First Came You (Fate #0.5) Read online

  “Daddy’s gonna get all mushy on you two for a minute so bear with me, okay?” Swallowing back the large lump at the base of my throat, I pour out every bit of emotion that needs to be said. “Your mother and I—we’ve known each other since she wasn’t much older than you. That’s a long time when you really think about it, yet we’re still so young and inexperienced according to a lot of people out there.” I rock my body from side to side—it just comes naturally while holding one in each arm—and they fit, like perfect pieces made to complete the puzzle their mother and I have created together.

  “But Mommy and I are special—our love is special and now you girls are a part of that love. I am your Daddy—when you open those big, bright eyes of yours,—get a good look at the guy who is going to protect you from all your fears, love you unconditionally, provide for you in every way imaginable, shelter you from the ugliness in this world, yell at you when you do something I’m not proud of, cry for you when you make me so proud I want to shout it from the hilltops, and maybe I’ll even sometimes change your dirty diapers for you. All this rambling and fussing—it means, you’re stuck with me. Until the day I die, because there is nothing and no one in this world who can take me away from you. Life won’t be perfect, little princesses, but I’ll try my hardest to make you believe it is.”

  Sniffling back my very unmanly tears, I kiss each of my girls over their pink nursery hats and vow to them that I will be the best father I can be. I promise them I won’t make the same mistakes my parents made and that I will do everything in my power to make them as happy as their mother has made me.

  “Hey, Daddy, you okay over there?” Nearly forgetting I’m in a room full of doctors, nurses, and the love of my life, Gabby interrupts my one-on-one pep talk to my daughters.

  “I’m more than okay. Want to hold one of our daughters again?” I ask, walking closer to the hospital bed.

  Gabriella nods, and stares into my eyes with a look that oozes love, devotion, and happiness. I’m glad to see that again and proud to know Stella, Nina, and I put it there.

  Joining my wife on the tiny hospital bed, I place Stella in her arms and kiss her clammy forehead. “Gabriella Edwards, thank you for this gift. You’re my hero.”

  Gabriella gazes at me with the same sparkling innocence that she did when I handed her that shiny nickel all those years ago. After so much time together, there’s a touch of spunk and an essence of unspoken familiarity that make it so much more than I ever imagined. “And you are mine,” she hums. “Always and forever.”

  THE END

  I’d like to thank the army of people that I’ve grown to call my book family for all their encouragement and support with this novella, and everything that came before and all that will come after.

  First and foremost, I have to thank Angela Smith aka The Book Whisperer, my creative editor. Had it not been for her, this story simply would not be. She pushed me to tell Tommy and Gabriella’s story, even though it was quite a struggle to pour my heart into a character who no longer exits. I cried at times during the four weeks Tommy spoke to me because he encompassed many aspects of my real life. But in the end, this needed to be done because the world is a better place with people like Tommy Edwards in it.

  Thank you to my editor Brenda Letendre, my cover designer Najla Qamber, my formatter Christine Borgford of Perfectly Publishable, my proofreader Jenn Singh, my Indie Chicks Rock chicks, the FYW girls, my BBF podcast partners in crime, my forever betas Jen and Tracey, the Gotta Have Faith crew, my PR team Sharon and Melissa of Sassy Savvy Fabulous PR, and the many, many author, blogger, and reader friends I’ve fallen in love with since the start of this journey.

  I can’t go without mentioning my incredible family and friends who have had my back since as far back as before the beginning. I love what I do and even though it’s a fairly new venture, having all of you in my corner means the world to me. Thank you for allowing my alter ego to be a part of your lives.

  If you loved Tommy and Gabriella, then you need to read what comes next in the later chapters of Gabriella’s life. Here is a sample of Feel Again, the first book in the Fate Series.

  Ten Years Earlier

  “Sweetheart . . . me. Can . . . hear . . . me?” Tommy’s voice crackles through the phone. The static is so overwhelming, it’s hard to make anything out.

  “Baby, I saw the—what’s going on? Please tell me you’re okay.” I wish I could be strong for him, he must be terrified, but my cries are coated so heavily in desperation, I’m sure he hears it, despite the terrible connection.

  “Baby, don’t . . . scared, but—Gabby, I’m stuck . . . office. The smoke is so . . . no way out, baby.”

  My eyes dart to the horror unfolding on the television as if I can somehow find a way to help my husband.

  Smoke. Flames. Is it the end of the world?

  This cannot be happening! This has to be a nightmare. “No! Don’t say that! There has to be a way out. Please, baby, try!” I don’t know how the words even escape my mouth, my throat so clogged with fear and unrelenting cries.

  “I’m trying, sweetheart . . . promise . . . trying . . . tell the girls—”

  The phone goes dead.

  My heart stops.

  I drop to my knees, screaming, “No, no, no! He has to get out! Please, God, please watch over him.” I think it again: This can’t be happening.

  But it is.

  I squint through the tears, my eyes glued to the television. I can hardly bear to watch it unfold. My city, my world, my life crumbles before my eyes and I can’t seem to drag my attention from the horrifying images on the screen.

  I slide off the couch, stooping to my knees, and pray; frantic, hysterical, panicked prayers.

  Please let him be okay. Tommy, please be safe.

  After seconds, minutes, hours—I can’t even gauge time—of futile begging, my sister swings the front door open. “Gabby! Gabby! I’m here. I got here as fast as I could.” My sister’s voice barely registers. My head is too clouded by everything else. I don’t even know how to make sense of it.

  It can’t be possible. This can’t be happening.

  Not again.

  Gina sits next to me on the floor. Guiding her always-soothing hand up and down my back, she says, “I picked up the kids from school. They’re across the hall with Rita. Have you heard from Tommy yet?”

  I can’t even answer her. I know that was the last time I’ll ever hear my husband’s voice. I hang on to a sliver of hope and watch the news coverage in disbelief, waiting for an announcer to declare this whole thing a sick practical joke.

  But that never happens.

  Because this is real.

  This nightmare is reality—the planes, the buildings, the people jumping from those massive burning towers out of desperation.

  And then, as if it’s all not enough, the unthinkable happens.

  I clutch my chest and almost feel my heart disintegrate, my world collapsing along with the building Tommy is in. The scream that escapes my mouth rocks my body, burns my throat, and draws up bile so poisonous I taste the bitterness on my tongue. “Nooooooo!”

  “Oh my god, oh my god,” Gina cries, shaking her head, reaching for me. She covers my eyes by burying my face into her neck, protecting me from the image of the collapsing tower. That strong, steel tower and its twin are the epitome of New York City; where my husband sat at his desk every single day, where he made a living for our family, where he met friends who spent Sundays watching football in our apartment and whose kids came to our kids’ birthday parties. All of that—all of them—are now gone.

  Tommy is gone.

  Wrapping my arms around myself—wishing they were Tommy’s—I release shattering sobs of painful tears. “He’s gooooone! Gina, he’s gone! Oh my god, my sweet, sweet Tommy.” I cry for my loss; I cry for my children’s loss, I cry for the loss of all the other families who have become victim to this tragedy.

  My body tremors and I feel queasy. I’ve been through this al
ready—my world crumbled around me once before—I can’t do this again. I don’t have the strength. “He’s gone,” I whisper this time, knowing there is no consolation.

  My fuzzy mind darts to my children—my ten year old girls who are so naïve and innocent. How will I tell them? They’re too young for this. Tommy is their hero. They’re Daddy’s little girls. How do I ruin their picture-perfect outlook on their wonderful world? How will I explain that the safety net of their parents’ love has found a way to fail them? I know this feeling. I hate this feeling. I don’t want to do this to my kids.

  My sadness turns to fury in a flash. We don’t deserve this; Tommy was only minding his business, going on with his daily routine. And now he’s . . . gone. “How is this happening? Why, Gina? Whyyyyy?” I wail through unremitting tears, collapsing into my sister’s arms. “He’s my everything! I can’t do this without him, Gina. I love him so much. This—this can’t be happening to me!” Saying it over and over again will make it all go away, right? It just has to!

  Gina cloaks her arms around my body, holding me close. Her own tears soak my T-shirt, her sobs echoing in my ears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, sissy.”

  It’s like a sudden flash of deja vu, remembering Gina’s efforts to comfort me all those years ago. But today my healing wound is ripped open all over again. How the hell will I ever heal from this?

  “My Tommy. My poor Tommy. How could this be happening?” I repeat this too many times—screaming at points, sobbing at others—until my voice eventually turns hoarse.

  I’m not the only one who’s lost someone today, but in this moment my heart can only bear my own pain. I can’t think about anyone else when the one person who meant the world to me is no longer a part of it.

  Pushing my matted, tear-soaked hair off my face and out of my mouth, something snaps within me—a burning need. I straighten to look Gina in the eyes. “I need my kids. I need to see the girls.”

  My sister’s eyes are empty, devoid of all the hope she had before, finally admitting defeat. “What are you going to tell them?” she asks, sniffling back tears.

  I haven’t even thought about it. All I know is I need to hold them, to feel them. It’s the only thing I’m sure of in this moment. Maybe their two beautiful, nearly-identical faces can help me find the strength to make sense of this. “I don’t know, but I want them here. Now. I can’t be away from them one more second.”

  Gina doesn’t hesitate or wait for an explanation. She stands, walks out the door to my apartment, and disappears into the hallway.

  I shake my head back and forth, pulling clumps of my hair just to hold on to something. Tears threaten to strangle me, an explosion looms in my ribcage from the pounding of my heart, and the pain—the immeasurable pain—floods my veins, crippling me. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

  I wish I had the strength to compose myself. The girls shouldn’t see me this way. I don’t want to scare them, but I have no idea how to soften this blow. I don’t know how to be the mother I’m supposed to be right now. I don’t know how to protect them from this hurt. They’re not babies anymore. I can’t lie. They’re old enough to understand and they’ll hear the truth eventually, when this city goes back to being normal—if it ever goes back to being normal.

  When they appear in the doorway five minutes later, their hair still in the braids I’d twirled their blond locks into earlier this morning, clothed in the school uniforms their father laid out for them last night, tears streaking their flawless faces—I lose it. I lose all control, any ounce of grace, sanity, and strength I ever had.

  “Mommy!” Stella rushes over to me and her skinny arms wrap around my waist. “What happened, Mommy? We heard about the planes.”

  Nina walks closer to our huddle, her aunt clasping her hand as they stride toward us with their heads hung low. “All the kids are saying the World Trade Center was bombed. Is it true, Mommy?”

  “And what about . . . Daddy? That’s where Daddy’s office is. Is Daddy . . . is he okay? Is he coming home early?” Stella looks up at me, her brown eyes glistening with tears. My bright little girl—in this moment I wish she wasn’t so smart.

  Is he coming home? How do I break her heart by telling the truth? Daddy’s never coming home, sweetheart. I can’t do it.

  I can’t do this to my perfect family. The perfect family that is no longer complete because the heart and soul of it was taken away from us this morning.

  As shivers rake over my skin and the blood pumps loudly in my ears, my legs shake and I ready myself for the collapse. But I don’t falter. I stand tall, look over my shoulder at the television behind me, and glare at the mayhem unfolding on the screen.

  Our life will never be the same. There is no turning back, but I can’t be the one to break this news to my children. I can’t speak the words they should hear from my mouth.

  Holding them close, one arm wrapped around each of their delicate, pre-teen frames, I usher them to the couch so the NY1 news reporter can explain to them everything that I cannot. Yes, I’m a coward. Yes, I’m supposed to be strong for them. But with my strength—my Tommy—missing from my life, I don’t know how I’ll ever go on.

  Faith Andrews lives in New York with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a furry Yorkie son, Rocco. If she isn’t listening to Mumford & Sons or busy being a Dance Mom, her nose is in a book or her laptop. She’s a sucker for a happily ever after and believes her characters are out there living one somewhere…

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  Man of my Dreams

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