Rocky Road Page 18

"Dead serious."

  I dropped the underwear to my lap, a sob rising in my throat. I struggled to swallow it down.

  Billie set the box on the table. "I'm not leaving you ever. I'm here for whatever ride we're supposed to take together."

  "Don't you think it's too soon?" I asked, though I prayed she would say no.

  "I knew the moment I met you we would be together forever." Billie pulled me closer. "Do you… think it's too soon?"

  My heart beat out of my chest. What could I say?

  "If you don't want to marry me—"

  "Yes."

  "Yes?"

  "Yes. Of course I want to marry you. As long as we get to go down this rocky road together."

  Billie dragged me in for a sweet kiss.

  I pulled away. "And as long as you never make me wear those."

  "Deal." She picked up the box of tiny triangles and threw them over her shoulder. Bright sapphires and turquoises and rose pinks and garnets sprawled everywhere around my kitchen as Billie took my hand.

  "And I want a real ring."

  "Gosh, so many demands."

  "You like it," I said. I smiled at her through tears and for the first time in my life security settled like a blanket over my shoulders. She was mine, and I was hers. We had already been through horrible things together. A loss of mobility and independence for me, a loss of profession and identity for Billie. If we could withstand that, we could weather whatever life threw at us next.

  THE END

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  Author's Note

  Thanks for reading Rocky Road. I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads—reviews help all authors, but especially independent authors. It's a major way for readers to find and commit to new LGBTQ authors like me.

  A special thanks this time around goes out to Jea Hawkins, who gave an early read to this manuscript and made it a thousand times better. Most of you probably already know she's freakin' awesome. If you haven't already, check out her stuff.

  Want to see deleted scenes from this book? Subscribe to my email list for a bonus chapter.

  Find me online at annacove.com.

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  Click here for a list of other books by Anna.

  And flip the page for an excerpt of Sweet Surrender.

  SNEAK PEAK: SWEET SURRENDER

  JULIA

  "I need an appointment with Dr. Garcia now."

  "I'm sorry, Dr. Garcia is in with a patient, and she's booked solid for the rest of the day," the secretary, whose golden nameplate said Ashley, smiled like she was delivering news of the rapture. She exchanged a not-so-subtle raise of the eyebrows with the only other person in the waiting room, a heroin-thin man with earphones whose knee bounced incessantly.

  This one is crazy, isn't she? The arch of her brow said.

  He ignored her in favor of his iPhone.

  "Listen, Rapunzel," I said. "I've traveled three hours on a screeching train sitting next to a clown. A literal clown. Can you just stick your head in and tell her Julia's here?"

  "I can only interrupt for emergencies," Ashley said primly.

  "This is an emergency."

  Ashley's eyes traveled over me. For a moment, I saw me from her point of view. Fitted black jacket over a T-shirt, just-so tousled chin-length hair, oversized glasses matching my jet bracelets.

  Finally, she said, "I watched your little stunt on YouTube. You can't help acting out, can you?"

  I leaned forward, splaying my hands on the table. "I bet you didn't even tell her I called, you conniving..."

  A door clicked open behind me. I swung around, shoving my hands behind my back to flip off the Rapunzel receptionist. A woman in her fifties wearing a perfectly pressed Armani suit exited, her hair flipped up at the ends and her chin lifted, her makeup unsullied as if she was leaving a beauty parlor rather than a shrink's office. She was the type of person who drew a gaze, and she didn't look back as she left. I found myself following the shifting of her hips until the door closed behind her.

  Jada hadn't seen me yet. She, too, was watching her patient leave. How she did this job—so many hot women walking in and out of her office—I didn't know. Perhaps it was because she was, well, I don't know. Straight? That would help.

  I hadn't seen her in person for over a year—but she wore thirty well. She was one of those people that would look beautiful in sweatpants after just waking up. Though she dressed conservatively that day, wearing slacks and a turtleneck, and had pulled back her thick hair in a ponytail, her beauty and grace and raw sex appeal oozed from her.

  Good thing she was straight, or I might have jumped her right then.

  "Well, well, well," I said, folding my arms. "You've made it to the big time, Jades."

  Jada's face lit with recognition and surprise. She squealed and ran to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. Her hair smelled of jasmine and I could feel the excitement rolling off of her as she tried to contain it. She twisted me around so I was facing Ashley and I couldn't resist sticking my tongue out between my teeth.

  I win.

  Jada pulled away. "What are you doing here? You look great!"

  "I was in town and I was hoping to chat. Can you do lunch?"

  Jada's face fell, and it was as if all the joy was sucked from the room. She had that kind of face. "I wish you had called before you'd come. I'm sorry, girl, I'm booked solid through the day. Are you in the city for long?"

  "No, actually. Only a couple of hours." I twisted toward the man in the room.

  Jada's next appointment looked like he needed a sandwich. I strode over to him. "How much would it take for you to give me your appointment slot?"

  "Huh?" he said.

  "Julia!" Jada said.

  "Dollahs, bro. How much? Twenty-five? Thirty?"

  He caught on awful fast after that. "Two hundred."

  "This is totally unethical, Julia. Stop it," said Jada.

  "One hundred," I said, pulling out my checkbook.

  "One-fifty and you've got a deal."

  "Done," I said. I scribbled out a check and ripped it out of the book, offering it to him.

  "I'd prefer cash."

  "And I'd prefer not to pay for my best friend's time, but we can't all get what we want. Take it."

  The man moved in slow motion, lifting his arm and pinching the check between his fingers. He cocked his head in slow motion, too. "Aren't you...?"

  "Nope," I said. "I get mistaken for her all the time."

  The man blinked, peering at the check. "But her... your... your name is Julia Knowles, too."

  "Common name. Common mistake. See you later, dude."

  The man blinked and turned away, practically rubbing his hands together as he slipped out the door. He could buy so many sandwiches with that. When I turned back around, both Jada and Ashley skewered me with the same disapproving look.

  "Let's go, Doc. I ain't got much time and neither do you, by the sound of it." I walked through the door and into Jada's office. It was a sea of white—expensive and classy and perfectly curated. Just how I imagined Jada's life to be. I plopped onto a couch and bent my skinny jean-clad legs over the arm, pillowing my head and staring up at the ceiling.

  I sensed Jada's approach, though she made no sound as she came closer. "That was totally inappropriate. I could have my license suspended for something like that."

  "If you want to chastise me, get in line, Jades. I'm everybody's favorite fuck-up these days."

  Jada's heels brushed against the carpet as she walked to the chair across from me and sat down. "Do you need to talk?"

  "Nope. 'Course not. What would I have to talk about?"

  "Well, for one," Jada said, ignoring my sarcasm, "that was quite a stunt you pulled last week.
"

  "It wasn't a stunt," I said, through gritted teeth.

  "Did you know someone was filming you?"

  "I didn't know where my ass was that night, Jada. You should have seen what that guy did to me that wasn't caught on tape. I swear it was entrapment."

  Jada paused for so long that I looked at her.

  "He hit on me. He deserved what he got."

  "A broken nose, shoulder, and a black eye? For hitting on you?"

  If I'd wanted to talk to an impartial judge, I'd come to the wrong place. I crossed my arms. "Some people think I'm a hero."

  "And what do you think?" Jada asked.

  It wasn't important what I thought. What was important was that my life was falling apart piece by piece. As soon as the video went viral, the CEO of Guzzler called me into his office to tell me that I would no longer be writing the syndicated advice column I had been pouring my heart into for four years. Funny how loyalty only went one way.

  Screw him. He wasn't the one I was worried about.

  "I nearly lost my book deal," I said.

  "Nearly?"

  I sat up and scrubbed my face, trying to wash away the memory of my editor's tomato red coloring. "Will screamed at me for hours, Jada, hours. Called me a hateful bitch. Then told me my proposal was due to him in two weeks."

  "So he gave you a break?"

  "Did you miss the bitch part?"

  Jada sighed, leaning back in her chair, suddenly looking about as tired as I felt. "I don't have much time here. Is this all you wanted to talk about?"

  I squirmed. I sat up, swung my legs around, and propped my elbows on my knees. "What's going on with you," I asked. "How's Tony?"

  "He left."

  "What?"

  "Let's talk about something else."

  "No, I want to hear about this. Why did he leave?"

  "You paid off a patient so you can talk to me, Julia, so let's talk about you."

  "Fine. We'll get to that later." I shrugged, letting out a puff of air. "Plus, I didn't give him anything. That check'll bounce."

  "What?" Jada said, her eyes widening.

  "You said yourself it was unethical. No problem now, right?"

  "Yes, there is a problem. What happens if he comes back?"

  "Blame it on me."

  "You are out of control."

  "Perhaps, but what I'm really out of is money."

  Jada somehow managed to keep her calm though I could see the corner of her mouth pulling up in a twitch. "How is that possible? What happened to the proceeds from your first book? Or from your column? It must be syndicated all over the country by now."

  "Yeah. I spent it."

  "You what?!" All attempts at remaining impartial dropped from Jada as she stood and started pacing the room.

  "You're acting like I just told you I murdered someone and buried him in your backyard."

  "Did you?"

  "Of course not!"

  Jada sucked in a long breath through her nose. "You're right," she said, circling her chair and lowering herself into it again. "I'm sorry. Tell me. How can I help? Do you need money? Do you need a place to stay?"

  I had endured three hours next to a clown to talk to Jada, but now I could see the pity in her eyes. Usually, this would send me into a rage, but I was too tired. I had come so far. It would be a waste to ruin that now.

  "I can't write," I said, on a long breath. "My book proposal is due in three weeks and I have nothing to write about."

  "And...?"

  "My editor suggested I see somebody to get unblocked. So I'm here. To see you. Somebody."

  Jada leaned forward, propped her elbows on her knees, and steepled her fingers. "You should probably see someone impartial."

  "Don't make me beg, Jades."

  "Fine." Jada leaned back against her chair.

  My gaze strayed to her buxom figure before returning to her sweet eyes. Tony was crazy for leaving her. I'd never liked him, anyway.

  "The creatives I've worked with... it's usually some mindset that keeps them blocked."

  "Something they can solve in a few hours?"

  "Sometimes. Julia... I think I know the answer to this, but did you ever see someone about your Mom's death?"

  Hearing those words together, Mom and death, would once have sent me into a cold sweat, but now it was only a dull ache beneath all the whiskey and the women and the fame. "This is not about that."

  "She died so suddenly, and then you left for China and India and—"

  "I've dealt with that, Jada. Move on."

  "Okay, how about intimate relationships? Are you seeing anyone?"

  "No one special."

  "That might have something to do with—"

  "She died ten years ago. Why would that be coming up now?"

  "The mind has a funny way of protecting itself."

  "I'm not talking about this."

  "Perhaps that's your problem—"

  "That is not my problem. My problem is I haven't found something interesting to write about."

  "But—"

  "End of discussion, Jada."

  Jada folded her arms. I could see her fighting the urge to give me a good dressing down. Her rich chocolate eyes shown with disapproval. "Why did you come see me if you didn't want to hear what I had to say?"

  "I need some help." I shrugged. "You know how hard it is for me to ask. As a friend, what do you think?"

  Jada glanced out the window. Outside, a siren whined, but it was a distant cry, like this place was a heaven far removed from the grit of the city below. I wanted to run my sneaker against something, and I might have, if this wasn't Jada's office. How did she keep everything so clean?

  "Travel?" she suggested.

  "Too broke."

  "Hmm..." Jada said. "What about doing some research? That should get your brain going."

  "Research? I'm a memoirist. I write about experience."

  "Yes, but sometimes we need a different perspective."

  "Where should I go?" I asked, my brain slowly coming around to the idea as if it were on a turntable. Research. I'd avoided books in favor of "real life experience" but I was all experienced out... and I had loved reading once. Perhaps it could work.

  "You know... my favorite columns from you come when you're talking to women about being a woman. Why not go back to Smith and do some research from their archives about women in history?"

  "Smith College?" I said, absently touching my forehead.

  "The Berkshires will be beautiful this time of year. The leaves will be changing soon. It might be a nice retreat for you. You could probably get the college to offer you student housing if they have any left at this point in the year. You would need a couple days, at most, just to get a jump-start."

  I sucked in a breath and let it out. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best idea I'd heard so far. The more she talked, the more I liked the idea. Northampton was full of radical people and wonderful women. I was bound to find a good subject there, even if it wasn't in the library. As an added bonus, it was less than two hours from my apartment in Albany.

  Perhaps this was just the change I needed.

  I stood from the couch, feeling for the first time in a long time like I had a solid direction. I strode to Jada, held her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "You are a beautiful goddess," I said. "And a great friend. Can I borrow your car?"

  ...

  SUSAN

  "I know it's a little early for champagne, Paul, but we're going to make an exception just this once."

  Fall slipped through the crisp morning air as I popped the top from the champagne bottle and poured it into the clear plastic cup balanced on top of Paul's gravestone. It teetered with the change of the weight and leaned against the flimsy party hat like a drunk frat boy. I put one of the cone-hats on my head, stretching the strap under my chin, my unruly curls pushing it upward, and poured myself a glass as well.

  I closed my eyes and imagined the last actually happy birthday we'd had together. I could still
feel his warmth as he leaned over me for a morning kiss, his three-day-old beard scratching my face.

  "You need a shave," I'd said, laughing as I'd rolled out from underneath him to avoid his pursed lips.

  He'd tried to catch me as I ran to the bathroom, giggling like a teenager. He roared, his shoulders rippling like a stalking cheetah. I shrieked. That was almost eight years ago. Three weeks later he would have his diagnosis of prostate cancer and three long years after that he would be dead.

  "What's the occasion?" A familiar wobbling voice asked, bringing me back from the past. During my reverie, Mrs. Landing had driven up in her beat-up Chevy and parked without my noticing. She wore her Sunday best as always.

  I smiled, the memory of Paul lingering on my lips. "It's my birthday."

  "In that case, pour me a glass, too!" Mrs. Landing said, mirroring my smile.

  I'd brought along an extra pink plastic champagne flute for this very reason. Mrs. Landing and I had become friends in widowhood over the years. She was about eighty-five and lived a couple houses down from me. I had never met her until our husbands became neighbors underground. I went back to my Subaru and plucked the plastic glass from the center console cup holder, then I went to her beat-up car and took her lawn chair from the back, setting it up next to mine.

  I poured her a cup and handed it to her. She raised her glass. "What's the damage, my dear?"

  "Fifty-five," I said.

  "Young!"

  "I feel like I'm seventy-five."

  "Which is also young, my dear," Mrs. Landing said, clinking our glasses together. "I would know."

  We took a sip of our champagne and settled into our seats. We stared at the stones of our dead husbands, letting the birds and the chirping chipmunks fill the silence. Somewhere off in the distance, a lawn mower sputtered, then started.

  I still miss you, I thought. Especially today.

  Mrs. Landing and our dead husbands would be the only ones celebrating my birthday today. I hadn't bothered telling anyone else, and, given history, no one would remember anyway. I wasn't feeling bad about that. It was my fault after all. I hadn't told anyone it was my birthday.