ask where we’re going, but I’m sure he knows. he holds onto my hand the entire way.
By the time we reach the cliff that stretches above the city, I’m breathless and amped-up with energy.
Of course, when I reach the ledge some of my confidence fizzles.
I latch onto his hand, mentally telling myself that I can do this.
“It’s so dark,” I murmur as I peer down at the sleeping city, unsure if it’s worse to try this at night or better because I can’t see how far the fall is.
“If you want, we can wait until sunrise,” he tells me, giving my hand a squeeze.
I nervously shake my head. “No, I can do this.”
I can...
I think...
Sucking in a huge breath, I turn and let my wings snap out.
“You can do this. I know you can. You’re the strongest angel I know.” With his free hand, he reaches up and strokes my feathers, an intimate touch and something he’s never done before
His words and touch are the boosts of motivation I need. I inhale deeply and inch toward the cliffside.
This is it. I can live in fear forever. Or let go.
Let go of the past.
Before I jump, I spin around and kiss him one last time. “I love you,” I whisper then add, “And if I mess up, please don’t let me splatter against the ground.”
“Never,” he promises.
I hold onto that promise and inch up toward the ledge. Then shutting my eyes, I leap forward.
And for a blinding second, I start to fall.
Great, so much for not dying.
But then I feel it. This power.
My wings are flapping.
I’m flying.
“Holy crap,” I breathe out as I take in the night-kissed city below me. “I’m flying.”
I hear wings flapping as Trystan flies over to me. “I knew you could do it.”
He’s right. He always believed in me.
Smiling, I say, “Let’s fly.”
He grins and we take off, flying toward the future and letting go of the past.
ABOUT THE JESSICA SORENSEN
Jessica Sorensen is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in the snowy mountains of Wyoming. When she’s not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.
For information: jessicasorensen.com
SOMETHING WONDERFUL
* * *
LK FARLOW
ONE
Thea
ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death. Not literally, of course. No, the only thing at risk of peril happens to be my pride. But Mama always said if you don’t ask, you won’t know and ever since I saw Dane Foster running across the quad last Tuesday, I’ve been itching to ask him a thing or two.
Like why he cut me out of his life with a dull spoon and why he’s here, at Palm Bluff University of all places, especially since I’m ninety-nine percent positive he’s not even a student here. Last I heard, he was out in Cali, living the dream, preparing to compete in the Rip Curl Pro in Portugal—which is less than two months away. He should be amping up his training, not back in Florida, less than ten feet away from me with a beer clutched in his hand while half-dressed beach bunnies compete for his attention.
Dane and I grew up next door to each other, and even though he went to the fancy-ass private school while I went to public, we were damn near inseparable, spending every afternoon, weekend, and summer together. Even when his school friends came around, Dane included me and threatened to beat up anyone who dared pick on me. Hell, we even exchanged vows in my backyard in second grade. So, yeah, when he quit talking to me out of nowhere the summer before high school, it broke something in my young, naïve heart.
Now that he’s back, I want answers—I need them.
The years have been kind to him. Dane’s once boyish and lanky physique is now built with sleek, compact muscles; all man. His skin is bronzed as if he’s perpetually in the sun and his hair is a golden halo of curls highlighting his chiseled angular face. But the best part about Dane is his eyes. Deep cerulean framed with lashes that any woman would kill for. Even from my hidey-hole in the corner of the kitchen, I can see his piercing eyes, they’re as fathomless as the waves he surfs and I could easily drown in their depths.
My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my denim cut-off’s. I slide it out, already knowing it’s going to be a text from my best friend, Blue—and yes, that’s her real name.