Page 13

Chapter 12

Lily

I ’m sitting on the couch, in the spot that’s become mine, when Tyler walks in from practice. He’s carrying two large Amazon boxes and one smaller one. His biceps are strained, showing off just how muscular his arms are, and considering I know how heavy a single one of those boxes is, and to see him carrying three, I have to avert my gaze not to ogle him.

“It smells good in here,” he says.

“Thanks. Dinner is ready whenever you are, and I could have grabbed those,” I tell him, pulling off my headphones and setting them on the couch.

He shoots me a look like I’m crazy. “I wasn’t going to just step over them. What’s in them anyway? Feels like books.”

“And you would be right. They are books.” I set my laptop off to the side as well and stand to go meet him.

“You bought three boxes’ worth of books? For what? And why does the name on the outside say Lily Keegan?” He looks back at the label and frowns.

Keegan. I didn’t even think of this when Morgan and I decided to ship the books here. Of course he’s going to ask, and now’s the perfect time to tell him. I had been trying to figure out when or how. After all, I don’t want to lie to him. Not that I’m lying since he hasn’t asked what I do, but I’m proud of these stories, and as our friendship has evolved, I do want to share this part of me with him. This is my new life, and I don’t want to feel like I have to hide this big piece of it. I want to be able to talk about it. With him.

Taking a deep breath, I push down the fear and tell him, “Keegan was my mother’s maiden name and is my middle name. Lily Keegan is my pen name, and when I sign things as LK, it just makes it easier for me to remember.”

He looks back up, and his brows draw down. “Sign things? Pen name?”

I shouldn’t be nervous about telling him. I know with every fiber of my being that Tyler would never make fun of me or make me feel awkward about this. He also wouldn’t flip the narrative and tell me that my success is related to him. I just need to get over the anonymity of it all. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished so far, and I feel like my future is so bright.

Steadying myself, I look him in the eyes. “Yes, I am an author.”

“You are?” He jerks a little as if I’ve shocked him, and he wasn’t expecting it. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Heat climbs up the back of my neck.

“Yep,” I tell him, wondering which direction this conversation will go.

He looks back down at the boxes and then across the island at me and asks, “How many books have you written?”

“Eight.”

Surprise flits across his features. “Holy shit. How did I not know about this?”

I move to sit down in one of the bar seats opposite him. Below me, the fish swim about, and for no reason other than I stare at them all day long from the couch, I love knowing they are under there. “No one knows. Well, except for Lance, Morgan, and now you.”

“Wait. I don’t understand. Dean didn’t know about this?”

“Nope.” That heat from my back climbs even more. I don’t know if I’m low-key embarrassed or ashamed that I stayed with a guy when I couldn’t even tell him what I was doing.

“He’s another reason I used a pen name,” I admit, and surprisingly, that feels good to say. I’ve kept this secret so tight for the past two-plus years, so finally talking about it with someone new feels a little freeing.

I don’t know what Tyler sees on my face, but instead of probing me to elaborate, his shock fades away, and in its place, a genuine curiosity takes over. “What are they about?”

“I write contemporary romance. In the first series are four hockey players who play on the same team. Each player has their own book, and in the second series, there are four about three brothers and one sister, and their life as cattle ranchers in Wyoming. Same setup, each character has their own story.”

“You wrote about hockey players?” he spits out, all appalled, and I can’t help but grin.

“That would be what you picked up out of all of that. And yes, hockey because I didn’t want anything to do with football or Dean saying that the only reason I am who I am was because of him.”

Silence falls over us as he thinks about this, and then the muscles in his jaw tighten as his back straightens and his shoulders draw down.

“He did that?”

“Frequently.”

He slicks his tongue over his teeth, and I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “I will never understand why you stayed with that guy for so long.”

“That makes two of us.”

But the truth is, I know why I stayed. When you fall in love with someone, they become so special and so dear. They take a piece of your heart, just like I’d like to believe I took a piece of his. Memories from another time also take hold. I clung to the memories of us the first few years when we were together, and I kept hoping and praying things would settle down or a light bulb for him would go off, and we’d get back to that place that we used to be, but we never did. And unfortunately for me, I think I figured that out at least two years too late.

“So this is your job?” he asks. “This is what you’ve been doing since you’ve been here? Writing a book?”

“Yes.”

He nods as if some pieces of a puzzle are falling into place for him, and things are becoming clearer. “You used to work for the Destroyers, right?”

“I did. I left them over two years ago after I self-published my first book, and in just a few months, I made more as an author than I did working for them for an entire year.”

“Wow. That’s incredible. Good for you, Lily,” he says, and pride like I’ve never known surges through me. “And Dean never knew?” He shakes his head like he just doesn’t believe it.

“Nope.”

His expression morphs into one that looks like he’s smelled something sour. “He is an idiot. How is that even possible?”

“As he became more self-absorbed, I became more invisible.”

He looks to the left and then back at me. “I really do hate that guy.”

“In all fairness, I’ve been here for weeks, and you didn’t know either.”

He frowns. “Touché.”

“Listen, I don’t hate him. I don’t think I ever could, but I definitely don’t like him anymore.”

He glances back down at the box. “Do you mind if I open it?”

“Nope.”

He moves to the opposite counter in the kitchen and grabs a pair of scissors out of the knife block. Carefully slicing through the packaging tape, he pulls out the filler paper to keep the books from sliding and looks down into the box.

I’d love to be in his head to know what he thinks as he looks at my books.

Slowly, he reaches in and picks up the one on the top, the first book of Thunderstone Ranch series. He looks at the cover, turns it around to read the blurb on the back, and my stomach flips over. I’m not embarrassed, I’m just a little uncomfortable wondering what he’s thinking. Most people forget that writing is an art. We authors use words to create images and tell the story. Some stories are beautiful, while others are tragic, but nonetheless, it’s a craft that takes work, heart, tears, time, and definitely thick skin.

He flips it back over, looks at the cover, and then asks the most unexpected question. “Why Thunderstone?”

“A thunderstone is a prehistoric stone tool, hand axe, or fossil that was thought to be made from lightning striking the ground. Some people believed that these stones had magical properties and were used to protect against lightning, fire, and other disasters. I kind of ran with that since Wyoming is half rock and the western side is the Rocky Mountain range. I made it a myth from the Native Americans who used to live on that land. The term was passed down throughout the generations of the family who own the ranch.”

“You just made that up?” The kitchen is bright, as it’s late afternoon and the sunlight is pouring in through the windows. I don’t really keep any lights on when he’s not here. There’s no need as I’m on my computer, and the light this afternoon has reached that golden state, making Tyler look all warm and comfortable. He looks even more familiar than normal, and it makes this conversation easier.

“Well, part of it. The story is fiction.”

“What do they do on this ranch?”

“Most ranches in Wyoming are cattle ranches. My ranch in these books is a working ranch with both red Angus and quarter horses. They also offer ‘dude ranch’ experiences in the summer.”

“You said they are romance novels? What does that mean in regard to ranching? I guess I’ve never thought much about it, but I remember those novels my mother used to read with the long-haired guys on the cover.”

I can’t help but giggle. “The ranch is the setting, and the love story is the main plot line, but it’s just one plot line. Each story has a different trendy trope that readers love like friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, single parent, things like that, but each of these stories also has a mystery plot line too. That particular one you’re holding, she’s a childhood friend who’s moved back to town to help with her family’s business. Horses keep going missing, which they ultimately figure out why, and of course they fall in love. There are a few more things, obviously, but you get the gist.”

“How did you learn about all of this? I couldn’t tell you the first thing about cattle ranching or horses.”

“Unbeknownst to Dean, Morgan and I took a trip to a dude ranch, and they helped us learn about operations, struggles, joys, all the things.”

He thinks about this and then raises one brow. “So where did you go to learn about hockey?”

I laugh. “The internet.”

“Good answer,” he says, one side of his mouth tipping up for a smile.

“What are you going to do with these?” he asks, looking back down at the others.

“Special edition covers are really popular right now. Morgan and I just designed all eight for both series. Those aren’t the original covers, and I wanted to see them before we released them into the world. I’ll sign these and then ship them back to her.”

“How do you sell these? Are you in bookstores?”

“I’m in a few, but because I self-publish, unless I become wildly popular or customers specifically ask for one of my books, most stores don’t stock it. They don’t even know about me. Most readers these days read e-books. That’s where I make my money, but I have an online shop that’s connected to my website that Morgan runs. We used to keep everything in her house, but as I completed this last series, it became too much. Now we have a storage unit that acts as a warehouse for us. She keeps everything stocked there, and once a week, she packages and ships.”

“Do you sign all the books?”

I crack a smile at him. “Yes, they are all signed. I signed everything before I headed to North Carolina.”

He looks back down in the box. “How often do you publish one?”

Boy, he’s full of questions.

“I’m lucky in that I get to do this full-time. Up until recently, it was every four months, but my last book was released in April, it’s now August, and I’m only a third of the way through it. Hopefully, I’ll be done by the end of August. Announcement and promo will start around the third week of August.”

“What are these about?”

“Small-town mountain romance set on a lake in North Carolina. Small town is a hot topic right now.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He puts the book back in the box, then runs a hand over his head. “This is amazing, and I’m really proud of you. I can’t believe Lance never told me.”

“Why would he?”

“Because I’m so proud of you, and I want to tell everyone I know, and I’m not your family. He is.”

I breathe in sharply through my nose. I don’t know what I thought his reaction would be, but it wasn’t that. My heart thumps hard against my chest wall, and I force my eyes not to well with tears.

“Am I allowed to tell people? My friends all know you’re staying here, so it’s not like me knowing your profession would come as a shock.”

I think about this. Am I ready for more people to know who I am? Am I ready to give up some of that control over my anonymity? I so desperately want to move forward with my life, and maybe this is one of those things. Morgan always thought it was stupid that I never showed my face, but I had reason not to, and I guess now I don’t.

“I suppose,” I tell him slowly. “Although, I’m not going to lie, it makes me nervous.”

His head tilts to the side a little as he studies me. “Why?”

“No one knows it’s me. It’s like the one thing I have in my life that is judgment-free. The minute you attach my face, my real name will come out, and the anonymity will vanish.”

“I guess that is something that you have to decide. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he tells me.

“How would you know? You haven’t even read one.”

“Can I read one?”

“I mean, if you want to.” I laugh. “Although I don’t know if romance is your cup of tea.”

“Why not? I believe in love just like the next person.”

Hearing him talk about love has my heart flipping in my chest. I know he was in love with his college girlfriend, Marissa, and I was shocked when Lance told me they had broken up right after the draft. From the outside, they definitely looked like a couple that was going the distance. Suddenly, I’m curious to know what happened, why I’ve never heard of anyone else, and most definitely why he’s single.

“Then go for it. It’s not like I can tell you what you can or cannot do.”

“I think I will, but it’s not going to be the hockey book,” he says as if it’s personally insulting him.

“Fair enough. Are you hungry?”

“When am I not hungry?”

Hopping off the chair, I round the island and make my way into the kitchen to grab a couple of plates. Tonight I made a hearty beef stew with rice and homemade focaccia bread.

“True. But feeding you is the least I can do.”

He reaches for my elbow and stops me so I turn to face him. He’s so tall, and with the golden sun giving him backlight, I can’t help but think how unfair it is that he looks so good, and the nerve endings in my arm fire up with excitement.

“You know I don’t expect you to cook for me.”

“I know, but I really do enjoy cooking, and it’s nice to cook for someone other than myself.”

He doesn’t ask me to elaborate. He doesn’t need to. He understands that Dean and I didn’t eat together, and that he didn’t appreciate the food I made for him when I did.

“Only as long as you’re enjoying it. But know, if you cook it, I will always eat it.”

Those sparks in my arm spread, and I feel so appreciated by him over just the little things, like making him coffee in the morning and cooking him dinner, and I’m so proud of myself for telling him everything about my author career that I surprise us both when I step into him and hug him. He only hesitates for a second before his large warm arms surround me and he drops his head to mine.