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Without a single word of warning, I pushed him back and took off running into the night. “Catch me if you can, Hawthorne.”
Kaylie, at five, sitting on a fence, wearing a bathing suit and a feather boa. At seven, walking on her hands. At seventeen, throwing an arm around my shoulder.
Dance with me, you beautiful bitch.
It’s not stealing when you’re sisters,
It’s borrowing with the intention not to return.
“What are your thoughts,” he asked me loftily, “on scarred men?” “Men?” I gave him a look. “If I see any, I’ll let you know.”
If Harry was humble, I was the Queen of England.
I have never been disappointed in you. Whatever you want to give me, I’ll take.
“As far as I’m
concerned, Hannah the Same Backward as Forward, you’re the storm.”
Anything is possible when you love someone with no regrets.
Change your name. Start anew. You love fairy tales, I know, but I can’t be your happily ever after. We can’t stay here in our little castle forever. You have to find a new castle. You have to move on. You have to live, for me.
You might be the only person on this planet who knows the real me.
Hate me, if you can, for all the reasons I deserve it. But don’t
hate me for leaving while you sleep. I knew you wouldn’t let me go, and I cannot bear to say good-bye.
You have to move on. You have to live, for me.
I loved him. I loved him. I loved him—and hated him, too.
As far as I’m concerned, Hannah the Same Backward as Forward, you’re the storm.
“I loved you,” he whispered, “when the world was pain and the only thing that made sense was your eyes. I loved you before I knew to hate myself, and I have loved you every day since.”
“Avery,” Toby murmured. It took me a moment to realize that he’d just suggested a name. “Avery Kylie Grambs.” Toby looked from the baby to me with a crooked little smile. “Rearrange the letters.”
“Avery Kylie Grambs,” I said slowly, “rearranged … ” My eyes met his. He
handed the baby—handed Avery—back to me. “A Very Risky Gamble,” I murmured. “I knew you’d solve it.” He lowered himself to his knees beside
But still, I couldn’t sleep. I sat in the rocking chair I’d bought at Goodwill, and I rocked my sleeping baby, and I played our new game, whispering into the night. “I have a secret … ”
“There’s a difference,” he says in that Texas drawl of his, unhurried and smooth, “between showin’ off
and deciding you’re done giving a damn about people who expect you to dim your light so they can feel more like the sun.”
“Hawthornes never,” Nash Hawthorne tells my comatose sister, “let go.”
She is going to kiss Jameson Hawthorne, who comes to see her every day.
“Your sister,” Nash says, the smile slowly spreading across his face as he saunters toward me, “is never-met-a-loose-thread-she-didn’t-want-to-pull-at, risking-everything-for-answers, in-over-her-head-with-my-brothers trouble, and you know it, darlin’.”
“Where is Xander?” “Not up here!” Xander yelled down. Their grandfather angled his eyes up to the Cessna. “I’m a sloth,” Xander declared loftily. “Look at my toes!” Billionaire Tobias Hawthorne almost smiled. “They are very nice toes, Xander.”
“No,” Grayson said, removing the bouncing toddler from his chest. The old man really did smile this time. “Let that be a lesson to you, boys,” he told the older three. “Never take your eyes off the sloth.”
“I don’t like beds,” Xander said. Xander Hawthorne did not like beds. He did like blankets—and, she soon discovered, plushies. Nerdy ones. Adorable ones. A couple downright bizarre ones. Is that a stuffed Tesla coil?
“An animal?” Jameson repeated, his lips twitching slightly.
Xander was outraged. “Is that any way to refer to Tiramisu Panini Hawthorne?”
Amazing name
A good suit was like armor. Grayson was the type to dress for battle—not a wrinkle in sight, layers between him and the world.
The trick to being nearly naked on the side of the road was the same as arriving to a party overdressed: Simply behave as though you and only you were appropriately clothed.
Grayson was Armani suits and platinum cuff links; when it came to song choice, he favored Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Dean Martin. Nash was country; he’d chosen Taylor Swift. Not entirely surprising—but Grayson would have expected something a little more country than … this. As “Shake It Off” began to play and the bachelorette party lost its collective mind, Grayson spared one last glare for his brothers.
As he climbed toward the stage for round two, Jameson called after him. “‘Shake It Off.’ ‘Let It Go.’ I think they’re trying to tell you something, Gray.”
Leather Pants Grayson was not going to become a meme.
Xander and Grayson supplied the answer in a single voice: “There’s no such thing as fighting dirty if you win.”
“What happens in the tree house …,” Grayson said, his voice thick with emotion.
“Stays in the tree house,” Xander, Jameson, and Nash finished as one. All four of them took a drink of the black champagne. All four of them felt the moment—Xander knew they did. This time, he was the one who broke the silence. “More champagne,” he declared. “Then who wants to wrestle?”
