His furrowed brow lightened. “Fuck right.” He covered his mouth and looked around. His parents were too busy with Charlotte to have heard him.
I eyed him. “One day our daughter’s first word is going to be fuck and I’m going to punch you.”
“Sorry.” He reached for the remote and turned up the volume. According to the countdown clock we were still twenty minutes from the coin toss. This was going to be a long night.
Thank God, I didn’t schedule any morning patients at the hospital.
Wes picked up his phone when it started buzzing. “Stubbs, can you believe this shit?”
I eyed him with a death stare. He stood and walked to the bedroom where the game was also on full blast.
There was only so much I could expect to change in the man. I knew who I married. And I fucking loved him. Dirty mouth. Dirty thoughts. The dirty things he did to me in bed. I smiled. And then there was the man who changed diapers at 3 a.m. The man who watched over me during my entire pregnancy. The man who would die before he’d let anything happen to our little girl. I couldn’t have one without the other.
I listened to Gloria and Bud blow bubbles at Charlotte and curled my legs behind me on the couch.
I had moved to San Antonio focused on medicine. Focused on finding a new life for myself. And in this room I had it all. A new family and a man I would love the rest of my life.
London Falling
London Falling
T.A. Foster
Copyright © 2014 by T.A. Foster
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Dedication
For all of my Carolina Girls
Heads Carolina
London
I needed this. It was one grade. It was my graduation, my future, and my life—what choice did I have? He would forget this ever happened. We both would.
I tapped out the last sentence and pushed the enter button with limited certainty.
It was done. Now I just had to wait.
1
Three Months Earlier
I brushed my flyaway bangs from my eyes and settled into a seat in the middle of the lecture hall. The oversized room was drafty, but I shirked the heavy coat from my shoulders and rubbed my arms a few times. At least the layered scarf wrapped around my neck gave the illusion of warmth.
How was it possible that four years of my life came down to this last semester? If the class had been offered in the fall I would have already taken it, aced the class, and graduated in December. However, the-powers-that-be who create the labyrinth of class schedules only offer Communication 224 in the spring. And without the class, I couldn’t apply for graduation.
I guess the advantage of having such a light schedule this semester was the extra time I would have for theater group. Nina and Derek needed help. They always needed help when it came to the Encore Theater ensemble we joined as freshmen. The plays didn’t produce themselves.
Students filtered in a few at a time, filling in the gaps in the stadium-like seating. Backpacks littered the little space left in the aisles. In unison, we pulled out our laptops and began the pre-class ritual of checking in with our friends.
I logged on to Facebook, just to make sure Nina posted the announcement about open auditions for Spoiled Hearts. Maybe it was the cold weather or the spring semester blues, but we hadn’t received much interest in the play. This was Derek’s debut as a playwright, and Nina and I were doing our damnedest to make it a success. That boy could write—the rest of campus would know it soon. Other than paying people for tryouts, we were running out of ideas to fill up the cast. Before I could add my comments to the catchy post, the lights started flickering. Wait, was this curtain call?