are millimeters from pressing up against mine.

I hate to say it, but I owe Owen an apology. I’m not doing the whole flattery for the sake of flirting thing, but for once, I’m just being honest and open with Evie, saying what I’m thinking.

“That dress looks nice on you,” I yell over the dance music blaring in this part of the bar.

Evie considers me, tilting her head to the side. “Why are you being so nice tonight?”

I angle my body into her and my fingers gently caress the bare skin of her arms. A satisfied hum passes over Evie’s lips, and I’m tempted to cup her cheek, dip my head, and feel that vibration against my mouth. Instead I settle for brushing a loose lock of hair out of her face. “Because I’m going to miss you. You’re my Peaches, you know?”

Pink dusts her cheeks as she smiles bashfully, peering at me beneath fluttering lashes. “Come dance with me,” she says, pulling on my hand and stands.

I’ve never seen Ms. Finishing School let loose before. Honestly, I wasn’t aware that she could dance. But I’d follow her anywhere because she’s talking to and touching me.

Unfortunately my willingness to follow obediently doesn’t translate into understanding what the hell is happening and I make little sense of it for a good minute, staring as Evie blinks back at me, but then she takes my hands, placing them on her hips. The intimate contact scorches my fingertips and my senses in an instant. In my stupor, I, Mr. Charming himself, can’t do a damn thing. I blink and stare. And oh fuck. I’m making this awkward.

In an instant, Evie’s face drops from hopeful to anxious to downright mortified. I register everything in a file in my brain labeled “things that are concerning and we should act on right away.” Unfortunately, my filing system gets set on fire whenever Evie is around, so it’ll take two-to-never business days for me to process the information.

“Was this stupid? This was stupid. I’m sorry. I don’t know—I just thought,” she yells over the music. “I’ve seen you dance with other women, so I thought you liked it.”

“I do. Like dancing.” I blink, still as a statue. Move Liam. Move.

“But not with me. Right, so this was a silly idea. Just forget it.”

New memo. Evie is nervous.

Around me?

Evie shifts like she’s about to move off the dance floor, and my stupor clears.

Focus, man.

She’s suddenly acting like she’s an awkward teenager around you.

You know she’s always been attracted to you.

You’re a decent dancer.

There is hope.

“No. No. It’s fine.” I grip her waist, slowly moving up to her arms and guiding them over my shoulders. “I’m just worried you might fall more in love with me like this, and I don’t want you to spend your time in Paris mooning over me. Seems like a waste.”

Her lips twitch. “I’ll try not to fall for you suddenly, Wonder Boy.” She pats my cheek. “I know it’s hard to believe someone might be immune to your charms. But I’ve never been a prince of the underworld kind of gal.”

“Relax into me then, Peaches.”

“I don’t want you to drop me.”

“I’m not going to—your feet are on the ground.” I groan, my lips press into a thin line, and this, not my attempt at being charming or whatever I just tried, gets her to relax into me.

She looks up, her lips quirked, and I see the new challenge. Dance with me, and I’ll try not to fall in love.

We sway like that, neither of us acknowledging the new competition. Who will cave from the tension and kiss the other person first?

For a brief second, Evie’s eyes flit up to meet mine, and the challenge I expect to greet me is absent. Her chest heaves against mine, and it’s no longer a competition. We can both win this. All I have to do is lower my lips to hers, and she’ll gladly accept them.

I pause. I’ve imagined our first kiss for way too long for it to be on a sweaty dance floor surrounded by people grinding on each other.

There aren’t too many romantic options in this bar but I know one picture in a far private corner that’s serviceable.

“Come with me,” I whisper, pulling on her hand.

She follows, and I bring her down a hallway near the bathroom where an old picture of some Alabama alum in Paris is.

“No, Liam Kelly, I will not have bathroom sex with you.” She giggles.

“I thought maybe we’d settle for a kiss tonight, Peaches.” I take a step, and her eyes widen.

“Why, why would I—” She stammers, but in that second she drops her mask, our eyes meet, and everything I’ve felt, everything I feel, is reflected there, the pining, the yearning for our lips to touch, the desire for something more. Hope swells in my chest. Ladies and gentlemen, Evelina Peaches O’Shea, the great pretender, has snapped.

“I mean, if you got the impression, I’m sorry–but I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I only harbor ill feelings towards you—” Her lip quivers.

“You know. Sometimes, I wonder, Peaches. If you hate me for real, or if this is all a game of make believe to you.” I take another step toward her, and she doesn’t budge. Her chin tilts up to mine, and I relish the heave of her chest. The slow breaths she drags through her lungs. That’s right, Peaches, you can feel what it’s like to be fucking breathless for once.

Every step towards her feels like a cautious approach. She’s always been so quick to close up, and if I misstep here, I’m done for. I may never have another shot.

“You’re the one who makes everything a game, not me,” she rasps.

“Nope, just the one who wins them. Come to think of it, have you ever won anything with me, Peaches?”

I rest my forearm above her head.

“No, but extenuating circumstances have prohibited me from competing at a fair level.”

Evie bites her lip, peering at me through an ocean of blue that has threatened to capsize me for years. She flickers again to my lips. Ah. So that’s the kind of circumstance she means. Maybe I haven’t been clear enough with how I feel about her.

“Maybe we’re on a closer level with that circumstance than you think.”

Her mouth presses into a harsh, thin line. “I doubt that.”  

Her tone cuts, edged with the knife she uses to keep me at arm’s length. But the hands fisting swaths of my shirt and tugging me closer to her tell a different story.

My hand itches. I want to wrap it behind her back, pull her against me, coax that lip out, and taste her for the first time in my life, but I need to let her finish the lean.

Please. My famished brain whispers as my lips hover slowly. She rises on her toes, and my lips curl up in response like they know they’re about to have the satisfaction they’ve craved for years. “Why don’t you give in and admit I’ve won, Peaches? Aren’t you tired of the chase?” The words are soaked with liquid courage I rarely possess around this woman.

My slow-growing grin snaps something in our pull, and Evie withdraws, eyes wide as saucers. “I’m not a fucking game,” she mutters.

And then the scowl I’m far more accustomed to on her face slams down over her. No. No. What did I do? Shit.

“No, I know—Evie—I—”

“You know all I’ve been doing the past few days is questioning if going to Paris is a good idea, but thank you for this because I’m so happy now that tomorrow I’m going to Paris, to become something without your huge shadow looming over me, and you’ll be stuck here, staying the self-centered irritating ass you’ve always been.”

I snap the mask down over my face to hide the wounds her words carve out on my chest. I need to get out of here. Whatever hope I had was stupid. I’ve learned my lesson with Evie. Never hope. “We’ll see, Peaches,” is all I say as I storm towards the door.

I’ll get over her while she’s in Paris. Without her here, I can snuff this damn thing out once and for all.

“Don’t Let the Hard Days Win”

I dropped a notebook and crumbled. I understand the pathetic imagery this inspires considering world events. I really do. But I’ve always maintained an AJR mantra that even small violins deserve to be listened to.

And I’m trying to be as open as possible about everything, especially during Endometriosis Awareness Month.

So here’s the deal.

I dropped a notebook and crumbled.

It was the fifty-thousandth thing I dropped today because my hands are weak and can’t manage to hold on to anything.

When I decided to self-publish “Finding Gene Kelly” in my silly mind, I figured after having surgery by a specialist, I’d feel spectacular relief and resume life like it was in my early twenties—not perfect, but manageable. An easier path forward—for an easier road to the end—an easier path to achieve my dreams. But six months post-surgery one thing has become abundantly clear. There are too many parts of me that have been damaged by the disease to ever go back. Even if I am infinitely better than I was pre-surgery, that really only speaks to how badly off I was before. I had labor contractions for fifteen months. And I’m not over that mentally yet. I don’t know if will be for awhile.

And there are also parts of me that haven’t been fixed yet.

It’s so easy to miss the disease in surgery because it can take on so many different faces. And they have. That at least is abundantly clear now. And the only way to fix it is another surgery.

So now I’m here, staring at the world in a similar way to how my heroine has to, and I’m kicking and throwing a tiny tantrum. I want her to learn to follow her dreams even though she’s in a world of pain. But at the same time I’m like “don’t love that character arc journey for me.”

So apologies to Evie, who I sometimes think should figure her stuff out way quicker than she does. I get it. It’s not easy to fight and “Find your Gene Kelly” when you’re in the thick of it, when the hard day is staring you in the face and you see more and more of them piling up than you really wanted. But, we kind of have to, right? The both of us? Because there’s still a wonderful, beautiful, gorgeous life to live, full of gorgeous, beautiful friends and like hell am I letting the hard days win.

A quick summary of some self-publishing lesson and things I’ve done since my last blog (feel free to DM me on Instagram if you have any questions!)

• I signed up for a Netgalley spot through a self-publishing tours website, it’s significantly cheaper than doing it through the site directly.

• I started my IngramSpark account and am getting ready to do pre-orders soon. I need some version of my MS and completed book cover to do so though.

• I bought my ISBNs.

• I added my book to GoodReads and onto Amazon KDP.

• The Pre-Order for Amazon KDP E-Book is up.

• Designed my cover (that was a lot more fun than I anticipated!)

• I had an AMAZING 30th birthday with an AMAZING cover reveal.

• Slowly working though CP and Beta reads.

• Signed up with my editor for May, the final pass will finish at the beginning of August so I gave myself time to work into formatting etc. And moved my pub date to 9.20.22

• Contacted and signed up for a booktour campaign for the week of my debut.

I think that’s roughly “it’ for now. I’m admittedly anxious I’m going to need surgery and it will fall right before the launch, but I also don’t have any control, so I’m just going to have to be okay with it right now. I’m lucky and grateful surgery is an accessible thing for me when it isn’t for so many people with endo, and that I’m on this side of the journey now and know it’s definitely what I have. Both of those things are huge blessings I do not take for granted. But also. BLECH.

Thank you to everyone who has been so massively supportive of this. I have been consistently overwhelmed by all the goodness and support that has been given to me and my story, and I’ll be forever grateful for it all.

Why I’m Going the Indie Route

TW/Content Warning: This blog post talks about suicide. Living with endometriosis. And far too much information about myself in general. Please do not feel compelled to read this.

My first iteration of Finding Gene Kelly was penned, oh gosh, in what 2016? Probably? Yeah, that sounds right. Pre-diagnosis, Evie didn’t have a problem in the world except that a handsome man loved her and she was a bit of a mess. I tried my hand at writing after I finished my Master’s and immediately found my health which had been slowly declining over the past ten years or so, completely unbearable. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t be dependable when I had days that all I could do was literally lay on the couch blanketed in a thick fog of fatigue. My periods were always heavy but something was getting so much worse than it ever had been.

So I wrote.

And I escaped.

And I went to countless Doctor’s appointments that ended in injections and/or dismissals and just kept on keeping on.

And then I gave my document to some of my now dearest friends. And they beta read, and helped me grow, and I queried and tried my hands at PitchWars. I was done!

Hah.

Few full requests but all came back with the same advice “Great voice and writing, laughed out loud at parts, but you need more than romance. Keep going. You’re going to be on bookshelves someday I can tell.”

One agent even recommended I read a book—that shall not be named—to see how to write a Romance Novel with something more going on.

Oh. I thought. This book is about a woman with fibroids. I have fibroids, maybe I’ll understand more about my condition in the process. Neat!

Hah.

Hah.

Hah.

Book that shall not be named—well, let’s say the OwnVoices rep was severely missed here. I ended up finishing the book with more of a complex about things I’ve long since learned, are actually typical of people with endometriosis and fibroids, they just didn’t include them in the story. And yeah, I scratched my head at the magic baby at the end for sure. But every day life with the disease was not represented. And at this point, I had met the doctor who would diagnose me so I knew something was A MISS.

New goal: write a RomCom with endo rep but do it right—make it permeate everything, because it does.

Pause for Excision Surgery & Myomectomy Number 1. Not done by a specialist.

Post Surgery 1 I started a redraft and Beta’d and again. I queried and tried my hands at PitchWars.

I found a book How to Endo by Bridget Hustwaite and I learned the importance of finding community and shared experience battling the disease.

Few full requests. A Revise and Resubmit. What the hell is stabbing me in my abdomen.

Enter Covid.

Enter repeated stabbing.

Enter ER visits.

Enter the drug from hell that made me terribly depressed.

Enter a pause on querying — hi, could you wait for me please, this isn’t right. That turned into a full withdrawal. Sanity non-existent. Not the time.

I went a year and a half with a uterus about to rupture, and endometriosis under my ribs, all the way down through the rectal area, before Surgery Number 2 (this time a specialist).

Pause for two month mandatory couch rest. Neat.

In that year of waiting for surgery, a few things happened. The drug I was on that was supposed to help me with my endo pain dropped me to the deepest low I’ve ever experience. I didn’t want to exist anymore and if it wasn’t for the strong friend connection I have, the friends who answered my calls and just kept me with it until my husband came home, and my husband himself, well I don’t know what would have happened. Around this time, a friend with endo committed suicide because she couldn’t handle the pain and that was my wake up call. I couldn’t do this anymore. This wasn’t a life. This was existing. Barely.

I asked to get off the medicine—which was an immediate pick-me-up—but then I just focused on joy the rest of the year, as much as I could, even though the pain was unbearable. I watched a lot of Gene Kelly and Audrey Hepburn because they’ve always been instant Serotonin for me, and a lot of GBBO.

Now, post-surgery. I’m still exhausted. Like I used all my mental reserves to get through to surgery, and now the reserves are decimated. But I know I’m not alone here, I’ve seen the Instagram posts of the people with endometriosis, and I know this is it—this is the experience. And I thought about the woman that took her life at the beginning of the year. I didn’t want to wait to be traditionally published. Not when so many people need word hugs.

Here’s where the reason is two parts.

1. I didn’t want to rely on gatekeepers saying yes, when I literally live with a gatekeeper inside my body, that generally says no. No to my life in Higher Education. No to endless social events and trips. No sometimes to just trying to survive. I’m saying yes. For myself.

2. And I’m also saying “yes” for the people who are in the same or similar boats as me. We deserve our dreams. We deserve a life worth living. We deserve a quality of life beyond “just surviving somehow.”

I’m not pretending my book will change things. The medical world owes us a lot better than what they’re giving us now. But I hope it helps someone feel hopeful—not that phony, toxic societal hope that can’t handle the fact that this is life for us, but the kind that says you know what, this really sucks, I see you. I’m with you. But we’ve got this. We’re going to be alright. Life is still there—and it’s still worth pursuing. Your dreams are still worth pursuing. And YOU’RE still worth pursuing.

So I want the book out—now. Yesterday, really. But one day at a time (unless you’re trying to Indie Publish a book and then it’s like all the days in a year all in one day, and good luck planning this—but that’s a blog post for another day.)

ANYWAY TL:DR. Probably. But if you’re here—I don’t know.

I’ve never shared this poem. I wrote it when that woman’s story was shared on Instagram. “We lost another one.” That’s what the post said underneath it. I don’t know that I’ll ever forget that one. She’s the reason why I’m here. Why I’m Indie Publishing.

Sorry this got heavy. I’ll have other posts that are lighter. But this is life with endometriosis. It’s full of heavy moments mixed in with the absolutely beautiful, magical ones. Like having friends that tag team dinners, craft with you, take slow walks with you, and yell about all the books you’ve read. Or publishing a book, you never thought you would, never would have written if other doors weren’t shut on you, and finding a wave of support lifting you up. Those are pretty stellar. Even if my ovaries aren’t.

Too Tired for a Title

By Torie Jean

I saw your name on a square, and the image took my limited breaths away.

I know your story. I survive it, everyday, somehow.

I was you on the park bench, tired of it all.

Of staying alive but never living.

A life measured in Ibuprofen pills and heating pad settings.

You were me if I didn’t pick up the phone.

No longer staring into the abyss but in it, deep, staring out.

Looking for a hand.

We were one in the same, but we never knew it.

We self-isolated, masking with an “I’m fine.”

Burying and muting our actual realities.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?

Why I’m ignoring my coffee and penning a poorly written poem in the early hours of the morning.

Why your story is hitting me like it is.

Is this a poem? Or a collection of prose. I don’t know.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

That I’ll contemplate the validity of this poem over facing reality.

The truth is.

I have no clue what a poem is.

No.

The truth is.

The problem is.

I get it.

I get why you thought this was best.

I’ve been there in the sleeping hours of the night where all that finds me is pain and fear.

I’ve been there crying in the parking garage of the hospital when they tell you there’s nothing they can do and you just have to find a way to get tougher—and you feel like there’s nothing left to draw from.

I’ve been there through the spasms, the ones fetal positioning me even now. The ones I give my mental energy to function. To mute. To hide.

I was you. But you are gone. And I am here.

I’m sorry.

It should never have gotten this bad.

I should have written a better poem.

Is this a poem?

I don’t know.

Probably not.

But that’s not the problem.

The problem is—well, I wonder if my coffee is still hot.

Maybe I should drink a cup.

Or two.

Finish this later.

Finish feeling this later.

Because the reserves are low, and I want to mourn you, but I’m still mourning my old life.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Oh, dang it. I’m out of creamer.