Brand New Sky Page 2

  Chapter 1

  Valley of Tomorrow

  “So how many girlfriends do you have?”

  Sway felt his lips twitch as he sucked on his soda straw. His eyes focused on the tiny version of himself sitting on the other side of the booth eating a burger the size of his head.

  “Zero, at the moment¸” he answered, wondering what the next question—or statement would be.

  Of all the relationships he'd experienced in his life, this was the one that kept him most on his toes.

  Miles, his almost eight year old son, shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “I have three.”

  Sway's eyebrows went up in surprise and he choked back his laughter. “Three?” he asked, trying to figure out if Miles' mom was going to blame him for this one too.

  It had only been four months since Alexa Romero had contacted him to inform him of his parental status. But those four months had been jam packed with enough action to fill a Rambo franchise.

  Besides wrapping up a major tour, watching his band mate end up with a fairytale ending, and finding out he was a dad to a seven-year-old, he had backed out of an agreement to tour with another band as a fill-in, started house hunting for something more “kid friendly,” and had been spending time becoming a dad.

  It was weird. He still had no idea if he was doing okay.

  He thought he'd lived his life in a blur. Always on the move, exploring, touring, writing, living. However, things were moving so quickly now, he had no idea how to keep up.

  “Yeah,” Miles spoke around his mouthful and Sway concentrated on the smaller person in front of him. They looked nearly identical. He was so clearly his son it was disconcerting. At least, it had been initially.

  “How does your mom feel about you having three girlfriends?” Sway asked, keeping his head from shaking in humor despite the words he'd just said.

  “She doesn't like me to say it. But that's what they are.” His bright blue eyes finally lighted on Sway and his fine eyebrows pointed in. “Isn't it?”

  This was one of those moments that came out of nowhere. They happened suddenly, like being struck by lightning. Sneaking up on him and grabbing him by the short hairs. Because if he didn't nail this one, there might not be another chance.

  Alexa kept telling him that it didn't work that way. That he would have many chances to screw things up as Miles grew. Easy for her to say, she'd been a parent for eight years. Sway had four months of experience that he hadn't prepared for. At all.

  Sway swallowed before asking, “What do you mean?”

  Miles sighed and set his burger down. “Girls that you would rather play with than other girls. 'Cause they're cool.”

  “So they're just friends?” Sway asked slowly.

  “Yeah.” Miles nodded once and his eyes lost focus as he thought about it. “They play soccer with us during recess. The other girls don't do that.”

  “And that's what makes them your girlfriends?” Sway asked again, finding it harder to disguise his mirth.

  “Well, yeah,” Miles said with a frown. “They're friends and they're girls.” He adjusted the burger in his hands. “Girls smell good.”

  Sway grinned, suddenly very proud of his boy. “Yes, they do.”

  “Mom says you might be moving,” Miles segued effortlessly then took another enormous bite of his burger.

  Ah, yes. The big move. While the majority of his life he'd been traveling the world, Sway had lived in or around Boston. But things were different now. Alexa and her husband, James, lived in Connecticut. Asking to use his time with Miles traveling back and forth seemed weird when he had the power and means to shorten that trip.

  And since he'd already missed so much, he didn't want to waste any more minutes.

  “I'm going to be closer to you this spring. I'm staying at a friend's house in Hartford, actually.”

  “That's awesome,” Miles said.

  Those simple words filled Sway with more satisfaction than anything else in the world.

  ***

  Ryan Zacherson took a deep breath and clicked Send.

  She ran a shaky hand through her hair, encountered the sloppy knot at the top and decided to grab a hold of it. Like her ridiculous bun had the miracle power of telling her that everything was going to be fine and she was needlessly worrying. Again.

  Toenails clicking against the wooden floor got her attention next and she let her hand fall into her lap as she smiled at her dog.

  “Hey, bubba. Ready for a break?” she asked her puppy. Though he wasn't really a puppy anymore. More like a Shetland Pony.

  Clive wagged his tail twice, his indication of affirmative. Ryan glanced at her laptop screen again and groaned. “Okay, you're right. We need sunshine.”

  She pushed away from her desk, snagging her coffee cup on the way by. A refill was out of the question, but she should probably put the cup in the sink. It was the least she could do after finally getting her house cleaned that week.

  On the list of things she did to distract herself during deadline week, cleaning her house was the one that riddled her with the least amount of guilt.

  And it was the perfect house. She really shouldn't let it get as bad as she normally did. It was a house bigger than she needed, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Completely remodeled on the inside, so the dark colored hard wood floors were glossy and beautiful. Two of the bedrooms were upstairs, one on the main floor that she used as her office. Most of the interior walls had been taken out, giving more room to the already large living space. Her kitchen was state of the art with stainless steel appliances and marble counter tops—this was where she deposited her empty cup.

  Taking a long, dark gray sweater, circa 1994—complete with holes and raggedy ends, off of the hook by the front door, she wrapped its comfort around her to ward of the chill of the crisp, early spring.

  The front of the house had a large, covered porch. A porch swing hung to the left of the front door. Empty flower pots sat to the right. The front yard was perfectly square and perfectly flat. Which made it easy for the neighbor boy to mow for her in the summer. She paid him twenty bucks a week and also sent him home with books to give his mom for birthdays and holidays.

  Leaving her front door open, she let the screen door swing shut behind her and Clive as they went out onto the mostly sunny porch.

  Clive lumbered down into the yard to do his business and Ryan stood on the edge of the front step, her bare toes curling around the lip of the step. The sun had sufficiently warmed the carpeted section and she let the heat sink upwards through her soles.

  Hartford, Connecticut had been her home for five years. It was far from her blood relatives and where she grew up in Tampa, Florida. She liked it here. Here was home now. She didn't miss Florida.

  She sat down on the top step and tucked her knees against her chest, watching Clive nose around in the grass. Sticking her chin in between her knees, she took a several breaths of the fresh air.

  Next to her, her cell phone vibrated. Reaching down without moving her head, she slid the answer icon over and pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “I got your email,” Annie said quickly. “I want you to know that you're awesome and don't spiral.”

  Ryan's lips twitched with humor. “I'm not spiraling.”

  “Not yet, but it's only been five minutes,” Annie replied dryly.

  “I wonder if other editors give their authors this hard of a time,” Ryan mused out loud.

  “Only if they love them,” Annie replied instantly.

  Ryan had met Annie accidentally, and what a happy accident it had turned out to be. Annie was a freelance editor with an addiction to romance novels. She had found one of Ryan's pieces on an online fiction site and immediately started emailing her. Eventually, she wore the writer down and convinced her to let her do the editing of her first novel.

  That was six years ago.

  Now, after hitting the best seller lists all around the country over and ov
er again, quitting her very glorious job of retail clerk in a Victoria's Secret, leaving behind her manipulative and batshit crazy relatives, and moving to the northeast, Ryan still depended on Annie to tell her when she sucked and what would and would not sell.

  She was also the one who suggested that Ryan use a pen name, which Ryan agreed with immediately. While she wanted her stories out there in the public forum, she wanted the joy of anonymity with it.

  Ryan snickered under her breath. “I don't think I'll spiral. Though I do have plans later with Writers' Group, so, you know.”

  “Will Nelly be there?” Annie asked, her irritation evident in the snort that came out with it.

  Ryan's snicker grew to a chuckle. “Of course.”

  “Ugh. You need a new crowd.” This was Annie's solution to most things in Ryan's life. Something bothering you? Get a new something. Though she never followed her own advice which was why she still lived in a house that smelled like onions and dated a guy whose idea of a night out was going through the drive-thru liquor store for ice.

  “I don't need a crowd at all,” Ryan argued, unbending her legs and laying down flat on her porch. “I need very little. Coffee, food, something to write on.”

  “Something to write with?” Annie asked.

  “No, I'll just use the blood of my enemies,” Ryan answered with a smirk.

  “I love you,” Annie declared through her laughter.

  “You're the only one, babe,” Ryan reminded her.

  “Well, play nice tonight. Remember, you're Sullivan Summers, romance writer extraordinaire and weaver of fantastical whimsical love stories. People adore you.”

  “People don't know me,” Ryan couldn't stop the words that came out.

  “They would still love you if they did,” Annie said softly.

  It was things like this that made Ryan wish Annie lived closer. Like, at least the same state. Because even though Ryan wasn't the most social of women, she did enjoy smart, authentic company from other brilliant minds. Annie was all of those things. And she managed to make Ryan feel less like a freak and more like a person.

  She did have her writers' group. It was filled with all kinds of brilliance that dwarfed her and her tiny ideas. But over the past few months, it had started to feel less like connecting to her friends and more like work. It was exhausting.

  “Don't forget to update your Facebook status,” Annie reminded her, speaking of work. “Send something out into Twitter-verse, too. Your readers like to know you're alive.”

  Annie was also the only reason Ryan had any social media accounts at all. She had explained that it was just part of the job. She didn't have to like it, but she had to do it. Or she could hire a PA to do it. The idea of someone else speaking for Ryan made her shudder. She spoke for herself. Even if that was sometimes from a pseudonym. It was still her, and she never pretended to be a different person.

  Though she probably used more emojis than she otherwise would naturally.

  What was the deal with those things? People, especially women on the internet loved them. Ryan didn't get it. Just one more reason she knew she was different. She kept most of these thoughts to herself because she learned a long time ago, no one really understood her.

  “And make some teasers. Readers love teasers.”

  Ryan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

  Annie chuckled. “I'll get to work on this and get back to you soon, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey,” Annie called through the phone. “You totally got this. And if Nelly gets to you tonight, eat a muffin.”

  “I'm fairly certain Tawny will strangle me with her compression pants if I eat pastries,” Ryan replied, only half-joking.

  Annie was laughing as she hung up. Ryan held her phone in her hand and let her eyes lose focus.

  “I would use my sports bra,” Tawny said, approaching from the sidewalk they shared. “It has less give.”

  Tawny Logan, trainer to the stars, lived right next door. Lucky for Ryan too, because if she didn't have a personal trainer on her case at all times, she'd die of a chocolate overload before she hit her next deadline.

  Tawny could and probably often did intimidate everyone she met. She was quite possibly the most fit woman on the planet. And gorgeous enough to be in the movies herself. She preferred to kick the butts of the people making them, though. And she made a bunch of money doing it, too.

  “Why was there discussion of pastries?” Tawny asked, taking a seat beside Ryan.

  “I have Writers' Group tonight.”

  Tawny nodded in understanding.

  Writers' Group met once a month at a local coffee house. It was a small group of seven people, most of them published and successful. A couple newbies, and two in-betweeners. Ryan had known most all of them since she moved to Hartford. Every year, someone would have an idea to add a new one. Occasionally it stuck, most times it didn't. It was mostly a time to get together with like-minded people and ignore each other in public as they typed away on their laptops.

  “Will Sad Ian be there?” Tawny asked.

  “Probably.”

  “I wish I could get that guy to start a decent program,” Tawny said wistfully.

  “Yeah, but then he wouldn't be Sad Ian anymore,” Ryan pointed out.

  Tawny grinned in response and Ryan felt the last little bit of tension slip out of her shoulders. Fresh air, good conversation, no expectations. It's exactly what she needed. Instead of stewing over her inbox and fretting about the things it was too late to change.

  Writers' Group was actually what had brought Ryan to Tawny. While they had been neighbors for a while, Ryan was not a friendly-meet-her-neighbors type of person. But Triston Thomas, was a friend and in her group—against his will and completely to get his agent to shut up. (But she suspected he liked it.) He introduced the two of them, her and Tawny.

  He was the reason Ryan was in Hartford and a writer's group at all.

  “Done for the day?” Tawny asked as Clive wandered over to say hello. She scratched behind his ears as he groaned in approval.

  “Yep,” Ryan confirmed. “Just sent it over to Annie. How about you?”

  “All packed and ready to head out.” She faced Ryan and grinned. “I have a friend house-sitting for me this time so you don't have to worry about killing my plants.”

  Ryan grimaced. She was a terrible neighbor. Tawny had to travel frequently for her job, sometimes being away from home for months at a time. Ryan was supposed to water her plants and feed her Sea Monkeys. So far her ability to kill them all in the first week was pretty incredible.

  Tawny laughed at her expression. “It's okay. He's looking for a house in Hartford anyway, so this will give him a chance to experience the town before moving here.”

  Ryan nodded. “Am I going to be expected to be nice to him?”

  “Yes, but I'll warn him not to actually talk to you.” Tawny stood up and brushed her palms down the sides of her jeans. “He'll be here in the morning so I can give him his lecture before I have to get to the airport.” Taking the steps down to the sidewalk, she paused at the bottom and looked back to Ryan. “I'll be checking in with you frequently.” She arched an elegant dark eyebrow. “So stay away from the sweets and make sure you get to the gym.”

  Ryan smiled and shook her head. Friend, therapist, and personal ass kicker. Tawny Logan could do it all.

  Grabbing the messy knot at the top of her head with one hand and rubbing at her eyes with the other, Ryan decided that she would shower before going out.

  One less thing for Nelly to be disappointed in.

  Chapter 2

  New Romantics

  “Are you sure you should have another refill, Ry? That's not decaf.”

  Ryan's initial reaction was to pull away from the horrible words that had suddenly assaulted her. It didn't matter if they were correct for the majority of people, they weren't correct for her.

  “This is writer's coffee,” she replied flatly. “I'm a writer... no
w back off my coffee.”

  The person she was addressing rolled her green eyes and grinned. “Hey, I was just trying to be helpful,” Blythe said lightly.

  Ryan smirked and finished refilling her cup. Forgoing the sugar and cream, she drank it black. It was Tawny's only compromise. Ryan took it.

  Bringing her freshly filled cup to her lips, she let her eyes slide around the group.

  Triston Thomas couldn't make it that night, he had something more pressing to attend to. It bummed Ryan out, she enjoyed the sarcastic energy he brought. He also single-handedly kept Nelly in line. It was probably because she had an uber crush on him.

  Nelly's name wasn't actually Nelly. It was Cathy. Cathy Anderson. Ryan had started referring to her in her head as Nelly after about five minutes into their first meeting—after Nelly Olsen from the Laura Ingalls Wilder books. The original mean girl. The girl who acted like you were besties, even publicly declaring it, but was on a secret campaign to destroy your doll, Charlotte, and steal Almanzo Wilder.

  Cathy was sitting across and to the left from Ryan. She'd come in all bubbly and effervescent, unwrapped the scarf around her neck, ordered her perky beverage and proceeded to smile at everyone.

  It was awful.

  Next to Cathy was Blythe. In college and so involved with Bram Stoker you'd think she had her own castle. She liked to keep to herself for the most part. She'd published a novel in her teens and immediately regretted the attention it drew. Tristen Thomas was her mentor in that department. Mostly they made fun of each other and themselves at the same time.

  It was Blythe's sarcasm coupled with her Disney movie references that made Ryan love the girl to death.

  Across and to the right of Ryan was Sad Ian. He was a writer who had reached his middle age and was too unsure to actually write lately. His “lately” had been about four years long now. He liked to say he suffered from chronic depression, but Ryan was pretty sure he rather enjoyed it since it was all he ever talked about.

  Next to Sad Ian was Blythe's best friend Shayla. This girl had hair that was a different color every week, (this week it was purple). She loved to read. She loved to write. She hated everything else. Except for Blythe. She'd die for Blythe.