The Girl I Was Before (31 page)

“You said a lot already,” I whisper, letting my eyes fall closed so I can finish everything I came here for. “I love you,” I breathe out, my body shaking with the words. Saying this feels so amazing and terrifying, and when his hands and lips don’t find me right away, I start to cry—like a child in line for the scariest ride of her life.

I look at him expecting to see doubt, or disbelief, but instead, he looks just as happy and scared as I do.

“Say it again,” he says.

“I love you,” I repeat, my heart starting to feel the adrenaline from the words. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

I can’t stop, and my smile gets bigger each time I let it out.

Houston steps into me, lifting me in his arms until I slide against him, our mouths finding each other, unable to stop smiling long enough to kiss as hard as I can tell we both want to.

“One more time,” he chuckles, stepping me back one pace at a time toward his room.

“I love you,” I laugh against him. Each time, it gets easier. When I feel his door close behind us, and his lips finally crash into mine, everything from before becomes a blur—
everything.
Every second, minute, day, month, and year—that was all just before. When I look at him again, his eyes so clear, so green and potent, like a dream, I can see what he sees. I close my eyes again, wanting to hold on to that part of me inside that’s strong enough, the girl who wants to be his world.

The girl who
is
his world.

The girl who broke out of her own tower.

P
aige

I
’m not
sure how it’s just as hot moving out of Hayden Hall as it was moving in. I suppose that’s what happens when you come full circle; you end where you began.

I came here ten months ago with a very concrete plan—I would be popular, part of the elite, dating the kind of guy that other girls envied me for. I got everything I wanted; yet nothing is quite like I thought it would be.

We’re all working on our last boxes of things, a line of us marching down the hallway to the front curb of our dorm. Ty is leading us, Nate behind him, Rowe and Cass in the middle. Houston is locking up the room behind me, shutting the door on my first chapter of college—maybe the most important chapter of my life.

Houston is taking most of my things, along with Cass’s, in his car to his house. He’s storing things for us while we travel home for the summer. Our time home will be short—and I have a strange feeling that it might be our last, too.

For all of us.

Part of being on the school’s executive board for council is arriving two weeks early to plan orientation for the next year’s group of freshmen. I’ll be staying with Houston when I come. I’ll be moving in to an apartment nearby with Cass, Ty, and Rowe a few weeks later, though. I’m not ready to stay with Houston again full-time yet. The next time I move in for good with him, I don’t want to have to feel the pain of moving out. So I’m going to take it slow.

Slow is good, so I’ve learned.

In the meantime, I’m happy to be a part of Cass and Ty moving in together. I think that’s the only reason my parents didn’t freak out like they could have—because they knew there would be four of us living together—Rowe and me around constantly to keep Ty and Cass from having too much time
alone.

Not that Rowe will be around much, either.

She was too nervous to ask her parents about moving in with Nate next year. So instead, he hooked up with one of his teammates, Cash. Their apartment is only a building away. I’m not sure how that makes a difference, and I’m pretty sure her parents are aware of how much time she’ll be spending with Nate, too, but if it makes her feel more innocent, whatever.

I’m actually excited to be her roommate. Maybe next year, I’ll get things right.

Nate won’t be eligible again for the draft until he’s twenty-one, but he impressed a lot of people over the spring—especially a group of scouts from the Houston Astros who spent a lot of time in the McConnell coaching suites.

I like the idea of him ending up in Houston. But maybe I’m partial.

I’m carrying the last box, and when Houston takes it from me to place in the back of his trunk, I hesitate a little on letting go. He tilts his head to the side, catching my attention, and I shake my head and smile, finally letting him take over lifting my things.

“Sorry, I was lost a little there,” I say.

He slides the box into the only space remaining, then closes his trunk before walking back up the curb to me.

“You? Lost? Never,” he teases. I laugh with him, but stop when the words hit me differently.

“No, I was pretty lost,” I say, my face more serious, his reflecting nothing but love for me. I reach my hand up to touch his cheek, catching the vision of my sister and my friends climbing into the airport shuttle behind him. When I look back into his eyes, the way he looks at me proudly makes my hesitation fade away. “I think I was worried for a moment there—that if I left right now, when I come back nothing will be the same,” I admit.

He exhales, pulling me to his chest to hold me tight, and his lips fall to my head. “Paige, when you’re gone, time for me…it stops,” he says. I step away to look at him, so happy with this place I’ve ended up. “I waited years for you. Seven weeks? That’s nothin’.”

“Seven weeks,” I repeat.

“Seven weeks,” he smiles. I press my lips to his, standing on my toes, until I have to peel away and join the others in the shuttle. Houston follows me to the edge of the curb, and just as he’s about to shut the door, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a rolled-up booklet of notebook paper, stapled together on one side.

“What’s this?” I ask, taking it from him, noticing his handwriting and doodles on the front page.

“It’s your story,” he says. “I wrote it for you. It’s cheesy as hell, and I’m pretty sure the things I tried to write in Spanish mean totally the wrong thing, but it’s…I don’t know…romantic, I guess? I thought it would be, but now I feel sort of lame.”

“It’s
very
romantic,” I smile, clasping my story to my chest. “And we’ll work on the Spanish.”

“Damn right, we will,” he winks. “I failed last semester.”

“Love you,” I say one last time, the door closing between us. We both hold up a hand and press it on either side of the glass, and I watch his skin slide over it as the van slowly pulls away.

Ty and Nate are making fun of me from the front seat, and Cass and Rowe are yelling at them for me from the back. I’m in the middle, where I ignore their noise, flipping through my rag-tag fairytale—the notebook fringe flaking away on the edges. I run my finger over the stick-figure girl with long blonde hair and the prince standing next to her, holding a sandwich, and I smile when I read his butchered Spanish confession of love near the end, an arrow in the margin pointing to the words, reading “
this means I love you.”

Yes, Houston.

Yes, it does.

T
his is harder
to write than it normally is. This series was a special one for me. It was special thanks to the many readers who found Nate Preeter first, then championed him, and asked for more. It’s special because of his brother, Tyson Preeter, who will remain one of my favorite characters I’ve ever written for his ability to overcome adversity and his smart-ass mouth. And it’s special because of Paige—my strong-willed, albeit a little harsh, girl on a mission. It didn’t hit me when I wrote THE END on Paige’s story. It didn’t even hit me through the edits and the final read. But now…

Now…it’s hitting me.

Book 3 in the Falling series is done. One year at McConnell College is complete. And Paige, Cass, Rowe, Nate, Tyson and Houston will move on. To where…well, I sort of left that up to you. Maybe I left that up to me a little, too. And maybe there will come a day where I check in on them, where we all gather at McConnell for graduation or for Nate’s big day. I don’t know. All I know is I couldn’t make it a final goodbye forever, even if that ends up being the case. I didn’t want to close that door, because these characters—I am going to miss them. And I just feel a whole hell of a lot better knowing they’re still there should I need to visit.

I have so very many people to thank here. First and foremost, to the unbelievable blogging and reading community who hoisted the Preeter brothers on their shoulders and literally paraded them around the world in social media, in book clubs, conversations and more. You have no idea how happy you have made mama Preeter (that’s me, btw). I would be lost without my beta reading team (I really need to make you ladies shirts, I swear). Thank you: Jen, Debbie, Ashley, Bianca, Shelley and Brigitte. Tina Scott and Billi Joy Carson, you never flinch when I throw thousands of words your way for editing, and I’m forever grateful for your talents. And the mighty women at Wordsmith Publicity—Autumn and Andrea—the muscle you lend in making sure that spotlight shines this way is so appreciated. I love you ladies.

I cannot forget the team who helped make that spot-on perfect cover image come to life for The Girl I Was Before. Firstly, thank you models Kelsey and Orlando for making Paige and Houston come to life in an adorably perfect way. And thank you Glendale Community College for serving as the McConnell College campus for this photo shoot. And finally, photographer Mark Lipczynski—thanks for making this so special. I’ve always been a fan, and working with you has always been a highlight. This one was simply icing on the cake.

If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Your reviews are often the only way small stories like this can be seen, and I for one know the power readers have. I’m so grateful for every post, mention, recommendation, book club, Tweet, pin and more that readers have given to my books. I hope to give you lots to talk about in the future.

Until next time, enjoy the fall, and avoid the #fussyfuss.

X
O

Ginger

G
inger Scott is
an Amazon-bestselling author of eight young and new adult romances, including Waiting on the Sidelines, Going Long, Blindness, How We Deal With Gravity, This Is Falling, You and Everything After, The Girl I Was Before and Wild Reckless.

A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. (She’s also a sucker for a hot quarterback, catcher, pitcher, point guard…the list goes on.) Ginger has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns.

When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).

Visit Ginger Scott online:

• @TheGingerScott
  
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