Tell Me Not to Go Read online

  I’m at a café across the street from my new apartment—in fact, I can see my door from here. It’s a studio, so I’m not sharing with anyone. Quiet and lonely aren’t the end of the world, though, especially when you’re trying to mend a broken heart. I’ve gone out a couple of times with new friends I met at orientation, so that should keep me from going all Howard Hughes and spiraling into madness.

  Plus, this joint is cool. It smells like happiness and goes light on the ironic hipster decor. There are a few paintings on the wall for sale, but that’s to be expected. Otherwise, it’s mostly people studying and relaxing over ginormous cups of coffee.

  Except for the couple across from me. I’ve begun to call them Fred and Ginger, because they are dancing around a topic like there’s no tomorrow. And today’s topic is another girl. I try not to eavesdrop—sort of—but it’s so painful and familiar and real that I can’t look away. Like those PSAs where they show you abused animals in slow mo.

  “I just don’t understand why she’s texting you if you barely know her,” Ginger says, playing with the cardboard cupholder on her coffee, her dark hair swinging over her eyes.

  Excellent question.

  “I told you. She was just asking about a class assignment.”

  “Then how come you wouldn’t show me the picture attached?”

  Oh, boy. Fred clearly has to scramble for this answer, so he deflects by becoming angry.

  “If you don’t trust me then we don’t even have a relationship. I told you it was nothing.”

  “You’ve been acting weird lately. It’s not just the texts . . .”

  He throws down his napkin and leans back. “I’m so over your jealousy.”

  Pushing it back on her. Clever. The thing is, he could be telling the truth. Except something about his body language says he’s not. I know it, Ginger knows it, and everyone within six feet of them knows it. This is probably the moment when Ginger caves, convincing herself she’s being crazy. That losing someone she loves over something she’s not sure about is too risky. She could aim so much higher, but she probably doesn’t know it.

  But then Ginger stands up.

  “Yeah, see, I don’t believe you. And you’re right. If I don’t trust you, this isn’t a real relationship. So I guess I’m done.” She grabs her purse and walks out.

  Huh. Guess Ginger did know she could do better. I love it when people surprise me.

  Fred’s not as surprising. The minute Ginger leaves, he calls someone named Janine who is not a study partner, that’s for sure. But when he ends the call, he throws the phone down and sulks.

  Ah, humans. We are such idiots.

  Like the guy I see in my peripheral vision. He was knocking on someone’s door the whole time I was caught up in Fred and Ginger. Then he plopped down in the middle of the sidewalk. But now he’s back to banging on the door again, so I turn to peer out the window. Which is when I realize that it’s my door he’s molesting. And he looks a lot like Jeff—or some ruffled version of him. Those shoulders, that sandy blond hair—those jeans.

  Oh, God. It’s him.

  I shoot out of my seat and haul ass out the front door. But when I get to the curb, my feet freeze and I can’t go any further.

  “Jeff,” I shout, over the sound of cars whizzing by.

  He turns and sees me, and even from here, I can tell he is anxious. His hair is messy, he has stubble on his face, but he looks so good—so real—I want to cry.

  He runs across the street, dodging a car to get to me.

  “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?” I’m trying not to shriek, and failing miserably.

  He grabs my hand. “Yes, I am crazy. About you. You said I wouldn’t risk everything for love, but you’re wrong. And I’m here to prove it.”

  I let go of him, but run my hands down his arms to make sure he’s not broken somewhere. “What are you talking about? Have you been drinking?”

  “No, no. But I haven’t slept in about twenty-seven hours. So, you know, it’s possible I’m incoherent.”

  “I don’t understand.” I say.

  “I’m in love with you, and I want you with me all the time.”

  Silver stars start to fill my vision. Just like when I was ten and my nemesis, Sheila Garcia, purposely hit me in the head with the tetherball. That bitch played for keeps. Maybe Jeff’s playing for keeps now, too.

  “But we agreed long distance never works. And we’re both going to be so busy.”

  He runs his hand through his hair. “Well, umm, I kind of quit my job.”

  “You what?!”

  The guy walking past me turns and looks at me like I’m a freak.

  “You keep yelling at me.”

  “Because you’ve gone insane,” I say, lowering my voice a touch.

  He smiles. “Exactly. I’m not going to settle. Not one more damn time. I want to be with you. And I promise not to crowd you or get in the way. I’ve already got calls in to a couple start-ups. I want to help build a company from the ground up.”

  “Here? You want to move here?” The thought of him being with me is like Eve’s apple—so tempting. Except I can’t let him throw away everything for me. “You just started a new life.”

  “Not much of a life if you’re not there to share it.” He puts his hands on my face and looks into my eyes—deep, where all my insecurities hide. “This can work. But only if you want it to.”

  He looks uncertain, like he needs to sell me on the idea. Why doesn’t he know how much I love him? How can he think that I don’t want this?

  Maybe because I’ve been acting like I don’t deserve it.

  I took a leap once, too, and lost my footing because of it. But I leapt for the wrong person. Jeff’s belief in me isn’t misplaced, and trusting him wouldn’t be stupid. I love him in all the best ways. I’m the hip hop to his country, the hybrid to his gas guzzler, the colorful sprinkles on his vanilla cake.

  I want him, and even better—I deserve him. And he deserves me.

  That thought is so enormous, there’s nothing to be done but let it spill out as tears.

  “I love you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us. But your new life was so important.”

  Then, he looks at me with complete sincerity, his aw-shucks smile nowhere in sight, and says, “Not as important as you.”

  “You bastard. You sonofabitch.” I throw my arms around him and kiss him until I can’t think straight.

  But I don’t need to be rational right now. My mind is made up, and my heart is spoken for. I need him with me.

  Because the right man—a good man—doesn’t throw ash on your dreams, he supplies the oxygen.

  He lifts me up off my toes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  And then he carries me across the street, into my apartment. Our apartment.

  Now, wherever I go, he goes, too.

  Keep reading for a preview of

  TELL ME THAT YOU’RE MINE

  Coming soon from SMP Swerve!

  Chapter 1: Ryan

  It feels like an eternity since I’ve been home. In reality, it’s only been a year.

  My slow walk to the house is surreal. The lawn is as pristine as ever, each blade of grass shorn the same height by Jude’s meticulous mowing. The red geraniums I planted years ago are thriving. And the dent in the porch rail, caused by my foot accidentally connecting with the wood, is still visible. But I don’t remember the house being this uninspiring shade of blue, or the crack on the front stoop being this wide. This house, this city, used to be my whole world. It seemed a lot bigger then.

  Discordance skitters over my spine: what should be familiar is foreign, and relief mingles with anxiety. Time snaps and contracts as I knock on the front door, and suddenly it seems like an hour since I left. A nanosecond.

  The door swings open, and the reason for my hasty departure is staring at me. She’s as pretty as I remember—maybe prettier, damn her. Green eyes that used to flutter when I kissed her, full lips that whispered confidence
s in my ear.

  Now, her face is frozen in a hostess’s smile. Her fingers worry the bottom button of her pink cardigan, and the threads begin to loosen. She doesn’t know what to do because she wasn’t expecting me. I guess it wasn’t nice showing up a day early.

  “Ryan. You’re home.”

  Home. Does she mean mine or hers?

  I had almost forgotten what Lizzie’s voice sounded like, but its husky depth brings memories rushing back of the six months we spent loving each other.

  Well, I loved her. She was falling in love with my brother.

  I wait for my heart to ache, but there’s only a small twinge. That’s a surprise. In my mind, this was all so much more dramatic and intense. Hard stares and pinched lips. A little social awkwardness seems so mundane by comparison.

  And then the door swings open wider and Jude is there. My pulse stops—doesn’t slow, just ceases to exist for a second. Leave it to him to bring the fireworks.

  Like the house, Jude seems smaller than I remember. Or maybe that’s because he has gone expressionless, his discomfort hard-crashing him. His hands dig into his pockets, searching for an anchor, pulling his shoulders into a hunch. It takes a lot to knock Jude off his game. Glad to see I can still have that effect on him.

  When he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. It’s unusual for me to have to step up and be the bigger man when I’m around my big brother. But today is that day.

  “Long t-time no see.”

  His lip trembles.

  No. This is not how this is supposed to go. Jude doesn’t get emotional.

  “Come here.” I gesture with my hands, and that breaks the stalemate.

  He steps forward into a back-patting hug, and now he’s Jude again. Strong. Sure. Bigger than life. God, I missed him.

  When he leans back, he’s all business—all older brother. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in early?”

  “I Ubered from the airport. More dramatic this w-way.”

  Lizzie’s glance darts back and forth between us, like she doesn’t know where she should rest her eyes.

  Jude moves aside. “Stop standing there like an idiot and come in.”

  The first thing I notice is the red glass vase in the living room and the photos on the wall—dashes of color and life that weren’t there before. Lizzie’s influence on this house, and on him, is obvious. Jude called before I left Japan to warn me that she was moving in. His tone managed to be apologetic, pleading, and defiant all at once.

  He grabs my duffle bag. “I kept your bedroom the same. Let me put your stuff in there, and I’ll throw a load in the wash.”

  “In other words, you don’t want me c-cluttering up the house.” Some things never change; Jude doesn’t like anything out of place.

  The second Jude leaves the room, the awkwardness returns. Lizzie and I stare at each other as she crosses her legs and bounces knee up and down.

  “Kind of feels like a f-funeral,” I say.

  Her knee stops bouncing and she smiles, bringing a piece of sunshine to this moment. “Sorry. You’re right. It’s good to see you.”

  “You too. How are things g-going?”

  She shakes her head. “This is so weird.”

  “It doesn’t need to be. I wouldn’t have g-given the two of you my blessing if I was going to hate you f-for it later.”

  “I know you wouldn’t have.”

  “Are you happy?”

  She nods.

  I don’t need to ask if Jude’s happy. His texts and phone calls over the past year made that clear. He’s found someone new to orbit around. I’m not going to pretend that doesn’t sting, but it’s as it should be. He and I spent too many years with only each other.

  Lizzie bites her thumbnail, a nervous habit she doesn’t indulge in often. I hate that I know that about her.

  “I tried to talk him out of living together.”

  “C-Come on, Lizzie. You couldn’t have t-tried all that hard.”

  Her head rears back and she looks me up and down, like she’s seeing me for the first time. “What a difference a year makes.”

  “This w-wasn’t just any year.” The upshot of disengaging yourself from everyone and everything is that you get to reinvent yourself. “I’ve m-made some changes.”

  “Good for you. I’d love to hear about Japan.”

  “Me too,” Jude says, coming back in the room. I hear the washing machine running in the background. “After that, I want to show you some apartments I found for you.”

  “Jude . . .” Lizzie starts, but then decides against it.

  Smart. The less she gets involved, the better.

  “I don’t need you f-finding me a place.” If my tone is biting, I have a right to it.

  When I pulled my head out of my ass last year and discovered Jude was in love with Lizzie, I decided to put him first like he’d done for me so many times throughout our lives. But just because I encouraged their relationship and left to give everyone breathing room doesn’t mean I’m a martyr. Now that I’m back, he doesn’t get to take the reins and run my life again.

  Jude crosses his arms. “I’m trying to help.”

  My face heats. I know he means well. I also know Jude’s defensive as hell because he feels guilty about kicking me out of our home. But let’s face it, I was going to have to leave sometime.

  “I’ve been on my own for a y-year. I got this.”

  Jude’s never been one to back down easily. “What about money? You don’t have a job, and school starts in two weeks.”

  I’m headed back to San Jose State this fall to start my teaching-credential program.

  “They want me to come back to the café. I’ll be f-fine.”

  “And tuition?” He’s tapping one hand on his leg.

  “I took out loans.”

  “I didn’t want you to do that.” Jude goes full cartoon villain when he gets upset—clenched jaw, steely eyes, the whole bit.

  “Yeah, well I did. So g-get used to it.”

  “How about I make dinner?” Lizzie asks, breaking the tension.

  I change my shirt and get cleaned up, calming myself in the process. That works until I step foot in the kitchen. When my mom died, Jude and I moved into this house with our uncle Rob. Five years later, he died in a car crash and left the house to Jude. Now, the dark wood table where Jude, Rob, and I used to eat is gone, replaced by a sleek modern one that will probably fall apart in a couple years. Because my mother helped my uncle decorate this room, it was the only space in the house that had remnants of her. Most of those have been removed. At least the faded duck curtains she picked out are still hanging.

  What did I expect? That Lizzie and Jude would become a couple but everything else around them would stay in stasis? But there’s a wide gulf between intellectual knowledge and emotional impact.

  Jude and I sit and catch up on the basics as Lizzie cooks. Jude tries not to look at her too often, or let his gaze land on her for too long. As he talks, he sidesteps any references I might not understand and makes sure to bring up topics that will keep me in the conversation. When I tell him about my year teaching in Japan, he asks the right questions in all the correct places. So thoughtful, so careful. So not Jude.

  I am the electric car at a gas station, the appendix about to burst, the second-place trophy after a losing season.

  As much as I love my brother—as much as I owe him for raising me after Mom died—it’s true what they say: You can never go home again.

  Time to plant new roots.

  Acknowledgments

  To my husband and kids for supporting this in every way possible. Thanks for taking one (or more) for the team and being incredible.

  To Sue, for yet again reading the life out of this book and making it better. And for being who she is.

  To Ness for beta reading, to Natalie for falling in love with Jeff and his truck, and to Angie for being a tigress and championing these books.

  To the Sassy Bitches, Layla Reyne, Allyson Charles,
and Eva Moore, for the writing sessions, support, and snacks.

  Thanks to my agent Laura Bradford, my editor Eileen Rothschild, and my publicist Titi Oluwo—all of whom had to be patient with me since I didn’t know anything about anything.

  Finally, to all the bloggers and readers who supported Tell Me How This Ends and read my work: You make every struggle worth it. Much love to you all.

  About the Author

  Author photograph © Toni Bird

  Victoria De La O is the award-winning author of the Tell Me romance trilogy, including Tell Me How This Ends. A native of California’s Silicon Valley, she spends her time hanging out with her family, arguing about films, and practicing Wonder Woman spins. She also loves talking to readers. Find her online at www.victoriadelao.com.

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  Also by Victoria De La O

  Tell Me How This Ends

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Sam

  Chapter 2: Jeff

  Chapter 3: Sam

  Chapter 4: Jeff

  Chapter 5: Sam

  Chapter 6: Jeff

  Chapter 7: Sam

  Chapter 8: Jeff

  Chapter 9: Sam

  Chapter 10: Jeff

  Chapter 11: Sam

  Chapter 12: Jeff

  Chapter 13: Sam

  Chapter 14: Jeff

  Chapter 15: Sam

  Chapter 16: Jeff

  Chapter 17: Sam

  Chapter 18: Jeff

  Chapter 19: Sam