Consolation (Consolation Duet #1) (33 page)

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You’d think by the third time I’d have this down pat, however, it still is the hardest part. If I forget you, I’m sure I’ll hear about it but know I love you.

My betas: Mandi, Jennifer, Melissa, Holly, Roxana, Megan, & Linda—I love you all and I couldn’t do this without you. Each time I send you the mini cliffhangers you come back for more. I love torturing you and making you smile. Thank you for your friendship!

Christy Peckham: I couldn’t do this without you. You put up with all my crazy and still stick around. I’m so blessed to have you in my life and I don’t take that for granted. You make me smile when I want to cry, laugh when I’m already crying, and if I’m really gone, you get me pissed which helps. I love you!

Melissa & Sharon: Melissa, thank you for not wanting to kill me or at least not actually doing it. I’m blessed to have a publicist like you. Every author should be so lucky as to work with you. Sharon, oh my love! You make me laugh and keep me anchored. Love you both Maleficent & Satan.

Claire Contreras: They say people come into your life for a reason . . . I think it was to teach me the kind of woman I want to be. Your strength is astounding, your friendship never wavers and each day I’m grateful to know you. Love you to the moon!

FYW: You’re the first place I go, the last place I go, and my in between. I’m so blessed to know such a fantastic group of women. You’re all fun, beautiful and Funk-y and I love you.

Bloggers: Without you, our books would never get seen. Thank you for taking the time to read and review, promote tirelessly, and for all your love and support.

Stabby Birds: You girls are my rocks. I couldn’t imagine a place without each of you.

Corinne Michaels Book Group: You guys are so much fun. Thank you for loving me and all my crazy. You truly make me smile each day I come in to check on the group. The words of encouragement and friendship overwhelm me each day.

My test readers: Thank you for dropping whatever you are reading to let me know how you feel. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate you.

A huge thank you to my editor, formatter, proofreader, and cover designer for making this book all that it is.

Thank you, The Rockstars of Romance, for hosting everything for Consolation. I love you girl so much!

Lauren Perry: Ahhhh thank you for finding Ben and Hannah! Your photos are the reason this book isn’t a standalone. Your art inspired me to make this story so much more than I planned. Thank you!

Rinny, Melanie, Krissy: We’ve been friends since we were babies it seems like. We’ve had bad boyfriends, weddings, love, hate, friendship, sisterhood, and babies. Through it all, we’ve kept our friendship strong and it doesn’t matter that we go months without uttering a word. If I called tomorrow, I know you’d be here. It’s a friendship many will never be fortunate to experience. I love you so much.

Crystal: Even when we bring out the most hostile parts of each other, we are able to find our friendship. I think it’s something special and unique that, no matter how ugly it gets, we see the beauty. Thank you for loaning me your husband to kill off. It was fun and we should totalllllly do it again!

Lucia Franco: Without your convo this book would’ve never happened. Thank you for cheering me on and being as excited as I was.

Tammi Ahmed: You are a graphic queen! Thank you for making me such beautiful art! I love every creation you come up with.

My children: You two have no idea the depths of my love for you. Thank you for my great big hugs, my fun snuggles, and making me remember there’s more to life than books. You are my world.

My husband: I met you when I wasn’t sure who I was. You loved me and helped me become the woman I am today. I may want to smack you but there’s no one else I’d rather build snowmen with.

The first boy I fell in love with used to regale me with stories about kings and queens and war and peace, and how he hoped to one day be somebody’s knight in shining armor. I lived vicariously through his late night adventures, watching the way he swung his hands animatedly as he told his stories, and loving the way his green eyes twinkled when I laughed at his jokes.

He taught me what it feels like to be touched and thoroughly kissed. Later, he taught me the pain one feels at the loss of someone that you’ve grown attached to. The one thing he forgot to teach me was how to deal with the way my chest squeezed after he broke the ghost of what heart I had left. I’d always wondered if it had been a missed lesson. Now I wonder if maybe he’d been trying to figure it out for himself, or if he just never felt anything at all.

They say the best way to move on is to let go. As if letting go is the easy part. As if trying to dim or erase three years of memories, good and bad, is something you can do in one day. I know it’s not, because in a couple of weeks, it will be one year, and the memory of him is as potent as if he was still here. His San Francisco Giants sandals are still in front of the sink, right where he left them. The smell of him lingers on some of his shirts—the ones I still haven’t gotten around to wearing to bed. His presence is powerful even in his absence. As I walk around the house making sure everything is out of sight, I know that for me, this is a huge step in the letting go process.

I’m in the kitchen taping up the last of the boxes, when I hear the jingle of keys followed by heels on the hardwood. Another sound I’ll miss, I’m sure, once I leave this place.

“Estelle?” she calls out in a soft melodic voice.

“Kitchen!” I wipe my hands over my jeans and make my way over to her.

“Hey. You got a lot done last night,” she says, smiling sadly, her eyes glistening as she looks around the nearly empty space. She has the same wild curly hair and expressive caramel eyes her son had. Seeing her makes my heart hurt all over again.

I shrug and bite the inside of my cheek so that I won’t cry. Anything not to cry over this again, especially since I haven’t in so long. When Felicia pulls me into her arms, I let out a slow breath and try not to completely lose it. I try to be strong for her and Phillip. Wyatt was their only child and, as hard as his loss is on me, I can only imagine the emptiness they must feel. We usually don’t cry when we get together—not even when she comes over here—but selling this place is more than just saying goodbye to a house. It’s leaving Christmas mornings and Thanksgiving dinners behind. It’s saying, “Wyatt, we love you, but life goes on.” And it does, which is one of the reasons I feel guilty. Life goes on, but why does it have to go on without him?

“It’s going to be fine,” I say, wiping my wet cheeks as I pull away from her.

“It is. It is. Wyatt wouldn’t want us to break down over a house.”

“No, he would definitely think we’re dumb for mourning a structure,” I say with a small laugh. If it were up to Wyatt, people would live in tents and bathe in rainwater.

“Yeah, and he would have cut the electricity on this place two months ago since you’ve been eating takeout anyway,” she adds.

We shake our heads, new tears forming as the laughter dies and silence settles around us.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with Phillip and me?” she asks, as we walk from room to room, making sure nothing is left out. The realtor is going to start showing the house tomorrow, and it needs to be perfect for potential buyers.

“No. Victor would be highly offended if I didn’t take him up on his offer. He would probably start bringing up my not wanting to go to the same college as him, not liking the same football team, and the fact that I never paid up and did his laundry for a year that time in high school. I think that’s why he’s so eager to have me move in with him, actually.”

Felicia’s shoulders shake as she laughs. “Well, tell him I said hello, and invite him to dinner with us on Sunday. We’d love to have him over!”

“Sure,” I say, my smile disappearing as I notice the sandals on the floor.

“You want me to take those, or do you want to keep them?”

“I . . .” I pause to take a shaky breath. “Will you take them?”

I don’t think I can bear to look at them every day in a new place. I’m already keeping all of Wyatt’s t-shirts, and it’s not like the sandals fit me—they’re like five sizes too big for my feet—but they’re his favorite. Were. They
were
his favorite. That’s something my therapist had me work on—speaking of Wyatt in the past tense. Sometimes I cringe when I do it, but I’ve gotten better. For a while, I was living this false reality where Wyatt was away on a business trip or something. He loved to travel alone and let the different cultures inspire his paintings. After a month, I started accepting that he wasn’t coming back. After three, at the request of my therapist, I started putting his things in boxes so that I wouldn’t have the constant reminder.

Putting them away didn’t do much. The house was a reminder, and our art studio couldn’t be packed up either. It was something I had to learn to live with . . . being without him. After six months, I was able to walk in and out of both places without having my heart squeeze in my chest every time. And now, a year later, I think I’m ready to move on. If Wyatt’s sudden death taught me anything, it was that life is short, and we need to live it to the fullest. It’s something I understand, but still struggle to follow through with some days.

“Honey, everything he left behind is yours, you know that,” Felicia says. I don’t even realize that I’m still crying, until I taste the salt of tears on my lips. I try to thank her, but the words stay lodged in my throat under the boulder that’s settled there.

After one last look around, we hug, and I promise to see her on Sunday. I glance over a shoulder as I walk to the car, letting my heart squeeze one last time before I get in and drive away. The memories . . . the comfort . . . the past . . . all become a distant picture in the rearview mirror as I head to my brother’s house. I’m running through a mental checklist of things I have to do, when a ringing phone cuts into my thoughts.

“Hey, how’d it go?” Mia asks in greeting.