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“Is this your way of saying you’re going shopping. Because if you are, I think that’s cruel.”

I glance over my shoulder as my sister brushes her teeth, her bathrobe pulled tightly around her and her wet red hair hanging limply at her shoulders. “Without you? Never.”

I don’t know why I’m awake this early. Habit, I guess. I stayed awake last night, trying to teach myself to dictate, and I didn’t do so well with it. It was a lot of stuttering over words and a lot of ums and yeahs and ands. Plus, I need better software to convert it to my document.

This is after I got a reply from the publishing house with a contract for me to peruse and sign. They adjusted the deadlines to allow for a little more wiggle room, but not much, and once I sign it, they’re going to get working on edits for book one. This broken wrist and hand really came at the worst possible moment. I sent the contract off to my attorney, but now I’m starting to freak out a bit.

I should tell them no. I should focus on the end of my residency and healing my broken bones, but I can’t make myself send that email. I want this. I want this so fucking badly, and I don’t know how to reconcile that with my current life.

Scenes from my unwritten book unfurl in my mind like a movie reel. Forbidden love. Tangled mates. A smoldering vampire who fights his primal instinct. His touch both a promise of ecstasy and a threat of destruction. His gray eyes and tattooed arms… wait, what? When did my vampire start looking like Loomis?

Nope. Not doing that or going there. That shit stops now.

“Have you ever looked at your closet and realized you have no idea what to do about your life? Like, you feel it should hold all the answers and tell you exactly who you are, but it’s just… blank. Just clothes and shoes and bags that can’t tell you anything you need them to.”

“Um, no, but I think your existential crisis is because this has been the most chaotic and stressful week of your life, and that’s saying a lot. Have you spoken to Alden again?”

“No.” I’ve been ignoring his texts and calls.

“What about Loomis?”

I shake my head. “Not since I saw him a couple of days ago.”

Kenna’s got a real bee in her bonnet about the men not in my life, and I regret telling her I ran into Loomis. Twice. I didn’t tell her about Fen, obviously, and I didn’t tell her about hislet’s get marriedproposal. That threw me for a loop for a minute. I know it was a joke, but his demeanor when he said it was entirely too serious. And the way my stupid heart bounced isn’t something I’m proud of or looking to have happen again.

“I just… I’m thinking maybe I’ll get away for a few days or a week or something. My head is all over the place, and this isn’t who I am, Kenna.”

“You mean because you don’t know how to be spontaneous and just go with the flow?”

I glare. “I know how to be spontaneous.”

“Name one time.”

My mouth opens and abruptly shuts.

She points her toothbrush at me as if to say,gotcha there. “I think it’s a great idea if you get away. Go somewhere and clear your head and get your creative juices flowing.”

I throw her a dubious look over my shoulder. “You think I should turn it down.”

She shakes her head adamantly. “Absolutely not. You’re too talented for that.”

“It’s a ridiculous, nonsensical dream, Kenna.”

“You mean having a successful small business that you love? That doesn’t sound ridiculous or nonsensical to me.”

“I spent four years of premed in college, four years of medical school, and I’m in my fourth year of residency. That’s twelve years of education. Of blood, sweat, and tears—literally. That’s what I should be focused on. Not being an author when I haven’t even told most of the people in my life that I am.”

“You could, though. You should even.”

I frown before I can stop it. I did that once. I told someone I thought I could trust with it, and he bashed my heart, faith, and confidence in one blow. This is why boyfriends suck and fictional men are way better.

“You’re so worried about doing the wrong thing or making a mistake, Keegs. So fixated on what other people think of you. What Mom and Dad and Grandma think of you. Yes, I know you told Travis, and he was an asshole. But he was an insecure prick who didn’t have the balls to chase his own dreams, so he shit on yours. Not everyone will be like that. You work your ass off night and day, harder than anyone I know, and it’s still not enough for you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that maybe all these things are happening at once as a way to push you to step out of your comfort zone, sayfuck itto the world, and take a chance on yourself. You have nothing to hide and everything to be proud of.”

I can’t respond because she’s right, and I hate that she’s right. I know this. I’m proud of myself and what I write, but that doesn’t mean others will be too. It’s easier to keep the secret than to explain it and face disapproval. Trust me. I’ve been there. As she said, my ex, Travis was an asshole.