Accept Me (19 page)

I examine my reflection in the mirror one more time. My makeup is as good as it’s going to get. My eyes are rimmed in a smoky black eyeliner and my eyelashes look the longest and fullest they’ve ever looked, thanks to the hormones that I disliked so much at the beginning of my pregnancy. My lips are pouty and painted with a natural dark pink gloss. The pearls that Grams gave me are in place around my neck and wrist. They’re my “something old” and they couldn’t be more perfect. Noni offered to do my hair and I’m beginning to think that she’s a Jill of all trades. My hair falls down my back in big soft curls in a sort of 1920s glamorous style. She pinned back a few soft curls with her favorite silver hair comb, incidentally taking care of my “something borrowed.” Brian nearly fainted when I told him that we would be marrying in typical Vegas style in a wedding chapel. I know he was looking forward to the meticulous wedding planning details, and I may have burst his fashionista bubble, but keeping our nuptials private and intimate is the only way to keep the media out of all of it. The bulk of news coverage about the kidnapping and subsequent death of Edward has decreased to a trickle, but reporters still linger around waiting for any opportunity to question us.

Mike’s report ended up being eerily accurate. Edward was in deep with a few different high end bookies here in town. He was desperate for money and drowning in alcoholism and debt. Andy and Howard were brought in mere days after the incident and are both awaiting trial on charges a mile long. Howard is the one who gave the most information, agreeing to testify about Andy’s involvement in the whole thing. Reportedly, Edward had planned on coercing Damon out of a substantial amount of money and then fleeing the country, but Damon and I already knew that…

Grams took Edward’s death hard. He was a sick bastard, but he was still her son. I think most of her mourning has been out of sheer regret that she couldn’t convince him to be the man she’d hoped he would be. I can respect that. I feel terrible for Grams; she’s just as much a victim in this disaster as the rest of us. Grams has basically adopted Noni. They’re both living in Grams’ apartment and working side by side at the store every day. Grams keeps Noni company and entertains the younger crowd in the coffee bar with her stories and antics. I can’t blame Noni for not wanting to go back to Captain’s house. I don’t want to go there either. I was holding onto it because I was scared to forget Captain, but Dr. Versan has helped me see that Captain’s memories are as alive and vivid as I want them to be. I don’t have to keep his house to keep my memories of him. The house has been up for sale for two months. No luck selling it yet. Prospective buyers aren’t too impressed with its history. Elise was shocked and devastated, of course, to find out that her father had been shot by her brother. She wasn’t angry though. She was sad, but happy that no one else was fatally wounded. She came right to Damon as soon as she was notified of the shooting and she’s been supportive of both of us. Damon didn’t say much, of course, but I know he was relieved that Elise didn’t make him feel guilty for killing their father and I love her for that. She handled all of Edward’s funeral arrangements and moved nearly all of his belongings into her garage on the other side of town so that neither Grams nor Damon would have to go through his things.

“You ready yet?” Brian peeks his head into the dressing room.

“Yep. I think so,” I say, giving my silent approval to my reflection with Noni and Grams, the two most important women in my life, both flanking me, smiling and giving their approval as well.

“Damon wanted me to give this to you,” Brian says, handing me a small velvet box.

I smile wide, thinking about how sweet my Big Man can be. The box opens with a creak and I gasp.

Maman’s watch. It’s back in my possession and ticking strong and steady. I pull it from the box and flip it over. There it is, in my family’s native French.

Collette, mon coeur reside avec vous pour toujours plus

“Collette, my heart resides with you, forevermore,” I whisper the translated phrase to myself.

Something about this watch reminds me of my relationship with Damon. It has seen so much. It has been worn and damaged. It didn’t work for a while, but with expert attention, here it is, ticking along like it never stopped. And beneath the beautiful veneer is the heart of it all.

“My heart resides with you, forevermore,” I croak out again, unable to keep my tears at bay.

“Oh, honey, no crying,” Brian chastises gently.

“I can’t help it. It’s so perfect. He’s so perfect.”

“Okay, that’s a stretch, honey,” Brian jibes, fastening the watch on my wrist and taking my hand. “Let’s get you hitched.”

I smile at my best friend and the realization that I’m about to marry the man that I was made for hits me. Tragedy may have surrounded our existence for so long, but it brought us together; clinging to that truth makes accepting those tragedies that much easier.

We go to leave the dressing room with Grams and Noni in tow, but I freeze, stepping back over to the vanity counter for my “something new” which also happens to be my “something blue.” A teeny tiny blue baby sock. I grab my bouquet of calla lilies from Brian and carefully stuff the tiny sock into the center of the flowers beneath the blooms. Our sweet baby boy will be here in four short months, but I wanted to include him in our wedding. This is my way of doing just that.

“There,” I say confidently. “Now I’m ready.”

I watch with a smile as Brian takes his place at the altar as my “Man of Honor” next to Damon and Mike Passarelli. Damon asked Mike to be stand up for him since we owe him so much. He’s the reason Damon was able to take the steps necessary to protect me and our unborn child. He stood guard, watching every move that Edward made, prepared to act if the time came. Mike was persistent and convinced Damon that the best thing he could do was stage our breakup, making me less of a target. Damon had no way of knowing that my pregnancy not only made me a target in Edward’s eyes, it made me the perfect target. Edward knew Damon would do anything for his child. And he did.

And here we are.

I step into the aisle and breathe deeply, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. Damon is…
gorgeous.
He’s as handsome as ever standing at the altar in his tux. His eyes meet mine and something unspoken passes between us. I make my way down the aisle to him, knowing that I’ve just taken the first steps towards a new life with Damon by my side as my husband.

Damon told me that everyone needs a person, someone who watches and waits to stand guard when life gets all screwed up. He’s my person. I know now, more than ever, that he always has been.

Turn the page for an exclusive sample of

a Wrecked series companion novel.

Coming spring 2014

Journal,

I learned a big lesson today. I learned that a lot can happen in thirty lousy seconds. A half a minute. Apparently that’s about how long it takes for some jerk to destroy a girl’s self-esteem. I mean, it took a crapload of courage for me to finally talk to him at all. And what did he do? He made me feel like a freakin’ joke.

I’ve had a crush on Jonathan Greene for this whole stupid school year! It’s practically the end of sixth grade and it seems like I’m the only girl without a date to the spring dance. I’m not thrilled about going but
not going
just isn’t an option. If Sarah Copeland finds out that I don’t have a date, she’ll tell Katy that none of the boys wanted to ask me. Katy will tell Shauna because Shauna is new and listens to everything Katy says like she’s her mom or something. Then Shauna will blab it to the rest of Harrison Middle School just to strike up conversation with anyone who will listen. Skipping out of the whole thing would suck, but not going would definitely suck more.

So, I waited until Jonathan was done with his lunch tray and I walked over. Thinking about it makes me cringe all over again.

“Ahem. Jonathan?”
Why the heck am I doing this to myself?
I thought my heart would explode any second.

Jonathan was standing by the trashcan looking cute as ever in his Doc Martins and baggy jeans. He turned to face me and I could feel the eyes of the entire sixth grade on me.
Oh God! What am I doing here?

“Lindsay? What’s up?” he said all coolly, which is no surprise. He’s the coolest kid in the whole school and I’m no one special. He glanced around us and I did the same only to confirm what I already knew.

Everyone was staring.

Shoot! Say something, Linds!

“Ah, well, it’s just that you know… the d-dance… and I was just um, you know, wondering if you maybe needed a d-date?” I stuttered out as I shifted from one stupid foot to the other.

“Oh.” He looked over at the lunch table that all of his rotten friends sat at and I could see a couple of the boys snicker and shake their heads. This had bad, bad, bad written all over it. “Nah, no thank you.” He smiled his easy smile and walked out of the lunch room just in time for the bell to ring.

My gut turned queasily and I wanted to fake being sick so the nurse would just send me home. “
Nah, no thank you?” What was that?
I offered to go with him to the dance. It wasn’t like I offered him the garbage off of my tray!

The buzz of my classmates’ giggling as they shoved past me was horrible. I should’ve listened to Dad. He told me at the beginning of this school year that all boys are punks and to stay the heck away from them. He’s right. Guys are nothing but trouble. If I lose my mind and try talking to a boy again, remind me to save myself the trouble and check myself into the nuthouse before the middle school career ending embarrassment happens again, ok?

Thanks,

Lindsay

There’s this state of being called “happiness” and as far as I can tell, it’s an illusion. Somewhere deep inside, I guess I associate happiness with magic. There’s sleight of the hand and optical illusion, but when it comes right down to it, magic is all about appearance. And so is happiness. Happiness is most definitely an illusion—you think you’re happy, that you’re doing well… at least from the outside. But on the inside, where it really counts, it’s all sleight of hand; you’re just showing your audience what they want to see, which is that you
appear
happy. Ergo, happiness=magic.