The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

Nadine Rose. I am in all things.

My mother’s book, her only book, and I can’t remember the last time I saw it.

Or read it.

It’s probably been years.

This book, right here, is the novel that made Nadine Rose a name. It’s the book that allowed the world to see she was a writer. A real and worthy writer.

A reviewer in the New York Times called her book “a literary gem that would live on for generations to come.”

This book kept her on every best-seller list in existence for months. It landed her interviews in magazines and appearances on talk shows and book signings that drew insane crowds.

I was just a kid, but I remember all of it.

I remember her dancing and screaming in the kitchen when my father showed her she’d made her first best-seller list. And I remember sitting inside a studio green room with Lydia while our mom was being interviewed by a celebrity journalist.

It was one of the most exciting times in my life. An absolute whirlwind. But in hindsight, I realize that it was actually the calm before the storm. It was the short span of time when everything felt exciting and vibrant and wonderful before it turned into one of the hardest times of my family’s life.

When I look down, I realize the book is now in my hands. I have no idea when I pulled it from the shelf, but it’s there, gripped between my fingers. I stare down at the cover. At her name etched at the bottom. At the title.

I flip it over to read the back and fondly remember the novel itself. A tragic story about grief and loss and love, successful Marcus loses his wife and child and spirals into a black hole. And it takes a therapist by the name of Cecilia to pull him out of it.

It’s one of those books that carves a hole in your heart, but somehow, once you finish it, you’re thankful for that hole. Because it’s a reminder. An imprint. A core memory of something you never want to forget.

I open the book and run my fingers over the pages, and I don’t stop until I find the one page that holds my favorite passage. I stare down at the words in awe. My mother, she was talented beyond belief.

“What are you looking at?”

I startle at the sound of Ty’s voice and nearly drop my mother’s book in the process.

“Shit,” I mutter and gently grip the novel back to my chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, doll,” he says, his voice all laid-back and relaxed. Before I know it, he’s standing beside me with his arm around my shoulders. “What book is—?” he starts to ask but stops himself when his eyes take in the title. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” I nod, and all of a sudden, I have the strangest urge to cry in the middle of this bookstore. I swallow hard around the ball in my throat, forcing the tears to go back to wherever they came from.

“This is one of my favorite books,” Ty says quietly, and I look up to meet his eyes. “I’m serious,” he adds, as if my face is calling him out. “It’s one of the best novels I’ve ever read.”

All I can do is look back down at the book in my hands, the pages still open to my favorite passage.

“It’s my favorite book,” I say, but my voice sounds so quiet. “Though, I guess you could say I’m biased.”

“Love is in all things,” Ty reads the exact words I’ve been staring at for the past however many minutes, and it makes my heart feel all weird inside my chest. “Love was in your child’s eyes. It was in your wife’s kiss. And it is in the tears of your grief. The cracks of your heart. And each painful breath you take. Love is the reason for everything. Without love, we are nothing. Mean nothing. Want nothing. Need nothing.”

Once he finishes, he doesn’t say anything. He simply presses a kiss to my forehead and just stands there with me, his arm tenderly wrapped around my shoulders, and both of us staring down at my mother’s book.

And I’m overwhelmed again, but this time, it’s because I feel like I need to admit something.

Something that feels like a dark secret.

“You know, I don’t even have a copy of her book.”

“Why not?” he asks, but there’s no judgment or assumption in his voice.

“I did, but then, I didn’t.” I shrug, and even I can’t explain why.

Because it made me miss her? Because seeing her words made me feel as if it was impossible for me to live up to my father’s expectations?

A combination of both?

Anyone’s guess is as good as mine.

“And just think, you could get this very copy for only twelve hundred dollars,” Ty teases, and oddly enough, it’s exactly what I need.