He’s watching, waiting.
“I think I’ll always see myself as Charlie with you, but . . .” I begin, my fingertips tracing the ink on the side of his neck. So coincidental.
Or maybe not at all.
“. . . I’ll also answer to Penny.”
epilogue
■ ■ ■
CHARLIE
February 14
All I can remember is that front porch.
But it’s exactly as it was in my memory, right down to the ornate carvings along the tops and a set of stairs off the end. The house itself is a nice shade of blue. Black shutters frame the windows and the front door. Apparently it’s a “shotgun” house, a style that is common to New Orleans.
And apparently I wasn’t born in Las Vegas.
A strong, warm hand weaves itself through mine. “Are you sure you’re ready?” I look up to see Cain’s encouraging smile. He surprised me with a trip here. At the time, it was presented to me as a birthday weekend getaway. But then this morning, Cain explained the real reason he picked this destination.
John had helped him locate my grandparents. They’re still alive and living in the same house that my mother grew up in.
And I’m about to see them again.
“Yes.” With hesitation, I add, “Do you think they’ll recognize me?”
Leading me until we reach the front door, he gently prods me ahead of him. With a light kiss against my neck, he whispers, “Only one way to find out.” His finger finds the doorbell.
I listen with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as the loud gong sounds inside. A moment later, the door creaks open, revealing a much older, grayer version of my mother in a simple white blouse and a pair of olive-colored trousers, a tea towel in her hands. “May I help you?” she asks, but her eyes are already narrowing as they scrutinize my features. Suddenly her hands fly to her mouth with a gasp. “Penny? Is that you?” After a pause, she cries, “It is you!” Without another moment’s hesitation, she’s pulling me into a tight embrace, just like I remember my mom used to, her cheeks instantly wet with tears. “Happy birthday.”
■ ■ ■
“Just a quick stop in and then we’ll head home,” Cain promises as he shuts off the Navigator in the parking lot at Penny’s. Leaning in to steal a kiss, he adds, “I’m looking forward to our own bed tonight.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait to sleep. Those old folks are exhausting,” I reply with a playful wink.
We extended our plane tickets and spent an entire week with my grandparents. They insisted on us staying in their home instead of a hotel. I was afraid that might be too much for Cain to handle, but he and my grandfather seemed quite content to sit out on the porch every evening with a glass of that pricey cognac.
That first day was extremely emotional. They had no idea that their daughter had died. The last words spoken to each other were full of anger, fear, and later, regret. It was the day I remember. My mom announced that she was taking me and moving to Las Vegas to become a showgirl. They begged her to leave me with them—I was only three years old and didn’t belong in Vegas—but she refused, for the simple fact that I belonged to her.
When weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, my grandfather flew to Vegas. He searched every production house in the city, picture in hand, with no luck. No one with that face or name had ever worked as a showgirl in Vegas. So he moved on to the strip clubs. Finally, he found out from a dancer at The Playhouse that Jamie Miller had married some rich guy and moved away.
That was all anyone could tell him. I guess my mom didn’t make deep friendships while she was there. My grandfather returned to New Orleans, heartbroken but hopeful that we were at least happy and safe. And that she would call. They didn’t have money to hire an investigator.
They’ve been waiting for a ghost all these years.
They also asked me a lot of questions about my life. I tried to answer them as truthfully as I could, but some topics were impossible.
Like what happened to my stepdad.
And how I met Cain.
And why he calls me Charlie.
I didn’t want to lie, so I answered as vaguely as possible. I think they finally caught on, because they shifted their focus to questions about my future. And those, I was very happy to answer. Truthfully. They know that I’m moving to New York in August so I can start at Tisch.
And that I’m madly in love with Cain.
And that he’s moving to New York with me.
I’ve promised to Skype with them once a week and we’re coming out to see them again in May, for a big family reunion. While my mom never had any siblings, she had plenty of cousins. In one day, I’ve discovered that I have an entire family.
A blood-related one, that is. I can’t forget the other family I’ve come to know and love.
Cain clasps hands with me as we head toward that big black steel door. I struggle to remember that night last summer when I first saw the bright sign on top of this building with my name on it. I knew nothing else but that fate, in its twisted way, must have led me here and that I had to get a job here.
Apparently fate was also leading me to the man who would save me.
Two days after Cain found me in Mobile, he called Dan, who wasted no time hopping on a plane to meet us. It was beyond awkward at first. The three of us sat in a corner booth at Becker’s, away from the prying eyes and ears, me suctioned to Cain’s side while I waited for Dan to slap a set of handcuffs on the table.
But Dan promised that he would keep my involvement, my fake identity, my whereabouts—basically, my existence—to himself. He’d even help me get all of my real ID back. All he wanted in return was some help.
He managed to get me into a police station without causing a stir and we sat there for three days, surrounded by take-out boxes, scanning through mug shot after mug shot in a computer database. I was able to identify Bob—who Cain knew by his real name—and Manny, but neither Eddie nor Uncle Jimmy were among them. I’m not surprised.
Cain stayed with me for a week and then asked that I remain in Mobile until Dan could look into Manny and Bob, to make sure they wouldn’t be a threat. As hard as it was to say goodbye to him at the airport, he was right.
And this time, I knew it wasn’t goodbye forever.
A few weeks later, cops nabbed Bob on a minor drug offense. I don’t know if it was sheer luck or John-and-Cain-inspired luck. Truthfully, I’m not sure I need to know. According to Dan, Bob squealed like a pig facing the slaughterhouse, turning on Eddie, Manny . . . even his own mother and the small marijuana plant she grows in her backyard for medicinal purposes.
The Feds found Eddie hiding in Missouri with a distant relative, but they couldn’t track down Manny. Unfortunately for Manny—and Jimmy, who it appears went into business with him—the cartel did.
The threat to me ended there.
It was mid-December when Cain pulled up in his Nav outside Becker’s, and he hasn’t left my side since.
Even now, as we step into his office, his hand is firmly entwined within mine.
We find Nate there sitting behind the desk, doing paperwork, and a fiery red-haired Ginger in a microscopic silver dress, muttering to herself about Cain’s shitty organization skills and the lack of premium scotch in this place.
“What? Do you still own this place?” Nate’s wink my way tells me he’s not really mad about taking the burden on while Cain stayed in New Orleans with me.
Cain is handing the club over to him in August, but no one besides the four of us and Storm knows yet. He was going to just shut it down, unwilling to sell and have it turned into another Sin City, but Nate stepped in, expressing his desire to keep it going.
Cain thinks he’s nuts but he has agreed, on the condition that Nate shuts it down the second he’s had enough.
“You’re back!” The
hunt for scotch is abandoned as Ginger skips over to throw her arms around me. We picked up right where we left off the day I moved back to Miami. The only difference was that she wanted to know absolutely nothing about where I was or what happened.
Grabbing my left hand, she exclaims, “Oh, thank God. I thought you had betrayed me and eloped.”
I roll my eyes as the heat crawls up my neck. If it were up to Cain, my legal name would already be Penny Ford. As much as I love the sound of that and as sure as I am that there will never be another man for me, I don’t want to rush through life.
Not when I’m finally able to enjoy it.
“Just remember where your wedding is going to be,” she reminds with a finger waggle in Cain’s face.
Ginger bought a dilapidated old house in Napa Valley, which she is fully renovating. She had a lot of money saved, but not quite enough for her elaborate four-sided double-balcony design, so Cain and Storm are chipping in as silent partners to help her get on her feet.
Cain is actually venturing into the real estate market in a bigger way, investing in more properties and expecting a lucrative return. His latest purchase? A stunning and exorbitantly priced two-bedroom condo a few blocks away from my campus. Not exactly the life of a student, but, then again, nothing about my life has ever been ordinary.
And I have a feeling that with Cain, nothing ever will be.
But it will be different in all the best ways.
“All right, out!” Cain barks, but there’s no bite to his tone.
Nate slams the books shut and rounds the desk, clasping hands with Cain as he passes. “Ginger,” he says, wrapping a giant paw around the back of her neck. “I’m going to need a manager.”
“And I’m going to need to set myself on fire,” I hear her retort as they head down the hall. I catch the wink over her shoulder a second before Cain shuts and locks the door.
“Where were we?” Cain murmurs, pinning my body against the wall with his. Being in my grandparents’ house limited our nightly “activities” somewhat. Cain has already promised that we’ll be making up for it. By the feel of his hardness against me, I’m thinking he plans on starting right now.
I’m fine with that. I’ll give Cain anything he wants, because he’s given me everything.
There are no secrets between us anymore. He knows about every single one of my drops, and he knows about Sal Pal. I, in turn, know what happened to the two men who murdered his family.
I know how the cartel found Sam.
And I don’t think any less of Cain for it. In fact, if possible, I love him more. We are simply two good people with equally flawed pasts, looking for perfect futures.
And I think we’ve found it, in each other.
Acknowledgments
Writing books doesn’t seem to be getting any easier. I thought this particular one was going to kill me. Thanks to some amazing people in my corner, it didn’t. In fact, I came out a stronger writer because of it.
First and foremost, to all of my readers who have supported me over the years. Your words of encouragement and your love of my work is what keeps me pushing forward on the more difficult days and helps me celebrate the best of them.
To all of the bloggers who continue to spread the word and read my books, thank you. A million times, thank you. Your support behind Cain’s book has been overwhelming.
To Heather Self, my crit partner, my U.S. term checker, my Texan friend. You know how much I struggled through this book (right down to the title). Thank you for your invaluable feedback to my ideas and challenges at all hours of the day and night.
To Autumn Hull, for being a fantastic blogger and friend. There’s no one I trust to provide feedback on one of those scenes more than I trust you.
To K.P., I can’t believe it’s been a year since I first asked you to represent me for Ten Tiny Breaths. Man, has it been a wild ride? Here we are now, with a third book together. One day I will meet you in real life. On that day, I will give you an enormous hug.
To Stacey, what can I say, except that I am one lucky writer to have an agent who will meet me for coffee and sit through hours of random plot ramblings. And then go shopping to Target with me. Irrational fear of wasps and all, I’m so happy to have you in my corner.
To Sarah, you, more than anyone, knows how much I struggled with Charlie and Cain. You were there with me through it all, reading the ugly first draft, answering my questions, and calming my worries while letting me write the story I was meant to write. Your talent and unfailing support made this book what it is.
To my publisher, Judith Curr, and the team at Atria Books: Ben Lee, Valerie Vennix, Kimberly Goldstein, and Alysha Bullock, for working so collaboratively with me to get this story into readers’ hands.
To my family and friends, for tolerating my bouts of reclusiveness while in the depths of this book.
K. A. Tucker, Four Seconds to Lose
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends