Authors: Stacey Kade

738 Days: A Novel (50 page)

“You never did,” I say quietly. “I told you, you’re the bravest person I know.”

She gives me another small smile. “I was scared as shit, though.”

“I think that’s normal,” I say, trying not to choke on the laughter and pain that are both vying for preeminence. I am happy for her, even if it means she won’t be part of my life. Even if it means she won’t be mine. She’ll be
hers
and that’s more important.

But she doesn’t seem to hear me. “I’m going to be okay,” she says with the air of someone figuring something out for the first time. “Maybe not yet, but soon.”

I risk touching her uninjured cheek gently with my thumb. “I never doubted it for a moment.”
I will miss you so much.

Amanda leans toward my touch and then pulls back with a faint frown, and my heart goes with her.

I swallow hard, bracing myself for the words I know are coming next.
I’m sorry. Good-bye. Thank you, but …

But then she lifts herself up on her toes to kiss me, her mouth moving fiercely against mine. And it’s not a farewell gesture, not unless those usually include tongue.

I wrap my arms carefully around her, not sure where all her sore spots are, and pull her close, tasting her, the smoke, the tears, what I thought I’d lost forever. I’m going to do whatever it takes to be a person who is worthy of her.

Distantly, I hear hoots and hollers from the watching crowd, and over Amanda’s shoulder, I see her family has come around the side of the garage as well. None of them looks particularly thrilled, other than Mia, in a pale version of her normal enthusiasm, but no one is rushing over to pull us apart, either.

“So,” Amanda says when she pulls away, breathless. “I heard there’s this great pancake place not too far from here.”

I stare at her.

“What?” she asks. “I mean, we can’t go today, but later.” When I’m still too stunned to say anything, she rolls her eyes in faux exasperation. “And yes, okay, fine, you can mix one of those horrible syrup concoctions for me. But no orange-caramel-whatever.”

“Goji berry.” I grin at her, my vision growing blurry. “I love you.” I hear the wonder and amazement in my voice, not that I love her but because I didn’t know it was possible to feel so much for one person.

Her hand finds mine and squeezes. “I love you, too. And my favorite color is purple.”

EPILOGUE

Amanda

One year later

“Amma, come on—you’re going to make us late!” Mia bellows from downstairs. Experiencing trauma at Sera’s hands has not dampened her drama or her volume. “Either you’re ready or you’re not. Nothing in that closet is going to make a difference now.”

Actually, Mia’s wrong about that. I dig out the pair of strappy sandal heels that Karen sent to go with my dress.

“Be right there!” I shout toward my partially closed door.

Once I have the shoes on, I take a deep breath and one last look in the mirror next to my dresser. It’s the boldest thing I’ve ever worn and that includes the last time I visited Chase in Los Angeles, as documented by the infamous V-neck photos. So, sue me—I wanted to entice my boyfriend. When you’re squeezing in-person visits between weeks of Skype, while he visits his family in Texas (literally mending fences sometimes) and prepares for a role in a stage production of
Hamlet
in Los Angeles, you do what you can to blow his mind.

I’m aiming for that again tonight.

My shoulders are bare in the strapless dress with a black bodice that clings to, well, what little I have on top, making it look like more. The skirt is a light, floaty peach material with an artfully uneven hem. I love it. I’ve never felt more beautiful in my life.

Thanks to careful stitching at the time, the wound on my arm from Sera’s knife has faded to a thin white line, barely noticeable. The thick scar on my left wrist, however, is as visible as ever. And tonight, for better or worse, I’m showing it off. The heavy black beaded bracelet, also a Karen pick, could just as easily go on my left wrist to hide it, but I’m not hiding anymore.

My pulse dances in an excited rhythm when I hear the front door open and a familiar voice downstairs.

Chase is here.

And in a couple of months, I’ll be in California with him. I’ve already started to pack—okay, I’m a little excited. After a few months of taking gen eds at Springfield Community College, I’m ready for my second-semester start as a psychology major at Woodbury, which isn’t far from Chase’s apartment. But I’m living on my own in a dorm for at least a year. It’s important to me to prove to myself that I can do it, and Chase understands that, probably better than anyone.

My parents are … mostly okay with it. It helps that Mia’s pushing it, mainly because she wants to live there, too, once she graduates. And Liza has volunteered to come out and stay with me for a couple of weeks to help me get settled in my new room. The best part about that is, I
want
Liza and Mia to come, but I don’t
need
them there to feel like I can do it.

Before I leave, I take an extra second to pull the closet door shut, feeling the moment as strongly as I did that day over a year ago when I tucked myself inside. Not anymore. Never again.

I walk out of my room without looking back. When I reach the landing at the top of the stairs, Chase glances up and his mouth falls open. “Wow,” he says.

A ridiculously happy smile stretches the limits of my face. Okay,
now
I’ve never felt more beautiful in my life.

“Red-carpet worthy?” I tease, as I descend carefully in my heels.

“Definitely. Though, apparently, it’s blue carpet tonight. Blue and gold are the Wescott town colors, so…” He shakes his head. “Wow,” he says again, in that soft awed voice.

I laugh. He looks amazing, too, of course. He’s wearing a dark, fitted suit and a white shirt, both of which make his eyes look an even more beautiful shade of dark blue. His blond hair is a little longer than when I saw him a few weeks ago and I can’t wait to touch it. Can’t wait to touch him. To hear him call my name in those soft, private moments in the dark.

“Come on,” Mia says impatiently, a blur in bright blue satin as she darts out the door to the limo that will take the three of us to the premiere of
Coal City Nights
in Wescott. My parents and Liza, insisting that they won’t want to stay for the after-party, have already gone ahead in a separate car. Mia will probably want to be out later than all of us.

Chase extends his elbow when I reach the bottom of the steps, as formal as our clothing. I love it. I take his arm, and he starts us toward the front door.

“Wait.” He pauses with a frown. “It’s cold out. Do you have a jacket … shawl thing?”

“A wrap?” I ask, amused.

“Yeah.”

“Yes, it’s upstairs.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t want to cover up this dress,” I admit with a grin.

I’m finally feeling comfortable enough with myself, with all of who I am and what I’ve been through, thanks in part to Dr. Lundstrom. She’s lucky number eight, a therapist I found through a fellow member of a sexual violence survivor’s group I joined last year.

“I don’t want you to, either,” Chase says, watching me with a heated gaze as he moves to open the front door for me.

As I pass him, he leans forward and brushes his lips against my bare shoulder, and I go still. “I’m warning you, though: I don’t have any extra shirts to give tonight,” he murmurs against my skin.

With a delicious shiver, I turn to face him. “Bet I could talk you into it.” With these heels, I’m a lot taller than normal, which brings my mouth within easy reach of a lot of interesting places, and I can’t resist temptation.

I lean forward and press my mouth against his jaw, and he catches his breath sharply.

“Always,” he says. “Always.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The daughter of a minister and a music teacher,
Stacey Kade
grew up reading Harlequin romances on the sly in the basement. Her obsession with IMDb and the entertainment industry in general means no one will play her in
Scene It
or
Hollywood Game Night
anymore. Her one brush with fame was possibly seeing Billy Crystal in an airport once. In the random fact category, Stacey is related to Margaret Scott, one of the women executed during the Salem Witch Trials.

Stacey is also the author of two young adult series (
The Ghost and the Goth
and the Project Paper Doll trilogies.) Prior to writing full time, Stacey worked as an award-winning copywriter for several Fortune 500 companies. She lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband, Greg, and their two retired racing greyhounds. You can sign up for email updates
here
.