Irritation bubbled up inside me. “So Ace knew you were here this whole time?”
“Well, technically… no.” Birdie frowned. “He just happened to see me one night at a casino.”
I glared at her. “What were you doing in the casino?”
“You promised you wouldn’t get upset with me,” she reminded me. “I was just playing some table games. That’s it.”
I took a breath and shook my head. “I’m not upset. I just want to make sure you aren’t in trouble.”
“Even if I were…” Birdie held up her hands before I could interrupt. “Which I’m not, it’s not for you to worry about anymore, Gypsy. I’m a big girl now, and I’m responsible for my actions.”
“You still should have told me,” I said. “And Ace should have said something too.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure why he didn’t.”
“Are you still going to your classes?”
“No,” she admitted sheepishly.
We’d need to address that later, but for now, I had learned what was important. Birdie was alive, she was healthy, and she was happy. Everything else could be figured out.
I picked up the copy ofTuesdays with Morrie. Lucian had been reading that book to me before he died. And every night since, I’d been reading it myself. Over and over again. I couldn’t move on from it because I knew he chose it for a reason.
“Do you want me to read to you?” Birdie asked. “I know it won’t be the same, but—”
“It won’t.” I smiled and handed her the book. “But I’d really like that.”
She opened the page I’d left off and found the first paragraph. When I closed my eyes and rested my head against the pillow, a magical thing happened. Because for a minute, I could remember Lucian’s voice. The way the words vibrated against his chest and filled the room as he read to me.
I missed him more than I breathed every day, but somehow, he was right.
He was still here with me.
“YOU’RE LOOKING FABULOUS,”KATE NOTEDas she sat down across from me.
I already had my tea, and she was ten minutes late to our coffee date.
“You lie.” I smirked. “But thanks.”
“I would never lie to you.” She wrinkled her nose playfully. “Not even about your work.”
My teeth dug into my lip when she pulled out her notes. Already, I was prepared to sob into the table when she told me how awful it was. I’d mentioned to her a thousand times before I emailed it that it was the first thing I’d ever written. It probably wasn’t good. I didn’t know what I was doing. The list went on and on. It had been a month of radio silence since I’d sent it to her, and I was quietly freaking out on the inside when she looked up at me.
“I know it’s still rough,” I said. “But I plan to get a good editor—”
“I have some notes here for you,” Kate said absently as she scrolled through the pages of her tablet.
I didn’t know if I could do this. It occurred to me then that I was crazy to attempt this now. I was pregnant, emotional, and full of grief, and I was not in any place to handle criticism, small or large.
“Kate—”
“Hauntingly moving and poignant,” Kate read as she peered up at me from above her glasses. “That’s a direct quote from New York Times bestselling biographer Kal Langston.”
“What?” I blinked. “You mean—”
“Here’s another.” Her eyes returned to the screen and followed her finger. “Utterly riveting. A moving piece from start to finish. Gypsy captured the essence of a man few really knew behind the media headlines. His life’s work, his heart, his silent foray into redemption under intense scrutiny. A real-life hero, shrouded in mystery.”
My eyes began to water as I brought a trembling hand to my mouth. “He really read my book?”