Monday, 1 February 2016

Third Time's a Charm

I promised a teaser.
Sierra was the most fun to write. She isn't anything like we expected her to be. She's the opposite actually.
I am hoping to be done this in the next couple days so I can get it to Andrea and we can finish her off.
This book will haunt my dreams for a while.
Unedited teaser
Third Time's a Charm
Copyright Tara Brown
Love is bursting with expectations.
But only to those who have never been in love.
I used to think it would feel a certain way and I would be different as a result of the person I would be in love with.
I expected great things from it, in me and just in general.
I would become great.
But glancing across the room at him, hunched over his computer, typing faster than I could think, I realized love owed me nothing.
It owed me no promises or changes.
Love loved me the way I was.
It didn't want to change me or fix me or perfect anything.
He was love.
He felt dangerous and precious and frightening.
Not frightening compared to what we had been through but in the way I knew losing this tiny thing, tiny connection, tiny obsession, would crush me.
Something so small could kill me faster than the something huge that was already trying to kill me.
And through him I saw that I was wasn't so bad.
I didn't need to be different.
I needed to be me.
I needed to stop pretending to be something I wasn't.
He saw past that anyway.
It took me a while to understand that I needed him not to fix me or perfect me or change me.
I needed him to love and accept me, all of me, for who I was.
We never spoke of it and he never offered it, but I could tell that was the way things were with us. He just did and I just was.
I was more than the girl who had narrowly escaped a psycho killer and he was more than the guy who had been watching, not unlike the psycho killer had been.
He was the face bursting through the door, eyes wide—lips trembling.
He was an angel.
The scars fading from my arms and legs and abdomen, places a bad person had offered me proof of their hatred, wouldn't ever fade enough to take it all away. But when he touched them it was as if the marks themselves changed. They each became his signature, his knife, his love, marking me.
Each time his unsure lips brushed against the hardened skin it healed the spots a little bit more. I didn't notice a difference in the look but they felt different, less harsh. Maybe they were healing from the inside.
I was.
He paused in his typing, lifting his head and giving me a smile. Not a charming smile, he never did charming. He didn't know how to be anything but authentic. “You going to get the Chinese food?”
“I guess.” My smile was charming, I didn’t know how to be anything inauthentic.
“Sierra, I’m starving.” He laughed and said it matter-of-factly, the only tone he had.
Never would I have imagined a guy making me blush with a plain and boring tone like that one, but he did. When a boy told you he loved you from the very instant he saw you, you smiled and pinned that moment somewhere important in your mind. But when he said it with no flair or charm or pretense, he said it like it was the most important fact in his life, you blushed. He didn't need flair. He had truth. It was all he had.
I was the most important thing in his life. It was a fact. It was something he not only believed but also lived by. He didn't say it. He didn't try to convince me. He didn't shower me with gifts or niceties. It was just a fact. Every one of his actions showed me.
From the rock he kept in his pocket, the one he found on the beach with my blood on it, to the lock of my hair that he risked his life to get back, I knew he loved me. I believed it like it was the most important fact in my life.
It was.
He was.
I am shooting for April 14th


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