Faded Perfection (Beautifully Flawed Book 2) (25 page)

“I’m not sure that’s fair,” he said between breaths. My hands fell to his belt, and his body stiffened. Our lips met again as his pants fell and he stepped backward out of them. By the time we made it to the bed, there was no clothing separating us, just thin air and protection. West laid me back on the bed, one arm under my waist while the other held his body above me and our lips hovered over one another as we stared into each other’s eyes. Something clicked then and when our lips met it was with a new emotion, deeper and stronger than before. His body moved into mine, and my back arched, fingers digging into his shoulders as my lips left him to gasp, and the name that left my lips was the one I knew held my heart, but set my soul free. “West.”

 
Find me.

Those were the two words I wrote half-cursive on a sheet of paper and left on the island for Adam. The two words I said to him, although he couldn’t hear it before I walked away.

Find me.

Then I thought when you lose everything, you’re sure to lose yourself and never be able to get it back. I was wrong. Adam couldn’t find me if he tried. The only one who could find me was me.

And I had.

Despite the mess, my life became after Adam kissed me; after Bobby died. After I ran.

I somehow found myself.

As I lifted my eyes to stare at the life-size statue of Adam, Bobby and I skating, I found a smile tugging at my lips. West squeezed my hand, and I looked up at him, green eyes soft, caring and worried as they raced across my face. His eyes fell to my lips, and his own tugged upward as he nodded up to the statue.

“You three look like you were thick as thieves,” he said, and his voice cracked. There was worry layered into the deep cadence of his voice.

My eyes moved up to the statue– us skating and laughing, me in the middle of the two boys. We were teenagers then, Adam and I sixteen and Bobby eighteen and I was oblivious to how in the middle of them I was. My throat thickened as I stared between the two of them. They were opposites in every way. Adam thin, swimmer body, a full head and a half shorter than broad and chiseled Bobby. Even their eyes were opposing; Adam’s a brown of mud with grass flecks while Bobby’s were blue like the sky. West’s body tensed beside me, and I realized I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t answered.

“We were,” I said, biting my lip. “But there was just as many fights as there was laughter.”

And I was in the middle of those fights– the reason for them. Even after Bobby’s death I felt like I was still locked in a war with them. The thing was, no one ever won.

Not Bobby.

Not Adam.

Not me.

We all lost ourselves in that war, and none of us were connected anymore–at least not on the mortal plane. We were here because nine months ago Bobby died in a car crash and now his father paid to restore our old ice rink in memory of him. Adam wasn’t here; we hadn’t spoken in over three months, and he was somewhere in the world on tour with his band and Tara. I grit my teeth at the thought of my ex-best friend. We spoke on the day she quit her job to go on tour with the band. It hadn’t ended well, but my boyfriend West was there for me then. He was here for me as we stood staring at the statue of my dead best friend and my ex-boyfriend. I readjusted the guitar case in my hand as I looked away from the bronzed version of my teenage self to West. His eyes were locked on Bobby.

I elbowed him. “I know it’s weird he doesn’t look anything like Adam.”

West’s eyes fell to me and his brows furrowed, causing a shadow to fall over his eyes. “Why don’t you have any pictures out?”

I didn’t have any pictures or anything besides the guitar in my hand to remind me of Adam or Bobby. My shoulders rose as I bit my lip before answering, “It was hard after I left Adam– every picture is of the three of us. Don’t you think that would be awkward now?”

“Umm,” West began, his head jerking back as he laughed. “Yeah, maybe– they have photoshop for that, don’t they?”

I rolled my eyes as we headed past the statue and to the front door. “I’m not that good with photoshop.”

West squeezed my hand. “There’s none of just you and Bobby?”

“I’m sure there’s some, although Adam probably burned them,” I replied, looking over at him.

“That jealous?” he asked, cocking his head at me.

“You have no idea–“

The doors swung open just before we reached them and Alec pulled me into his arms before I could say anything. “River! I’m so glad you agreed to come…and to sing.”

He held me out at arm’s length, and I looked around at the renovated building and back to the statue before looking at Alec’s eyes– a bright blue I memorized in his son’s eyes. “Bobby would’ve loved this. The statue is a bit much, though.”

Alec laughed and his broad shoulders, also a mirror to Bobby’s shape, lifted. “Yeah, but Bobby was all for bigger is better. You remember that truck?”

I swallowed, and Alec’s eyes shut as he put his hand on his forehead. I could tell by his response he knew what I was thinking.
The truck he died driving.

“Yeah,” I replied, forcing a smile on my face to let Alec know it was okay. “He always teased me about not being able to get into it. I figured he bought it on purpose so he could get a little closer to the girls he drove in it.”

Alec’s brows rose. “You’re probably right about that — at least on one account.”

I bit my cheek, knowing he was referencing me before turning and looking at West. He was looking down at the toes of his navy blue suede shoes. I took his hand into mine and turned to face Alec again. “This is my boyfriend West — West this is Bobby and Adam’s dad, Alec.”

Alec reached out to shake West’s hand and put his other hand on the top, eyes locking on West’s. “I’m so glad River brought you. Her dad has told me how amazing you’ve been for her.” His eyes drifted to me. “You can imagine how special she is to our family.”

My chest tightened as Alec gave me a soft smile before letting go of West’s hand. He was sincere and had changed so much over the last few months. Despite the loss of one son, the distancing of the other and the dissolution of his marriage he seemed to have found himself. It was ironic that one of the worst things in our lives had pulled things together.

“Pleasure to meet you too, but I’m afraid I haven’t met River’s dad yet,” West said as he glanced over at me, his forehead creasing.

“Well, we can fix that! He’s right inside,” Alec replied as he glanced down at his watch and then back up. “The guests should start arriving in about fifteen or so minutes, but River’s parents and my ex-wife are already here.”

He turned and held the door open for us, and I watched as West’s face paled. It was my turn to squeeze his hand. We followed Alec inside, and West leaned down as much as he could without being obvious to whisper, “How can they like me already? What did you say about me?”

I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I don’t think I had to say anything. It’s just the way you make me feel and act–like me.”

Nine. This is my ninth published book, my seventh full-length novel– in only a handful of years. You’d think that writing acknowledgements would be easy by now, but it never is. There’s so much that goes into writing a novel and while you’d think it’s a solitary endeavour, it’s not– at least at this point. It’s been awhile since I published the first book in the Beautifully Flawed series, in fact, it’s been over two years. For that, I must apologize to my readers. If you’re one of the ones who stood by me while I published several other books and wondered what the heck I was doing, then I must absolutely thank you for your patience and for sticking around. If you’re new to the series, then I want to thank you, too. All of you make this journey worthwhile.

That’s what writing a series, or a novel is. It’s a constant journey of growth and getting to know yourself, your characters, your readers, your editors, bloggers and your fellow authors. All of those people make this journey epic.

Last, but certainly not least, thank you to my family for supporting this dream. Especially to my tolerant husband. I can’t imagine being married to an author is easy, but somehow you get it. Maybe, someday, we’ll hit the author lottery, and I’ll be doing one job instead of a million. Until then, thank you for tolerating me coming home and sitting on the couch to work some more, and for always telling me it takes just one book–and this
one
might just be it.

Always,

Cassie Giovanni

Cassandra doesn’t remember a time when she wasn’t writing. In fact, the first time she was published was when she was seven years old and won a contest to be published in an American Girl Doll novel. Since then Cassandra has written more novels than she can count and put just as many in the circular bin. Her personal goal with her writing is to show the reader the character’s stories through their dialogue and actions instead of just telling the reader what is happening. Besides being a writer, Cassandra is a professional photographer known for her automotive, nature and architectural shots. She is happily married to the man of her dreams and they live in the rolling hills of New England their dogs, Bubski and Kanga.

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