Wipe Off Tears Quotes

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And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off? Or pretending? He let them fall.
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Harry Potter, #6))
But they were not living, thought Harry: They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents' moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter, #7))
You deserve all that and more. It made me happy to see you suffer. I would do it all over again if I could.' I realized I was shaking as the words tumbled out of me. 'I would do it again and again. Every night I would torment you and laugh. Do you understand? You are never safe with me.' I drew a shuddering breath, trying to will away the sting of tears. He opened his eyes and stared up at me as if I were the door out of Arcadia and back to the true sky. 'That's what makes you my favorite.' He reached up and wiped a tear off my cheek with his thumb. 'Every wicked bit of you.
Rosamund Hodge (Cruel Beauty)
He wipes tears off my face and then snot. He uses his hands. He loves me that much.
Nina LaCour (Hold Still)
Swallow you fears, wipe off your tears, let go of you darkest years. Chin up. Smile. Walk away
Harry Styles
I...I'm sorry," Kylie mumbled. "Don't you even try to talk your way out of me being pissed!" Burnett growled. "Not a word!" "I just..." "That's two words and I said not one!" he snapped, and he swiped his hand through the air for emphasis. Kylie bit down on her lip, and wouldn't you know it that's when the tears started flowing. Big, fat, and fast tears. She sniffled and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her breath caught in her chest. But damn it. Why couldn't this have happened when she was alone? "Those tears do not affect me, young lady!" He pointed a finger at her. While she couldn't hear his heart beat to the rhythm of a lie, she heard it in his voice. *** "I just..." "Did I say you could talk?" he asked. He did three more pacing laps, as if working off steam, before he looked at her again. "Where were you going, Kylie?" When she just looked at him, he bit out, "Answer me." "You said I couldn't talk.
C.C. Hunter (Chosen at Nightfall (Shadow Falls, #5))
My tears gather around his hand, smudging his fingers with makeup. 'You didn't leave me,' I utter in disbelief. 'I thought you would leave me.' He releases my face and looks out the opposite window while rubbing his hand on his jeans to wipe off my mascara. 'Nonsense. I stayed for the car.' -Unhinged, pg 127
A.G. Howard
Whoever decided that love should hurt sucks. It's been silent for too long, and I watch as Mom wipes a tear off her cheek. Whoever decided that life should hurt sucks even more.
Amy Garvey (Cold Kiss (Cold Kiss, #1))
He bursts into tears, and not some manlike tears either, where you pretend you're brushing something off your face and, incidentally, wipe a tear. Nope. He starts bawling like a kid who spilled his Slushie...
Alex Flinn (Cloaked)
Krystal flung herself violently off the chair, away from her mother. She was surprised to feel warm liquid flowing down her cheeks, and thought confusedly of blood, but it was tears, only tears, clear and shining on her fingertips when she wiped them away.
J.K. Rowling (The Casual Vacancy)
And her eyes filled with heavy, regretful tears, yet she did not quite know for what she was weeping. She only knew that some great sense of loss, some great sense of incompleteness possessed her, and she let the tears trickle down her face, wiping them off one by one with her finger.
Radclyffe Hall (The Well of Loneliness)
I've walked past so many pennies in my life, never bothering to pick them up because none of them were ever appealing to me. Then one day, I literally crashed into the most gorgeous penny I'd ever seen, so I picked her up off the ground, wiped away her tears, and became mesmerized by her every movement. Stupidly, I let that penny get away from me, and I've regretted it ever since. You were my lucky penny, Audrey, and I've been dreaming about you for years.
Kimberly Lauren (Beautiful Broken Mess (Broken, #2))
Everything dies eventually. We all know that. People, cities, whole civilizations. Nothing lasts. So if existence was just binary, dead or alive, here or not here, what would be the fucking point in anything?" She looks up at some falling leaves and puts out her hand to catch one, a flaming red maple. "My mom used to say that's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory - hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can build off our pasts and make futures." She twirls the leaf in front of her face, back and forth. "Mom said life only makes any sense if we can see time how God does. Past, present and future all at once." I allow myself to look at Julie. She sees my tears and tries to wipe one away. "So what's the future?" I ask, not flinching as her fingers brush my eye. "I can see the past and the present, but what's the future?" "Well . . . ," she says with a broken laugh. "I guess that's the tricky part. The past is made out of facts . . . I guess the future is just hope." "Or fear." "No." She shakes her head firmly and sticks the leaf in my hair. "Hope.
Isaac Marion (Warm Bodies (Warm Bodies, #1))
My sisters and I stand, arms around each other, laughind and wiping the tears from each others eyes. The flash of the Polaroid goes off and my family hands me the snapshot. My sisters and I watch quietly together, eager to see what develops. Ghe grey-greensurface changes to the bright colors of our three images, sharpening and deepening all at once. And although we don't speak, I know we all see it: Together we look like our mother. Her same eyes, her same mouth, open in suprise to see, her long-cherished wish.
Amy Tan (The Joy Luck Club)
Who would I kill?” I asked, sitting up from him, wiping my face. “Who?” “Yeah, I mean, is it random, or do you choose them?” “Well.” He grinned and picked an ant off the rug, then tossed it onto the grass. “I usually avoid eating comedians as much as possible.” “Why?” I asked slowly. “Because they taste funny.” His brows rose. I imagined a tumbleweed rolling past as I listened for crickets. “That wasn't funny.
Angela M. Hudson (Tears of the Broken (Dark Secrets, #1.1))
My condolences I'll shed a tear with your family I'll open a bottle up, pour a little bit out in your memory I'll be at the wake dressed in all black I'll call out your name, but you won't call back I'll hand a flower to your mother when I say goodbye Cause baby you're dead to me I need to kill you That's the only way to get you out of my head Oh I need to kill you To silence all the sweet little things you said I really want to kill you Wipe you off the face of my earth And bury your bracelet Bury your bracelet Six feet under the dirt
Melanie Martinez
Everything changes, but my love for you never will. I’ve fought myself on this too long and I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t feign that I don’t want to talk to you, to reach out and brush the hair out of your eyes, or wipe a tear off your cheek. I want to hold you, to tell you how much I love you, to kiss you without repercussions.” His voice grew softer, electricity sparking in the air. “I’ve loved you since I met you, Evangeline, and I will love you for all of eternity.
Angela Corbett
I can’t do it,” he rasped, hissing out a great heaving breath from his lungs. “You were right. I can’t shut it off. I can’t stop loving you.” “I know, baby. I know.” Cupping both my palms around his face, I wiped more tears off his cheeks with my thumbs. He sobbed out his distress as he leaned down onto me fully and pressed his forehead to mine. “I missed you so much.
Linda Kage (Worth It (Forbidden Men, #6))
What?” he asked, finishing the second of his nine-ounce steaks, medium rare. “Why are you looking at me that way?” [...] I sighed theatrically, resting my chin on my cupped hands and bracing my elbows on the table. “You are too gorgeous, you know?” I said it just loud enough that the people who’d been watching us surreptitiously could hear me. Unholy laughter lit his eyes—telling me he’d been noticing the looks we’d been getting. But his face was completely serious, as he purred, “So. Am I worth what you paid for me, baby?” I loved it when he played along with me. I sighed again, a sound that I drew up from my toes, a contented, happy sound. I’d get him back for that “baby.” Just see if I didn’t. “Oh, yes,” I told our audience. “I’ll tell Jesse that she was right. Go for the sexy beast, she told me. If you’re going to shell out the money, don’t settle.” He threw back his head and laughed until he had to wipe tears of hilarity off his face. “Jeez, Mercy,” he said. “The things you say.” Then he leaned across the table and kissed me. A while later he pulled back, grinned at me, and sat back in his chair. I had to catch my breath before I spoke. “Best five bucks I ever spent,” I told him fervently.
Patricia Briggs (River Marked (Mercy Thompson, #6))
The second thing which made speechless--a state my dad would have found amusing--was the fact Mr. Hunky gave me a masculine grin--a naughty one which made me cream my panties--and said in a velvety baritone, “Run along, sweetheart. I’ve got this.” Me, one of Hell’s most successful bounty hunters, dismissed with a smile and a wave of his hand. His treatment made me want to tear his pants off and ride him like a cowgirl--I mean, he’d called me sweetheart, how hot was that?--while at the same time making me see red. I’m gonna wipe the smirk off his face. Then I’m gonna kiss him. Then..
Eve Langlais (Last Minion Standing)
She was made after the time of ribs and mud. By papal decree there were to be no more people born of the ground or from the marrow of bones. All would be created from the propulsions and mounts performed underneath bedsheets- rare exception granted for immaculate conceptions. The mixing pits were sledged and the cutting tables, where ribs were extracted from pigs and goats, were sawed in half. Although the monks were devout and obedient to the thunder of Rome, the wool of their robes was soaked not only by the salt of sweat but also by that of tears. The monks rolled down their heavy sleeves, hid their slaughter knives in the burlap of their scrips, and wiped the hoes clean. They closed the factory down, chained the doors with Vatican-crested locks, and marched off in holy formation. Three lines, their faces staring down in humility, closing their eyes when walking over puddles, avoiding their unshaven reflections.
Salvador Plascencia (The People of Paper)
He brushes my cheek, wiping a tear. "From the soul or whatever indefinable part of you makes you Annie. I like that part." The pad of his thumb circles my cheekbone, and I can't take my eyes off his.
Roxanne St. Claire (Don't You Wish)
When he settles back onto his knee, he wipes a tear away from his own eyes. “Sherry, until I met you I didn’t know what life was. I had no clue that I wasn’t even alive. It’s like you came along and woke up my soul." He's looking straight at her as he talks. He doesn't sound nervous at all, like he's determined to prove to her how serious he is. He takes a deep breath and then continues. "I’ll never be able to give you everything you deserve, but I’ll definitely spend the rest of my life trying.” He pulls the ring out of the box and slides it on her finger. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Sherry. I’m telling you to marry me, because I can’t live without you.” Sherry wraps her arms around his neck and they hold onto one another and cry. “Okay,” she finally says. When they begin to kiss, his hand reaches over and turns off the camera.
Colleen Hoover (Point of Retreat (Slammed, #2))
It just wasn’t supposed to end like this.” She looks at me with red-rimmed eyes and yellow skin. Colors should be a good thing, but now, they’re marks, omens of bad tidings. “I was supposed to grow up, go to college, get a job,” she continues in that gut-clenching croak. “Meet my dream guy, marry, have k-kids. You were going to live next door and we would grow old in the same nursing home. Chuck oatmeal at each other and watch soap operas all day in our rocking chairs. That was my daydream. My perfect life. I don’t want to keep asking myself why until the end, but … ” A lone tear trails down her sunken cheek. This time I don’t reach out to wipe the water away; I let it go. Down, down, until it drips off the side of her jaw. This is humanity. This is life and death in one room.
Kelsey Sutton (Some Quiet Place (The Other Plane, #1))
Jason and Ferrin turned. Aram, face shiny with sweat, pulled a small pair of pants over his skinny legs. His shrunken hands trembled. Ferrin struggled not to smile. He was unsuccessful. Ferrin's involuntary grin forced Jason to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Ferrin noticed and began to shake, eyes watering. Aram hastily pulled on a shirt. Then he folded his arms, glaring grumpily up at the others. "Go ahead, let it out, have a good laugh." They did. Feeding off each other, magnified by the knowledge that their laughter was so inappropriate, their mirth was uncontrollable. Ferrin buried his face, attempting to compose himself. Jason stared at the ground, trying to summon sober thoughts. "We need to go," Aram said indignantly, clambering up onto his suddenly oversized horse. Atop the huge stallion, he looked like a little jockey. Jason coughed out a final laugh. Ferrin shook quietly, wiping tears from flushed cheeks. "Finished?" Aram asked. "You two are ruthless." He looked down at himself. "I guess it's quite a contrast." "We don't mean to rub it in," Jason apologized. "We've already seen you both ways. It isn't that big of a deal." "It doesn't help that you're so shy about it," Ferrin tried to explain. "It was more your expression than anything." "Let's leave it behind us," Aram said, nudging his horse with his heels. The stallion didn't respond. Ferrin buried his face in the crook of his arm. Jason ground his teeth.
Brandon Mull (Seeds of Rebellion (Beyonders, #2))
Sylvia Plath" A miniature mad talent? Sylvia Plath, who'll wipe off the spit of your integrity, rising in the saddle to slash at Auschwitz, life tearing this or that, I am a woman? Who'll lay the graduate girl in marriage, queen bee, naked, unqueenly, shaming her shame? Each English major saying, "I am Sylvia, I hate marriage, I must hate babies." Even men have a horror of giving birth, mother-sized babies splitting us in half, sixty thousand American infants a year, U.I.D., Unexplained Infant Deaths, born physically whole and hearty, refuse to live, Sylvia...the expanding torrent of your attack.
Robert Lowell
Now we are able to rejoice that we are saved not through the immanent mechanisms of history and nature, but by grace; that God will not unite all of history’s many strands in one great synthesis, but will judge much of history false and damnable; that he will not simply reveal the sublime logic of fallen nature but will strike off the fetters in which creation languishes; and that, rather than showing us how the tears of a small girl suffering in the dark were necessary for the building of the Kingdom, he will instead raise her up and wipe away all tears from her eyes – and there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain, for the former things will have passed away and he that sits upon the throne will say, ‘Behold, I make all things new.
David Bentley Hart (The Doors of the Sea: Where Was God in the Tsunami?)
Fuck, babe,” Chocolate Eyes said, stepping forward. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet off the tiled floor. “You look like crap...worse, actually.” He wiped her tears with the calloused pad of his thumb. “You want to get out of this pisshole or not?
Cindy Paterson (Step (The Senses # 2))
I shook my head at her and stroked the tears off her cheeks with my thumbs “Hey, I can’t wipe away your tears unless you let them fall.
D.H. Sidebottom (The Hunt for Summer (NSC Industries, #5))
wiping tears off my face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Her slippers swished across the floor. “I could make tea.” Kate’s solution to everything was Earl Grey. “No, I’m good, thanks,
Jools Sinclair (44 (44, #1))
The real festival is the moment when we wipe the tears off from the faces living in despair.
Abhijit Naskar (When Call The People: My World My Responsibility)
The Dream by Mark Baker A man lay on his bed at the end of his life waiting to die. His dream came to pay his last respects and bid farewell to the man who had never used it. As it entered the room the man looked down in shame. "Why did you not realize me?" the dream asked. "Because I was afraid," the man said. "Afraid of what," said the dream. "I was afraid I would fail." "But haven't you failed by not attempting to use me?". "Yes I did, but I always thought there would be tomorrow." "You Fool!" said the dream" Did it never occur to you that there was only ever today? the moment that you are in right now? Do you think that now that death is here that you can put it off until tomorrow?". "No", said the man, a tear gently rolling down his cheek. The dream was softer now, because it knew that there were two types of pain, the pain of discipline and the pain of regret, and while discipline weighs ounces, regret weighs pounds. Then the dream leant forward to gently wipe away the tear and said, " You need only have taken the first step and I would have taken one to meet you, for the only thing that ever separated us was the belief in your mind that you couldn't have me". Then they said goodbye and they both died.
Mark Baker
Problem?” a silky voice murmured. I ignored Torin and turned my attention to the stack of notebooks near the couch. “I am sorry for what I said about your father this morning,” he said. “It was beneath me.” I still didn’t say anything. “Being trapped thus is incredibly frustrating for me, and occasionally I take it out on others. Again, I apologize. Now, if you’d like, I can help you with what you’re seeking.” Knowing I’d probably regret it, I crossed the rom and yanked the canvas off the mirror. As before, he was sitting on the table, smirking at me. “Jackass, jackass on the wall, where’s the info on Hex Hall?” Torin laughed long and loud at that, and I saw that his teeth were slightly crooked. Seeing as how he was from the sixteenth century, I guess he was lucky to have any teeth at all. “Oh, I do like you,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “All these bloody warrior women are so serious. It’s nice to have a real wit around the place again.
Rachel Hawkins (Spell Bound (Hex Hall, #3))
Do you have someone in mind, Galen?" Toraf asks, popping a shrimp into his mouth. "Is it someone I know?" "Shut up, Toraf," Galen growls. He closes his eyes, massages his temples. This could have gone a lot better in so many ways. "Oh," Toraf says. "It must be someone I know, then." "Toraf, I swear by Triton's trident-" "These are the best shrimp you've ever made, Rachel," Toraf continues. "I can't wait to cook shrimp on our island. I'll get the seasoning for us, Rayna." "She's not going to any island with you, Toraf!" Emma yells. "Oh, but she is, Emma. Rayna wants to be my mate. Don't you, princess?" he smiles. Rayna shakes her head. "It's no use, Emma. I really don't have a choice." She resigns herself to the seat next to Emma, who peers down at her, incredulous. "You do have a choice. You can come live with me at my house. I'll make sure he can't get near you." Toraf's expression indicates he didn't consider that possibility before goading Emma. Galen laughs. "It's not so funny anymore is it, tadpole?" he says, nudging him. Toraf shakes his head. "She's not staying with you, Emma." "We'll see about that, tadpole," she returns. "Galen, do something," Toraf says, not taking his eyes off Emma. Galen grins. "Such as?" "I don't know, arrest her or something," Toraf says, crossing his arms. Emma locks eyes with Galen, stealing his breath. "Yeah, Galen. Come arrest me if you're feeling up to it. But I'm telling you right now, the second you lay a hand on me, I'm busting this glass over your head and using it to split your lip like Toraf's." She picks up her heavy drinking glass and splashes the last drops of orange juice onto the table. Everyone gasps except Galen-who laughs so hard he almost upturns his chair. Emma's nostrils flare. "You don't think I'll do it? There's only one way to find out, isn't there, Highness?" The whole airy house echoes Galen's deep-throated howls. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he elbows Toraf, who's looking at him like he drank too much saltwater. "Do you know those foolish humans at her school voted her the sweetest out of all of them?" Toraf's expression softens as he looks up at Emma, chuckling. Galen's guffaws prove contagious-Toraf is soon pounding the table to catch his breath. Even Rachel snickers from behind her oven mitt. The bluster leaves Emma's expression. Galen can tell she's in danger of smiling. She places the glass on the table as if it's still full and she doesn't want to spill it. "Well, that was a couple of years ago." This time Galen's chair does turn back, and he sprawls onto the floor. When Rayna starts giggling, Emma gives in, too. "I guess...I guess I do have sort of a temper," she says, smiling sheepishly. She walks around the table to stand over Galen. Peering down, she offers her hand. He grins up at her. "Show me your other hand." She laughs and shows him it's empty. "No weapons." "Pretty resourceful," he says, accepting her hand. "I'll never look at a drinking glass the same way." He does most of the work of pulling himself up but can't resist the opportunity to touch her. She shrugs. "Survival instinct, maybe?" He nods. "Or you're trying to cut my lips off so you won't have to kiss me." He's pleased when she looks away, pink restaining her cheeks. "Rayna tries that all the time," Toraf chimes in. "Sometimes when her aim is good, it works, but most of the time kissing her is my reward for the pain.
Anna Banks (Of Poseidon (The Syrena Legacy, #1))
Thank you for this amazing adventure. I never knew that someone could love without limit. Even when you can't hear me say that I love you or when I can't hear you say that you love me, I found a wonderful lover that I hope to be with even in all of my other lives." he lifted his hands off Kai's neck. 'I love you.' Kai held the sides of Sehun's face and connected their lips for a passionate kiss as they dropped to their knees. Kai forced a smile as he wiped the tears on Sehun's cheeks. 'And you will never know how much I love you.
FishMeAnEXo
I felt his hand go to my cheek and wipe the tear that i hadn't realize was falling from eyes. I looked him in the eyes so he could see the hurt in min, and swiped his hand off.
P.L. Jenkins (Meant To Be)
Statistics,” the journalist Paul Brodeur once wrote, “are human beings with the tears wiped off,
Siddhartha Mukherjee (The Emperor of All Maladies)
Thanks for holding my hand" she said, smiling while wiping away the tears off her face. If only she’d let me hold more than her hand, If only she’d let me hold her heart too.
dandelionlady96
Morpheus puts an arm around me. “You’re all right, blossom,” he says, his mouth at my ear. “Can you drive?” I nod and sniffle. “Good.” He scoots back to his seat, then grabs my chin to force me to look at him. “Next time, I expect you to figure a way out. A netherling way.” My tears gather around his hand, smudging his fingers with makeup. “You didn’t leave me,” I utter in disbelief. “I thought you would leave me.” He releases my face and looks out the opposite window while rubbing his hand on his jeans to wipe off my mascara. “Nonsense. I stayed for the car.”
A.G. Howard (Unhinged (Splintered, #2))
Do you ever wear leather?" the guy asks. "What?" "Leather. Do you like leather?" "It doesn't exactly wipe me out." "I like to see boys in leather." I look at him cool. "Okay," I say, "what is it you want and how much are you willing to pay for it?" "I've got a leather jacket upstairs...Would you put it on?" "Just put it on?" "I'll go and get it." He leaves the horror hole and returns a few minutes later holding a leather flying jacket with a lambswool collar. There are tears in the jacket's sleeves, and the lambswool is yellow with age. John Wayne could've worn it in one of those crappy war films he made. "Put it on," the guy says. I give him a spiky smile and put on the jacket. "Okay, where's the plane, and what time's take-off?" "Drop your jeans and turn around.
Eric Bishop-Potter
And so, Navani painted a prayer onto the stones themselves, sending her attendants for more ink. She paced off the size of the glyph as she continued its border, making it enormous, spreading her ink onto the tan rocks. Soldiers gathered around, Sadeas stepping from his canopy, watching her paint, her back to the sun as she crawled on the ground and furiously dipped her brushpen into the ink jars. What was a prayer, if not creation? Making something where nothing existed. Creating a wish out of despair, a plea out of anguish. Bowing one's back before the Almighty, and forming humility from the empty pride of a human life. Something from nothing. True creation. Her tears mixed with the the ink. She went through four jars. She crawled, holding her safehand to the ground, brushing the stones and smearing ink on her cheeks when she wiped the tears. When she finally finished, she knelt back before a glyph twenty paces long, emblazoned as if in blood. The wet ink reflected sunlight, and she fired it with a candle; the ink was made to burn whether wet or dry. The flames burned across the length of the prayer, killing it and sending its soul to the Almighty.
Brandon Sanderson (The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive, #1))
Thank you,” he said softly, pulling back and wiping away a stray tear on my cheek. “For what?” “For withstanding the heat. For fighting for your life. Because without you, everything in my life would be cold.
Cambria Hebert (Torch (Take It Off, #1))
Then Hermione’s voice came out of the blackness for the third time, sharp and clear from a few yards away. “Harry, they’re here…right here.” And he knew by her tone that it was his mother and father this time: He moved toward her, feeling as if something heavy were pressing on his chest, the same sensation he had had right after Dumbledore had died, a grief that had actually weighed on his heart and lungs. The headstone was only two rows behind Kendra and Ariana’s. It was made of white marble, just like Dumbledore’s tomb, and this made it easy to read, as it seemed to shine in the dark. Harry did not need to kneel or even approach very close to it to make out the words engraved upon it. JAMES POTTER BORN 27 MARCH 1960 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 LILY POTTER BORN 30 JANUARY 1960 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. Harry read the words slowly, as though he would have only one chance to take in their meaning, and he read the last of them aloud. “‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’…” A horrible thought came to him, and with it a kind of panic. “Isn’t that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?” “It doesn’t mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry,” said Hermione, her voice gentle. “It means…you know…living beyond death. Living after death.” But they were not living, though Harry: They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents’ moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter, #7))
Things I Used to Get Hit For: Talking back. Being smart. Acting stupid. Not listening. Not answering the first time. Not doing what I’m told. Not doing it the second time I’m told. Running, jumping, yelling, laughing, falling down, skipping stairs, lying in the snow, rolling in the grass, playing in the dirt, walking in mud, not wiping my feet, not taking my shoes off. Sliding down the banister, acting like a wild Indian in the hallway. Making a mess and leaving it. Pissing my pants, just a little. Peeing the bed, hardly at all. Sleeping with a butter knife under my pillow. Shitting the bed because I was sick and it just ran out of me, but still my fault because I’m old enough to know better. Saying shit instead of crap or poop or number two. Not knowing better. Knowing something and doing it wrong anyway. Lying. Not confessing the truth even when I don’t know it. Telling white lies, even little ones, because fibbing isn’t fooling and not the least bit funny. Laughing at anything that’s not funny, especially cripples and retards. Covering up my white lies with more lies, black lies. Not coming the exact second I’m called. Getting out of bed too early, sometimes before the birds, and turning on the TV, which is one reason the picture tube died. Wearing out the cheap plastic hole on the channel selector by turning it so fast it sounds like a machine gun. Playing flip-and-catch with the TV’s volume button then losing it down the hole next to the radiator pipe. Vomiting. Gagging like I’m going to vomit. Saying puke instead of vomit. Throwing up anyplace but in the toilet or in a designated throw-up bucket. Using scissors on my hair. Cutting Kelly’s doll’s hair really short. Pinching Kelly. Punching Kelly even though she kicked me first. Tickling her too hard. Taking food without asking. Eating sugar from the sugar bowl. Not sharing. Not remembering to say please and thank you. Mumbling like an idiot. Using the emergency flashlight to read a comic book in bed because batteries don’t grow on trees. Splashing in puddles, even the puddles I don’t see until it’s too late. Giving my mother’s good rhinestone earrings to the teacher for Valentine’s Day. Splashing in the bathtub and getting the floor wet. Using the good towels. Leaving the good towels on the floor, though sometimes they fall all by themselves. Eating crackers in bed. Staining my shirt, tearing the knee in my pants, ruining my good clothes. Not changing into old clothes that don’t fit the minute I get home. Wasting food. Not eating everything on my plate. Hiding lumpy mashed potatoes and butternut squash and rubbery string beans or any food I don’t like under the vinyl seat cushions Mom bought for the wooden kitchen chairs. Leaving the butter dish out in summer and ruining the tablecloth. Making bubbles in my milk. Using a straw like a pee shooter. Throwing tooth picks at my sister. Wasting toothpicks and glue making junky little things that no one wants. School papers. Notes from the teacher. Report cards. Whispering in church. Sleeping in church. Notes from the assistant principal. Being late for anything. Walking out of Woolworth’s eating a candy bar I didn’t pay for. Riding my bike in the street. Leaving my bike out in the rain. Getting my bike stolen while visiting Grandpa Rudy at the hospital because I didn’t put a lock on it. Not washing my feet. Spitting. Getting a nosebleed in church. Embarrassing my mother in any way, anywhere, anytime, especially in public. Being a jerk. Acting shy. Being impolite. Forgetting what good manners are for. Being alive in all the wrong places with all the wrong people at all the wrong times.
Bob Thurber (Paperboy: A Dysfunctional Novel)
Sorrow is one of the things that are lent, not given. A thing that is lent may be taken away; a thing that is given is not taken away. Joy is given; sorrow is lent. We are not our own, we are bought with a price . . . [Our sorrow] is lent us for just a little while that we may use it for eternal purposes. Then it will be taken away and everlasting joy will be our Father’s gift to us, and the Lord God will wipe away all the tears from off all faces. —Amy Carmichael
Angie Smith (I Will Carry You: The Sacred Dance of Grief and Joy)
Wiping the tears off another’s eyes is one of the sweetest and coolest gestures ever. It says, “I am here if you need to talk or a shoulder to lean on. I may not understand your pains but I would do anything to keep the tears from falling”.
Omoakhuana Anthonia
They’re going to screw up here and there. It will seem like you’re losing them. But you wiped their noses, you dried their tears, you tied them to the couch for their own safety. If you give them a little bit of freedom, they will come back to you.
George Wallace (Laff It Off!)
My own walls caved. Tears trickled from the corner of my eyes. Then strong arms enveloped me. “Don’t cry.” Ben’s hot breath on my cheek. “We’ll find her. And the twins. I promise.” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I hiccupped. “People always do that.” “I mean it.” Firmly spoken. “I won’t let us fail. Not at this.” The sobs broke free. I burrowed into Ben’s chest, letting everything go. I cried and cried and cried, unthinking, releasing a week’s worth of pent-up emotion in a few hot seconds. Ben held me, silent, softly rubbing my back. A thought floated from somewhere far away. This isn’t so bad. I pushed away, gently breaking Ben’s embrace. Looked into his eyes. His face was a whisper from mine. I thought of Ben’s confession during the hurricane. How he’d wanted to be more than just packmates. Emotions swirled in my chest, making me dizzy. Off balance. “Ben . . . I . . .” “Tory?” My father’s voice sent us flying apart as if electroshocked. Kit was descending the steps, an odd look on his face. “Yes?” Discreetly wiping away tears. I saw a thousand questions fill Kitt’s eyes, but, thankfully, he kept them shelved. “I hate to do this, kiddo, but Whitney’s party starts in an hour. She’s trying to be patient, but, frankly, that isn’t her strong suit.” “No. Right.” I stood, smoothing clothes and hair. “Mustn’t keep the Duchess waiting.” Kit frowned. “Say the word, and we cancel right now. No question.” “No, sorry. I was just being flip. It’s really fine.” Forced smile. “Might be just the thing.” “All right, then. We need to get moving.” Kit glanced at Ben, still sitting on the bench, striving for invisible. A smile quirked my father’s lips. “And you, Mr. Blue? Ready for a good ol’-fashioned backyard barbeque? My daughter will be there.” Ben’s uneasy smile was his only response.
Kathy Reichs (Exposure (Virals, #4))
The end of this short story could be a rather disturbing thing, if it came true. I hope you like it, and if you do, be sure to COMMENT and SHARE. Paradoxes of Destiny? Dani! My boy! Are you all right? Where are you? Have you hurt yourself? Are you all right? Daniiii! Why won’t you answer? It’s so cold and dark here. I can’t see a thing… It’s so silent. Dani? Can you hear me? I shouldn’t have looked at that text message while I was driving… I shouldn’t have done it! I'm so stupid sometimes! Son, are you all right?... We really wrecked the car when we rolled it! I can’t see or hear a thing… Am I in hospital? Am I dead…? Dani? Your silence is killing me… Are you all right?! I can see a glimmer of light. I feel trapped. Dani, are you there? I can’t move. It’s like I’m wrapped in this mossy green translucent plastic. I have to get out of here. The light is getting more and more intense. I think I can tear the wrapping that’s holding me in. I'm almost out. The light is blinding me. What a strange place. I've never seen anything like it. It doesn’t look like Earth. Am I dead? On another planet? Oh God, look at those hideous monsters! They’re so creepy and disgusting! They look like extraterrestrials. They’re aliens! I'm on another planet! I can’t believe it. I need to get the hell out here. Those monsters are going to devour me. I have to get away. I’m so scared. Am I floating? Am I flying? I’m going to go higher to try to escape. I can’t see the aliens anymore and the landscape looks less terrifying. I think I've made it. It’s very windy. Is that a highway? I think I can see some vehicles down there. Could they be the extraterrestrials’ transport? I’m going to go down a bit. I see people! Am I on Earth? Could this be a parallel universe? Where could Dani be? I shouldn’t have looked at that text message while I was driving. I shouldn’t… That tower down there looks a lot like the water tank in my town… It’s identical. But the water tank in my town doesn’t have that huge tower block next to it. It all looks very similar to my neighborhood, but it isn’t exactly the same: there are a lot of tower blocks here. There’s the river… and the factory. It’s definitely my neighborhood, but it looks kind of different. I must be in a parallel universe… It’s amazing that I can float. People don’t seem to notice my presence. Am I a ghost? I have to get back home and see if Dani’s there. God, I hope he’s safe and sound. Gabriela must be out of her mind with the crash. There’s my house! Home sweet home. And whose are those cars? The front of the house has been painted a different color… This is all so strange! There’s someone in the garden… Those trees I planted in the spring have really grown. Is… is that… Dani? Yes, yes! It’s Dani. But he looks so different… He looks older, he looks… like a big boy! What’s important is that he’s OK. I need to hug him tight and tell him how much I love him. Can he see me if I’m a ghost? I'll go up to him slowly so I don’t scare him. I need to hold him tight. He can’t see me, I won’t get any closer. He moved his head, I think he’s started to realize I’m here… Wow I’m so hungry all of a sudden! I can’t stop! How are you doing, son?! It’s me! Your dad! My dear boy? I can’t stop! I'm too hungry! Ahhhh, so delicious! What a pleasure! Nooo Daniii! Nooooo!.... I’m your daaaad!... Splat!... “Mum, bring the insect repellent, the garden’s full of mosquitoes,” grunted Daniel as he wiped the blood from the palm of his hand on his trousers. Gabriela was just coming out. She did an about turn and went back into her house, and shouted “Darling, bring the insect repellent, it’s on the fireplace…” Absolute cold and silence… THE END (1) This note is for those who have read EQUINOX—WHISPERS OF DESTINY. This story is a spin-off of the novel EQUINOX—WHISPERS OF DESTINY and revolves around Letus’s curious theories about the possibility of animal reincarnation.
Gonzalo Guma (Equinoccio. Susurros del destino)
You’re back and forth with me, with your actions, with your emotions. You act like you don’t remember me, then spring on me that you do. You flirt with me and then you stop on a dime. You kiss me and then you pull away as soon as I touch you. You’re mad then you’re not.” I don’t stop to take a breath or let him speak before finally raising the hand he’s holding and letting it go. “You’re holding my hand, then . . .” I trail off, not sure of how to finish that thought. Tearing my gaze from his, I try to rein in my emotions, to wipe the flustered girl up off the floor.
Kim Karr (Connected (Connections, #1))
You’re lucky you’re good in bed.” “Oh.” He grabbed at my foot. “I think you keep me around for other reasons.” I slanted him a look out of the corner of my eye. “Right now, for the life of me I can’t think what those reasons are.” Braden tugged harder on my foot, raising his fingers towards it. “Take it back or the foot getsit.” Oh hell no! I yanked at my appendage. “Braden, no.” Deaf to my warning, he started to tickle me,his grip tightening as I laughed breathlessly and kicked out, trying to get free. He wouldn’t stop. Ruthless! “Braden,” I panted hysterically, attempting to shove at him with my arms but struggling as he continued his war on my feet. I laughed harder, ribs aching, and then… horror. I broke wind. Big time. Braden immediately let go of my feet, his loud, rumbling laugh filling the room, laughter that only deepened when I lost balance, from kicking out at him and then being abruptly let go, and fell off the couch with an undignified thud. Mortified as he collapsed against the couch belly laughing at my fart then fall, I grabbed a cushion and launched it at him from my position on the floor. Of course this only made the idiot laugh harder. I warred between feeling humiliation at farting in front of him, something you just didn’t do in company, and laughing, since his was so infectious. “Braden!” I whined. “Shut up. It’s not funny,” I huffed, my lips caught in part smile, part grimace. “Oh babe,” he tried to catch his breath, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he grinned down at me. “That was definitely funny.” He held out a hand to help me up. I slapped it away. “You’re such an immature a-hole.” “Hey, I’m not the one who just let off.” Oh God, it was so awful. I groaned, falling onto my back and covering my eyes with my hands. “Jocelyn,” I felt his hand on my knee and heard the amusement in his voice. “Babe, why are you so embarrassed? It was just a fart. Brilliantly timed I might add.” I sucked in the mortification. “Oh my God, shut up.” He chuckled again and I snapped open my furious eyes. “You’re enjoying this!” “Well yeah,” he huffed, eyes bright. “I’ve never seen you embarrassed before. Even when I walked in on you naked you gave me attitude and acted like you didn’t care. That you’re mortified by a fart is really quite adorable.” “I am not adorable!” “Oh I think you are.
Samantha Young
And What Good Will Your Vanity Be When The Rapture Comes” says the man with a cart of empty bottles at the corner of church and lincoln while I stare into my phone and I say I know oh I know while trying to find the specific filter that will make the sun’s near-flawless descent look the way I might describe it in a poem and the man says the moment is already right in front of you and I say I know but everyone I love is not here and I mean here like on this street corner with me while I turn the sky a darker shade of red on my phone and I mean here like everyone I love who I can still touch and not pass my fingers through like the wind in a dream but I look up at the man and he is a kaleidoscope of shadows I mean his shadows have shadows and they are small and trailing behind him and I know then that everyone he loves is also not here and the man doesn’t ask but I still say hey man I’ve got nothing I’ve got nothing even though I have plenty to go home to and the sun is still hot even in its endless flirt with submission and the man’s palm has a small river inside I mean he has taken my hand now and here we are tethered and unmoving and the man says what color are you making the sky and I say what I might say in a poem I say all surrender ends in blood and he says what color are you making the sky and I say something bright enough to make people wish they were here and he squints towards the dancing shrapnel of dying light along a rooftop and he says I love things only as they are and I’m sure I did once too but I can’t prove it to anyone these days and he says the end isn’t always about what dies and I know I know or I knew once and now I write about beautiful things like I will never touch a beautiful thing again and the man looks me in the eyes and he points to the blue-orange vault over heaven’s gates and he says the face of everyone you miss is up there and I know I know I can’t see them but I know and he turns my face to the horizon and he says we don’t have much time left and I get that he means the time before the sun is finally through with its daily work or I think I get that but I still can’t stop trembling and I close my eyes and I am sobbing on the corner of church and lincoln and when I open my eyes the sun is plucking everyone who has chosen to love me from the clouds and carrying them into the light-drunk horizon and I am seeing this and I know I am seeing this the girl who kissed me as a boy in the dairy aisle of meijer while our parents shopped and the older boy on the basketball team who taught me how to make a good fist and swing it into the jaw of a bully and the friends who crawled to my porch in the summer of any year I have been alive they were all there I saw their faces and it was like I was given the eyes of a newborn again and once you know what it is to be lonely it is hard to unsee that which serves as a reminder that you were not always empty and I am gasping into the now-dark air and I pull my shirt up to wipe whatever tears are left and I see the man walking in the other direction and I chase him down and tap his arm and I say did you see it did you see it like I did and he turns and leans into the glow of a streetlamp and he is anchored by a single shadow now and he sneers and he says have we met and he scoffs and pushes his cart off into the night and I can hear the glass rattling even as I watch him become small and vanish and I look down at my phone and the sky on the screen is still blood red.
Hanif Abdurraqib
A familiar melody suddenly drifts through the little living room. It makes me freeze, and I don't know why. And then I hear the silky, sweet sound of Karen Carpenter's voice. "'Rainy Days and Mondays,'" Alex says. I can't find my voice. I just stare ahead, fighting back the tears. Alex sits down beside me. I know he senses that something's wrong. "I'm sorry," he says quickly. "If you don't like it, I'll turn it off." "No," I say. "No. Please don't." I wipe a tear from my eye, just as another spills onto my cheek. "My husband loved this song." I smile. "Which made him the only straight man on earth to love the Carpenters." Alex grins. "The only two straight men on earth." I smile again. For some reason, I feel someone has lifted a great weight from my shoulders, just for a moment. "James died on a Monday," I say. We sit there for a moment listening to the song together, each alone in our own thoughts, until Alex reaches over and takes my hand in his. I don't let go.
Sarah Jio (Morning Glory)
My name is Rose.’” A shit-eating grin breaks out across his face. “And I yell, ‘There was room on that board!’” “And I burst into tears.” “Snot is flying everywhere and she rushes off the stage and out the door. I jump to my feet and race after her to find her sitting in the middle of the parking lot, sobbing into the quiet night. So, I wrap my arm around her and let her wipe her boogers all over me.
Teagan Hunter (Let's Get Textual (Texting, #1))
What can I do?" Salix pulled away. "Can I make you a cup of tea? Want to go for a walk?" "I just want to stop worrying so much!" I can't even do anything, so what's the point?" "You told me that you can't really help it, right?" She wiped my tears with her shirt. I nodded. "So worry. Just go ahead and worry. Worry as hard as you can, and then keep worrying." "That sounds awful." "But if you can't stop worrying, you have to figure out how to worry and keep living, right? We need to find you a really, really big box." "What for?" "Not a box. A backpack." "What?" "For you to put your worries in, so that you can take them with you, and when you figure out how to not worry so much, you can get rid of them one at a time. And then the backpack will get lighter and lighter until you'll be so light you'll float off the ground." I kissed her then, because there were no words for how much I liked her in that moment. Loved her, maybe.
Carrie Mac (10 Things I Can See from Here)
I saw how he looked at you,” he said. “I like how he looks at me!” I practically shouted. He shook his head, that bitter smile still playing on his lips. I wanted to smack it right off his face. “Just admit it,” he sneered. “He owns you.” “He owns you, too, Mal,” I lashed back. “He owns us all.” That wiped away his smile. “No he doesn’t,” Mal said fiercely. “Not me. Not ever.” “Oh really? Don’t you have someplace to be, Mal? Don’t you have orders to follow?” Mal stood up straight, his face cold. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.” He turned sharply and walked out the door. For a moment, I stood there, quivering with anger, and then I ran to the doorway. I got all the way down the steps before I stopped myself. The tears that had been threatening to overflow finally did, coursing down my cheeks. I wanted to run after him, to take back what I’d said, to beg him to stay, but I’d spent my life running after Mal. Instead, I stood in silence and let him go.
Leigh Bardugo (Shadow and Bone (The Shadow and Bone Trilogy, #1))
General Dwight D. Eisenhower ordered the global media to film the unspeakable hell of the Holocaust. General Eisenhower feared there would come a day when there would be “Holocaust deniers” who would declare it never happened.5 Today, Iran's radical Islamic leaders, who have promised to wipe the Jews off the face of the map, are indeed Holocaust deniers.6 Sadly, their venom is gathering international support. From the tears and tragedy of World War II came the rebirth of the State of Israel in May
John Hagee (Four Blood Moons: Something Is About to Change)
At first, I was scared to be alone. No routines. No rules. Just me. But I think..." Taylor wiped a tear away. "I think I was always in the jungle. Before. It was always there. I think I had to come out here to find the answer." "And what did you find?" "I love myself. They make it so hard for us to love ourselves." Taylor stared off into the dark. Her face gleamed with tears. Snot ran over her lips. "The judges won't like that answer." "Nobody's judging you." Taylor choked on a sob. "Always," she whispered.
Libba Bray (Beauty Queens)
tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter, #7))
I stumbled out into the street, hoping that I looked like a drunken sailor. Everything was all topsy-turvy because my eyes were filled with tears. I clutched my shoes to my chest as I went. I cried loudly, not even bothering to wipe the tears and snot off my face. I just let it all pour down, allowing everybody walking by to see what this world had done to me. If a kid my age walks down the street in her socks, crying her eyes out, then it makes it a bad neighborhood. I was glad I was making their world a shitty place to live.
Heather O'Neill (Lullabies for Little Criminals)
What kind of a father could do that?! It was bad enough—” I cut him off. “Wait, what?” I snapped my head toward him, knowing my gaze was glassy, the corners of my eyes stinging with tears that had forced their way to the surface. “How could your dad do that to you, let alone at this time of the year? And after everything with your mom—Christmas is about family.” “Wait,” I sniffed, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands. “You were calling my dad a prick?” “Yeah, who else? Why are you cryin— Oh, Harper, no, I didn’t mean you.
Shaye Evans (Christmas Wishes)
Then angels were all around them, the old crew who'd formed at Sword & Cross and hundreds of other places before that. Arriane, Roland, Cam, and Annabelle. They'd saved Luce more times than she could every say. "This is hard." Luce folded herself into Roland's arms. "Oh, come on. You already saved the world." He laughed. "Now go save your relationship." "Don't listen to Dr. Phil!" Arriane squealed. "Don't ever leave us!" She was trying to laugh but it wasn't working. Rebellious tears streamed down her face. She didn't wipe them away; she just held on tight to Annabelle's hand. "Okay, fine, go!" "We'll be thinking of you," Annabelle said. "Always." "I'll be thinking of you too." Luce had to believe it was true. Otherwise, if she was really going to forget all this, she couldn't bear to leave them. But the angels smiled sadly, knowing she had to forget them. That left Cam, who was standing close to Daniel, their arms clapped around each other's shoulders. "You pulled it off, brother." "Course I did." Daniel played at being haughty, but it came off as love. "Thanks to you." Cam took Luce's hand. His eyes were bright green, the first color that had ever stood out to her in the grim, dreary world of Sword & Cross. He tilted his head and swallowed, considering his words carefully. He drew her close, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart pounded as his lips bypassed hers and came to a stop, whispering in her ear: "Don't let him flip you off next time." "You know I won't." She laughed. "Ah, Daniel, a mere shadow of a true bad boy." He pressed his hand to his heart and raised an eyebrow at her. "Make sure he treats you well. You deserve the best of everything there is." For once, she didn't want to let go if his hand. "What will you do?" "When you're ruined, there's so much to choose from. Everything opens up." He looked past her into the distant desert clouds. "I'll play my role. I know it well. I know goodbye." He winked at Luce, nodded one final time at Daniel, then rolled back his shoulders, spread his tremendous golden wings, and vanished into the roiling sky. Everyone watched until Cam's wings were a fleck of far-off gold.
Lauren Kate (Rapture (Fallen, #4))
Nipple?” I ask, far too enthralled, but she shakes her head. I sit up straight and measure roughly eight inches between my palms. She nods. “No!” I look over to the reserved, standoffish Drew, my eyes automatically dropping to his crotch. “You won’t see it through his jeans, Ava.” Kate chuckles, and I’m off again, too. Uncontrollable, belly clenching, might-pee-my-knickers laughter. Through my tears, I see Kate stick her tongue in her cheek. “I nearly cracked a tooth.” “Please!” I’m falling all over my chair. I’m helpless. “Something funny?” I battle to pull myself together and wipe my eyes, looking up at my Lord of the Sex Manor, who’s staring down at his giggling wife with a bemused look plastered all over his face. “No, nothing.
Jodi Ellen Malpas (This Man Confessed (This Man, #3))
I watched myself slowly get up to leave. I watched myself start walking. I watched myself thump down the stairs and turn the handle of the front door, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands. I watched myself get into my car and turn it on, and back out of Cole's driveway and drive home. And I watched myself come home and go up to my bedroom and shut the door. I watched myself pull off my clothes and step into pajamas, all in the dark, and curl up in bed and stare at the ceiling, the tears leaking into my ears, the scene replaying on the blades of the ceiling fan. But it was like watching myself from the end of a long, black tunnel. The poor girl on the other end-she was bruised and confused and beaten, and I felt sorry for her. Whoever she was.
Jennifer Brown (Bitter End)
Do you ever wear leather?" the guy asks. "What?" "Leather. Do you like leather?" "It doesn't exactly wipe me out." "I like to see boys in leather." I look at him cool. "Okay," I say, "what is it you want and how much are you willing to pay for it?" "I've got a leather jacket upstairs...Would you put it on?" "Just put it on?" "I'll go and get it." He leaves the horror hole and returns a few minutes later holding a leather flying jacket with a lambswool collar. There are tears in the jacket's sleeves and the lambswool is yellow with age. John Wayne could've worn it in one of those crappy war films he made. "Put it on," the guy says. I give him a spiky smile and put on the jacket. "Okay, where's the plane and what time's take-off?" "Drop your jeans and turn around.
Eric Bishop-Potter (Jimmy, Mrs Fisher and Me)
I opened my eyes to find Gary and my mother sitting cross-legged up against a half-fallen wall, both of them laughing so hard they had tears running down their faces. My mother had Gary’s forearm in one hand as she wheezed, “She didn’t, she didn’t!” and wiped tears away with the other, and Gary nodded so merrily it appeared his head would go bobbling off. It was so completely incongruous with the farewell I’d just experienced I just sat there, offended on general principles, and waited for them to notice I’d woken up. Instead my mother threw her head back and shrieked like a delighted banshee, laughter bouncing off the crumbling walls. I looked upward. The surviving banshees still sat in the oak rafters, many of them with expressions of accusation. This was not how things were done, and it was clearly all my fault.
C.E. Murphy (Raven Calls (Walker Papers, #7))
Hey Porkins,” said Carl, “you reckon you could hit that cactus over there? You’re a good shot with an arrow, but how about pearl throwing?” “Watch and see,” grinned Porkins. “Your old pal Porkins is a terrific shot—even if I do say so myself!” He threw the pearl and, true to his word, it hit the cactus. Porkins grinned, but then suddenly he was gone—disappearing into thin air. “Where is he?!” said Dave. Then he heard a familiar voice nearby: “Owwww!” Somehow Porkins was on top of the cactus. He jumped off, clutching his behind. Carl was laughing hysterically. “What happened?” said Dave, feeling very confused. “Throwing the pearls makes you teleport,” said Carl, wiping away a tear of laughter. “I found out the other day when I accidentally dropped one.” “You little blighter,” said Porkins, coming back over. He was pulling cactus needles out of his back.
Dave Villager (The Legend of Dave the Villager 2: An Unofficial Minecraft Book)
1. Choose to love each other even in those moments when you struggle to like each other. Love is a commitment, not a feeling. 2. Always answer the phone when your husband/wife is calling and, when possible, try to keep your phone off when you’re together with your spouse. 3. Make time together a priority. Budget for a consistent date night. Time is the currency of relationships, so consistently invest time in your marriage. 4. Surround yourself with friends who will strengthen your marriage, and remove yourself from people who may tempt you to compromise your character. 5. Make laughter the soundtrack of your marriage. Share moments of joy, and even in the hard times find reasons to laugh. 6. In every argument, remember that there won’t be a winner and a loser. You are partners in everything, so you’ll either win together or lose together. Work together to find a solution. 7. Remember that a strong marriage rarely has two strong people at the same time. It’s usually a husband and wife taking turns being strong for each other in the moments when the other feels weak. 8. Prioritize what happens in the bedroom. It takes more than sex to build a strong marriage, but it’s nearly impossible to build a strong marriage without it. 9. Remember that marriage isn’t 50–50; divorce is 50–50. Marriage has to be 100–100. It’s not splitting everything in half but both partners giving everything they’ve got. 10. Give your best to each other, not your leftovers after you’ve given your best to everyone else. 11. Learn from other people, but don’t feel the need to compare your life or your marriage to anyone else’s. God’s plan for your life is masterfully unique. 12. Don’t put your marriage on hold while you’re raising your kids, or else you’ll end up with an empty nest and an empty marriage. 13. Never keep secrets from each other. Secrecy is the enemy of intimacy. 14. Never lie to each other. Lies break trust, and trust is the foundation of a strong marriage. 15. When you’ve made a mistake, admit it and humbly seek forgiveness. You should be quick to say, “I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” 16. When your husband/wife breaks your trust, give them your forgiveness instantly, which will promote healing and create the opportunity for trust to be rebuilt. You should be quick to say, “I love you. I forgive you. Let’s move forward.” 17. Be patient with each other. Your spouse is always more important than your schedule. 18. Model the kind of marriage that will make your sons want to grow up to be good husbands and your daughters want to grow up to be good wives. 19. Be your spouse’s biggest encourager, not his/her biggest critic. Be the one who wipes away your spouse’s tears, not the one who causes them. 20. Never talk badly about your spouse to other people or vent about them online. Protect your spouse at all times and in all places. 21. Always wear your wedding ring. It will remind you that you’re always connected to your spouse, and it will remind the rest of the world that you’re off limits. 22. Connect with a community of faith. A good church can make a world of difference in your marriage and family. 23. Pray together. Every marriage is stronger with God in the middle of it. 24. When you have to choose between saying nothing or saying something mean to your spouse, say nothing every time. 25. Never consider divorce as an option. Remember that a perfect marriage is just two imperfect people who refuse to give up on each other. FINAL
Dave Willis (The Seven Laws of Love: Essential Principles for Building Stronger Relationships)
Why can't we sit together? What's the point of seat reservations,anyway? The bored woman calls my section next,and I think terrible thoughts about her as she slides my ticket through her machine. At least I have a window seat. The middle and aisle are occupied with more businessmen. I'm reaching for my book again-it's going to be a long flight-when a polite English accent speaks to the man beside me. "Pardon me,but I wonder if you wouldn't mind switching seats.You see,that's my girlfriend there,and she's pregnant. And since she gets a bit ill on airplanes,I thought she might need someone to hold back her hair when...well..." St. Clair holds up the courtesy barf bag and shakes it around. The paper crinkles dramatically. The man sprints off the seat as my face flames. His pregnant girlfriend? "Thank you.I was in forty-five G." He slides into the vacated chair and waits for the man to disappear before speaking again. The guy onhis other side stares at us in horror,but St. Clair doesn't care. "They had me next to some horrible couple in matching Hawaiian shirts. There's no reason to suffer this flight alone when we can suffer it together." "That's flattering,thanks." But I laugh,and he looks pleased-until takeoff, when he claws the armrest and turns a color disturbingy similar to key lime pie. I distract him with a story about the time I broke my arm playing Peter Pan. It turned out there was more to flying than thinking happy thoughts and jumping out a window. St. Clair relaxes once we're above the clouds. Time passes quickly for an eight-hour flight. We don't talk about what waits on the other side of the ocean. Not his mother. Not Toph.Instead,we browse Skymall. We play the if-you-had-to-buy-one-thing-off-each-page game. He laughs when I choose the hot-dog toaster, and I tease him about the fogless shower mirror and the world's largest crossword puzzle. "At least they're practical," he says. "What are you gonna do with a giant crossword poster? 'Oh,I'm sorry Anna. I can't go to the movies tonight. I'm working on two thousand across, Norwegian Birdcall." "At least I'm not buying a Large Plastic Rock for hiding "unsightly utility posts.' You realize you have no lawn?" "I could hide other stuff.Like...failed French tests.Or illegal moonshining equipment." He doubles over with that wonderful boyish laughter, and I grin. "But what will you do with a motorized swimming-pool snack float?" "Use it in the bathtub." He wipes a tear from his cheek. "Ooo,look! A Mount Rushmore garden statue. Just what you need,Anna.And only forty dollars! A bargain!" We get stumped on the page of golfing accessories, so we switch to drawing rude pictures of the other people on the plane,followed by rude pictures of Euro Disney Guy. St. Clair's eyes glint as he sketches the man falling down the Pantheon's spiral staircase. There's a lot of blood. And Mickey Mouse ears. After a few hours,he grows sleepy.His head sinks against my shoulder. I don't dare move.The sun is coming up,and the sky is pink and orange and makes me think of sherbet.I siff his hair. Not out of weirdness.It's just...there. He must have woken earlier than I thought,because it smells shower-fresh. Clean. Healthy.Mmm.I doze in and out of a peaceful dream,and the next thing I know,the captain's voice is crackling over the airplane.We're here. I'm home.
Stephanie Perkins (Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss, #1))
5236 rue St. Urbain The baby girl was a quick learner, having synthesized a full range of traits of both of her parents, the charming and the devious. Of all the toddlers in the neighbourhood, she was the first to learn to read and also the first to tear out the pages. Within months she mastered the grilling of the steaks and soon thereafter presented reasons to not grill the steaks. She was the first to promote a new visceral style of physical comedy as a means of reinvigorate the social potential of satire, and the first to declare the movement over. She appreciated the qualities of movement and speed, but also understood the necessity of slowness and leisure. She quickly learned the importance of ladders. She invented games with numerous chess-boards, matches and glasses of unfinished wine. Her parents, being both responsible and duplicitous people, came up with a plan to protect themselves, their apartment and belongings, while also providing an environment to encourage the open development of their daughter's obvious talents. They scheduled time off work, put on their pajamas and let the routines of the apartment go. They put their most cherished books right at her eye-level and gave her a chrome lighter. They blended the contents of the fridge and poured it into bowls they left on the floor. They took to napping in the living room, waking only to wipe their noses on the picture books and look blankly at the costumed characters on the TV shows. They made a fuss for their daughter's attention and cried when she wandered off; they bit or punched each other when she out of the room, and accused the other when she came in, looking frustrated. They made a mess of their pants when she drank too much, and let her figure out the fire extinguisher when their cigarettes set the blankets smoldering. They made her laugh with cute songs and then put clothes pins on the cat's tail. Eventually things found their rhythm. More than once the three of them found their faces waxened with tears, unable to decide if they had been crying, laughing, or if it had all been a reflex, like drooling. They took turns in the bath. Parents and children--it is odd when you trigger instinctive behaviour in either of them--like survival, like nurture. It's alright to test their capabilities, but they can hurt themselves if they go too far. It can be helpful to imagine them all gorging on their favourite food until their bellies ache. Fall came and the family went to school together.
Lance Blomgren (Walkups)
All this subterfuge in order to talk to me could have been prevented if you’d just ridden with me earlier today, when I asked.” “Really?” She smoothed his disordered hair, which was sticking up at all angles. “You wouldn’t have spent the entire trip detailing reasons why I ‘must’ marry you?” He flinched. “I’m sorry, Jane. Apparently, when I find myself with my back to the wall, I bark orders.” “I know.” She straightened his cravat. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t do well with men who bark orders or make plans for me. It makes me want to shove them off a cliff.” “Or refuse to marry them?” “That, too.” “Then I can see it’s a habit I shall have to break, if I am to keep you happy.” He glanced away. “Sometimes it’s just…I don’t know…easier to bark orders than to ask. Safer. No one has a chance to say no.” It hit her then. That was precisely why he felt more comfortable ordering people about, setting up plans, being in charge. Because when he wasn’t in control, there was a chance he’d be left out in the cold. Left in a house with oblivious servants and a brother who despised him for taking his mother away by the simple fact of being born. Left alone. Her poor, dear love. Jane kept her eyes trained on his cravat. “But if you don’t ever give people a chance to say no, you can never know if they will rise to the occasion or not.” He tipped up her chin until she was staring into his eyes. “I wronged you terribly by not trusting you to rise to the occasion, didn’t I? If I’d married you and carried you off to the garret, I daresay you would have stayed by my side. Loved me. Cherished me.” Tears stung her eyes. “I like to think I would have. I certainly would have tried. It would have been worth it to be with you.” “Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he said earnestly. “I once told you I would do it again, given the chance. But I was lying, to myself as well as you. I could never do it again. Certainly not now that I know what it’s like to have you for my own. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you all these years.” It was all she could do not to burst into tears right then and there. But that would only alarm him. So she choked them down enough to say, “No more than I missed you, I expect.” With a groan, he kissed her, long and hot. It was a sweet promise of things to come, a portent of their future together. When he was done, she wiped away tears. “To be fair, if we had married then, who knows what would have become of us? I doubt I would have liked your running about the country as a spy, leaving me alone for weeks at a time. And I daresay you would have had trouble concentrating on your work for worrying about me.” His grateful smile showed that he appreciated her attempt to mitigate his betrayal.
Sabrina Jeffries (If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4))
You, my dear, do not know how to have fun." "I do, too!" "You do not. You are as bad as Lucien. And do you know something? I think it's time someone showed you how to have fun. Namely, me. You can worry all you like about our situation tomorrow, but tonight ... tonight I'm going to make you laugh so hard that you'll forget all about how afraid of me you are." "I am not afraid of you!" "You are." And with that, he pushed his chair back, stalked around the table, and in a single easy movement, swept her right out of her chair and into his arms. "Gareth!  Put me down!" He only laughed, easily carrying her toward the bed. "Gareth, I am a grown woman!" "You are a grown woman who behaves in a manner far too old for her years," he countered, still striding toward the bed. "As the wife of a Den member, that just will not do." "Gareth, I don't want — I mean, I'm not ready for that!" "That? Who said anything about that?"  He tossed her lightly onto the bed. "Oh, no, my dear Juliet. I'm not going to do that —" She tried to scoot away. "Then what are you going to do?" "Why, I'm going to wipe that sadness out of your eyes if only for tonight. I'm going to make you forget your troubles, forget your fears, forget everything but me. And you know how I'm going to do that, O dearest wife?"  He grabbed a fistful of her petticoats as she tried to escape. "I'm going to tickle you until you giggle ... until you laugh ... until you're hooting so loudly that all of London hears you!" He fell upon the bed like a swooping hawk, and Juliet let out a helpless shriek as his fingers found her ribs and began tickling her madly. "Stop!  We just ate!  You'll make me sick!" "What's this? Your husband makes you sick?" "No, it's just that — aaaoooooo!" He tickled her harder. She flailed and giggled and cried out, embarrassed about each loud shriek but helpless to prevent them. He was laughing as hard as she. Catching one thrashing leg, he unlaced her boot and deftly removed it. She yelped as his fingers found the sensitive instep, and she kicked out reflexively. He neatly ducked just in time to avoid having his nose broken, catching her by the ankle and tickling her toes, her soles, her arch through her stockings. "Stop, Gareth!"  She was laughing so hard, tears were streaming from her eyes. "Stop it, damn it!" Thank goodness Charlotte, worn out by her earlier tantrum, was such a sound sleeper! The tickling continued. Juliet kicked and fought, her struggles tossing the heavy, ruffled petticoats and skirts of her lovely blue gown halfway up her thigh to reveal a long, slender calf sheathed in silk. She saw his gaze taking it all in, even as he made a grab for her other foot. "No!  Gareth, I shall lose my supper if you keep this up, I swear it I will — oooahhhhh!" He seized her other ankle, yanked off the remaining boot, and began torturing that foot as well, until Juliet was writhing and shrieking on the bed in a fit of laughter. The tears streamed down her cheeks, and her stomach ached with the force of her mirth. And when, at last, he let up and she lay exhausted across the bed in a twisted tangle of skirts, petticoats, and chemise, her chest heaving and her hair in a hopeless tumbled-down flood of silken mahogany beneath her head, she looked up to see him grinning down at her, his own hair hanging over his brow in tousled, seductive disarray.
Danelle Harmon (The Wild One (The de Montforte Brothers, #1))
Wave after wave of an orgasm broke over her, but soon it would be over for him. “Stop,” Livia panted. Blake paused as Livia swallowed to try to compose herself. She was here for a reason. “The mask. Take it off. I want you to kiss me.” Livia watched his eyes. He was scared. “Blake, you’re inside of me. I’ll keep you safe. You’re inside of me.” Livia squeezed him again, reminding him exactly where he was. Blake smiled at the sensation. “Do it for me, Livia. Please.” And even though they were naked and locked in the most intimate embrace, this was the striptease. Livia went slowly, rolling up the knit ski mask like a stocking. First his jaw came into the light. Livia slowed, tracing its strong line with her finger. Next, his lips lost their frame, then his eyes left their prison. He closed them. Finally, his wild, messy hair was free. Livia tossed the mask aside. And waited. Open your eyes. After a moment Blake looked around his sunny meadow. A breeze stirred the trees high up, and they released a shower of fall colors. In the silence of the day, the leaves hitting the ground sounded like applause. Quiet applause for a quiet victory. The o in sorry vanished. Blake looked at Livia beneath him. She smiled. “Five hundred ninety-eight,” he whispered. Still counting. “Yes! Yes. I knew you could do this. I knew you could do this.” Livia beamed with pride. Blake blurred as her eyes became two pools of tears. He kissed her softly, but Livia wanted the rough thrusts back. She pulled away and wiped her eyes. “Giddy up!” Livia spanked Blake playfully. He gave a little chuckle before he put her out of her misery. If she thought he was going fast and hard before, she was wrong. Blake was almost done when he let Livia’s leg slip from his shoulder. He kissed her with his clever tongue and moaned loudly into her mouth.
Debra Anastasia (Poughkeepsie (Poughkeepsie Brotherhood, #1))
Chase shoved one of the ultrasound pictures in Bree’s face, “Then what the hell is this?” I stepped up next to her, took the photo out of his hand and spoke softly, trying to hide my shaking. “It’s mine Chase.” You could have heard a pin drop. Chase’s face had softened as soon as he’d seen me, but turned into one of shock when he registered what I’d said. After a few minutes, a grin that reached his eyes spread across his face as he searched mine. His eyes slowly trailed down to my stomach and grew wide, “You’re pregnant Princess?” “Yes.” I whispered. He lifted his head to smile at me and dropped it again, gaze fixed on my bump. This time no one stopped me when I let my hand fall to cover it lovingly. “Is it – is it mine?” “Of course it is.” “We’re going to have a baby?” “Yes.” “This is our baby?” He reached for the photo in my hand. I smiled, “Yes.” His expression was so beautiful, tears instantly poured down my cheeks. “We’re having a baby.” I laughed through my tears and nodded my head. Chase ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a laugh. He looked from the picture to my stomach once more, “I love you so much.” he breathed and closed the distance between us, crushing his lips to mine. I didn’t care that his family was watching, I threw my arms around his neck and let him lift me off the ground. After I was good and kissed, he set me back down and dropped to his knees. Running his hand over my gummy bear bump, he lifted my shirt and kissed my bare stomach twice. A sob broke out of my chest and I looked at Claire who was freely crying and leaning into Robert. Even Bree was wiping a few tears away. Chase stood back up and cupped my face in his hands, “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I was scared,” I shrugged, “I still am.” “You don’t have to be scared,” he whispered and kissed my nose, “I’ll take care of us.” I
Molly McAdams (Taking Chances (Taking Chances, #1))
We walk around inside that house like everything is okay, but it’s not, Quinn. We’ve been broken for years and I have no idea how to fix us. I find solutions. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at. But I have no idea how to solve me and you. Every day I come home, hoping things will be better. But you can’t even stand to be in the same room with me. You hate it when I touch you. You hate it when I talk to you. I pretend not to notice the things you don’t want me to notice because I don’t want you to hurt more than you already do.” He releases a rush of air. “I am not blaming you for what I did. It’s my fault. I did that. I fucked up. But I didn’t fuck up because I was attracted to her. I fucked up because I miss you. Every day, I miss you. When I’m at work, I miss you. When I’m home, I miss you. When you’re next to me in bed, I miss you. When I’m inside you, I miss you.” Graham presses his mouth to mine. I can taste his tears. Or maybe they’re my tears. He pulls back and presses his forehead to mine. “I miss you, Quinn. So much. You’re right here, but you aren’t. I don’t know where you went or when you left, but I have no idea how to bring you back. I am so alone. We live together. We eat together. We sleep together. But I have never felt more alone in my entire life.” Graham releases me and falls back against his seat. He rests his elbow against the window, covering his face as he tries to compose himself. He’s more broken than I’ve ever seen him in all the years I’ve known him. And I’m the one slowly tearing him down. I’m making him unrecognizable. I’ve strung him along by allowing him to believe there’s hope that I’ll eventually change. That I’ll miraculously turn back into the woman he fell in love with. But I can’t change. We are who our circumstances turn us into. “Graham.” I wipe at my face with my shirt. He’s quiet, but he eventually looks at me with his sad, heartbroken eyes. “I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve been here this whole time. But you can’t see me because you’re still searching for someone I used to be. I’m sorry I’m no longer who I was back then. Maybe I’ll get better. Maybe I won’t. But a good husband loves his wife through the good and the bad times. A good husband stands at his wife’s side through sickness and health, Graham. A good husband- a husband who truly loves his wife - wouldn’t cheat on her and then blame his infidelity on the fact that he’s lonely.” Graham’s expression doesn’t change. He’s as still as a statue. The only thing that moves is his jaw as he works it back and forth. And then his eyes narrow and he tilts his head. “You don’t think I love you, Quinn?” “I know you used to. But I don’t think you love the person I’ve become.” Graham sits up straight. He leans forward, looking me hard in the eye. His words are clipped as he speaks. “I have loved you every single second of every day since the moment I laid eyes on you. I love you more now than I did the day I married you. I love you, Quinn. I fucking love you!” He opens his car door, gets out and then slams it shut with all his strength. The whole car shakes. He walks toward the house, but before he makes it to the front door, he spins around and points at me angrily. “I love you, Quinn!” He’s shouting the words. He’s angry. So angry. He walks toward his car and kicks at the front bumper with his bare foot. He kicks and he kicks and he kicks and then pauses to scream it at me again. “I love you!” He slams his fist against the top of his car, over and over, until he finally collapses against the hood, his head buried in his arms. He remains in this position for an entire minute, the only thing moving is the subtle shaking of his shoulders. I don’t move. I don’t even think I breathe. Graham finally pushes off the hood and uses his shirt to wipe at his eyes. He looks at me, completely defeated. “I love you,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “I always have. No matter how much you wish I didn’t.
Colleen Hoover (All Your Perfects)
My God. How can people be so cruel and thoughtless? They should be thanking you for your service!” “That’s even worse! What the fuck do they think they’re thanking me for? They don’t know what I did over there! They don’t understand that I’ve got seconds to make a judgment call that will either save my guys or end someone’s life—and that someone could be an enemy combatant or it could be a civilian. A farmer. A woman. A child. Or it could be both! That’s the real fucked-up part of it. It could be both a child and the enemy. That kid you’ve been giving candy and comic books to? The one that brought you fresh bread and knows your name and taught you a few words in his language? Is he the one reporting your position? Did he pull the trigger wire on the IED that killed your friend and wounded every single guy in your squad? Has he been the enemy all along? Is it your fault for talking to him?” I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to say. Tears burned my eyes, and my chest ached as I raced along beside him. “Oh, Ryan, no. Of course it isn’t.” “It is. I should have known. I let them down.” “You didn’t,” I said, trying to touch his arm, but he shrugged me off, refusing to be comforted. “And how about the time Taliban fighters lined up women and children as shields behind a compound wall while they fired at you, only you didn’t realize what they’d done until after you’d fired back, killing dozens of innocents?” The tears dripped down my cheeks, but I silently wiped them away in the dark. This wasn’t about me, and I didn’t want him to stop if he needed to get these things out. “Or how about the farmer I killed that didn’t respond to warning shots, the one whose son later told us was deaf and mute? Should I be thanked for that?” I could see how furious and heartsick he was, and I hated that I’d brought this on. “Yes,” I said firmly, although I continued to cry. “Because you’re brave and strong and you did what you were trained to do, what you had to do.
Melanie Harlow (Only Love (One and Only, #3))
Trina, I never expected to fall in love again. I thought I got my shot, and I was okay with that, because I had my girls. I didn’t realize anything was missing. Then came you.” Ms. Rothschild’s hands are covering her mouth. She has tears in her eyes. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Trina.” Ms. Rothschild starts choking on her candy, and Daddy leaps up off his knee and starts pounding her on the back. She’s coughing like crazy. From his tree Peter whispers, “Should I go do the Heimlich on her? I know how to do it.” “Peter, my dad’s a doctor!” I whisper back. “He’s got it.” As her coughing subsides, she stands up straight and wipes her eyes. “Wait. Were you asking me to marry you?” “I was trying to,” Daddy says. “Are you all right?” “Yes!” She claps her hands to her cheeks. “Yes, you’re all right, or yes, you’ll marry me?” Daddy asks her, and he’s only half kidding. “Yes, I’ll marry you!” she screams, and Daddy reaches for her, and they kiss. “This feels private,” I whisper to Kitty. “It’s all part of the show,” she whispers back. Daddy hands Ms. Rothschild the ring box. I can’t quite make out what he says next, but whatever it was, it makes her double over laughing. “What’s he saying?” Kitty asks me, just as Peter says, “What did he say?” “I can’t hear! Both of you be quiet! You’re ruining the video!” Which is when Ms. Rothschild looks over in our direction. Shoot. We all pop back behind our respective trees, and then I hear Daddy’s wry voice call out, “You can come out, guys. She said yes!” We run out from behind the trees; Kitty launches herself into Ms. Rothschild’s arms. They fall over onto the grass, and Ms. Rothschild is laughing breathlessly, her laughter echoing through the woods. I hug Daddy, and meanwhile Peter’s still playing videographer, recording the moment for posterity like the good boyfriend he is. “Are you happy?” I ask, looking up at my dad. His eyes brimming with tears, he nods and hugs me tighter. And just like that, our little family grows bigger.
Jenny Han (Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, #3))
Hey Princess.” Good God I missed hearing his voice. “Chase,” I had to clear my throat to continue, “I didn’t think you were going to be here.” “I asked if you were coming to the house.” He replied hesitantly. “Right, I just figured you meant your house.” The room was thick with the tension that always followed us around. My heart started racing from his nearness and I silently cursed myself. I really didn’t want any kind of feelings for this guy, and here I was wishing he would try to kiss me again. We sat there watching each other for who knows how long before he walked over and sank down on the floor next to me, handing me a small wrapped box. “Merry Christmas Harper.” I picked it up and just stared at it, all I could say was “Why?” “Because you’re my favorite, remember?” he huffed and his lips tilted up a little, “When I saw it, there was no way I couldn’t get it for you. Please open it.” So slowly I probably drove him crazy, I took off the wrapping and opened the little leather box. I gasped when I saw the ring inside there. It was a silver band that wrapped into the trinity symbol on top. I’d always wanted that symbol as a tattoo. I looked up at Chase and shook my head in wonder. “How did you know?” “You doodle it on everything put in front of you.” He was right of course, if I had a pen and paper or napkin, it always ended up on there at some point. I just hadn’t realized anyone other than Brandon noticed that, especially him. “Chase …” I couldn’t hold them back any longer, tears started falling down my cheeks and I quickly dropped my head hoping he wouldn’t notice. He did. “Don’t cry Harper. If you don’t like it, or you don’t like that it’s from me I’ll take it back.” My laugh sounded more like a sob than anything else. “I love it, please don’t take it.” “Then what’s wrong?” He tilted my head up and brushed away a few tears with his thumbs. I had to force myself to not lean into his hands, it was the first time we’d had any type of physical contact in over a month. He was a whole new kind of Chase on Sundays, but I’d never seen him like this. So gentle and kind. It made my entire being crave him. “I’ve never had this before. Not just the presents … the love that your family has for me. I’ve never had it until now, and it’s so overwhelming. I don’t know what I did to deserve it and I don’t know if I show them that too.” “You do. Trust me.” He searched my face for a long time and wiped the remaining tears from my cheeks. “You’re special Harper, it’s not hard to love you.
Molly McAdams (Taking Chances (Taking Chances, #1))
I tilted my head and kissed his cheek.  The whiskers abraded my lips, but I didn’t mind.  I moved lower, finding his lips.  He didn’t resist me, but didn’t join in as he had in the car.  I frowned slightly.  A stab of doubt pierced my heart.  This didn’t feel right, yet.  He still hid from me. Nudging his jaw with my nose, I made room to nuzzle his neck.  My lips skimmed his smooth skin.  His pulse jumped under my mouth.  Finally, he reacted.  Both his hands came up, holding my sides, kneading me, encouraging.  My breath quickened, and my heart hammered.  Yes!  This was right. Something took possession of me.  With one hand, I gripped his hair and tugged it.  He tilted his head to the side and exposed his neck, giving in willingly.  My eyes traced his neck where his pulse skipped erratically.  The beat matched my own.  I couldn’t look away from that clean-shaven spot.  I recalled when he had started shaving it.  He’d known I would need to see it.  For this.  I kissed it lightly and felt him shudder.  Before the shudder ended, I bit him hard on the same spot.  Hard enough to draw blood. The taste of his blood on my tongue broke the hold he had on me and created a new one somewhere deep inside.  I pulled back slightly to look at the small marks I’d left.  They had already begun to heal. The pull he had on me and the euphoria of the moment faded as the horror of what I’d just done washed over me. Clay stared at me in stunned silence...versus his everyday silence.  Behind me, someone moved and called attention to the fact that we still had an audience.  A Claiming typically occurred in private. A deep blush seized my cheeks, and embarrassed tears began to gather.  I wiped the blood from my mouth with a shaky hand.  I didn’t regret Claiming him, but wished we could have talked first.  I needed reassurance.  Would this mean I’d have to quit school?  Would he want me to live in the woods with him?  If he did, I owed it to him to try after everything he’d done for me. Then, a really ugly question floated to the surface.  Had I just forced him? Panic bloomed in my chest.  Before I could scramble off his lap, he reached up and gently stroked my hair.  I froze, hands braced on his chest for stability, ready to flee. “I’ve been waiting for that since the moment I saw you,” he said in a deep and husky voice.  He sounded like a midnight radio DJ. Hearing his perfect voice ignited my temper.  Now, he could talk?  I scowled at him.  The man had the audacity to laugh then scoop me up in his arms. The
Melissa Haag (Hope(less) (Judgement of the Six #1))
Did the countess tell you what was said between her and me?” Lillian asked tentatively. Marcus shook his head, his mouth twisting. “She told me that you had decided to elope with St. Vincent.” “Elope?” Lillian repeated in shock. “As if I deliberately… as if I had chosen him over—” She stopped, aghast, as she imagined how he must have felt. Although she had not shed a single tear during the entire day, the thought that Marcus might have wondered for a split second if yet another woman had left him for St. Vincent… it was too much to bear. She burst into noisy sobs, startling herself as well as Marcus. “You didn’t believe it, did you? My God, please say you didn’t!” “Of course I didn’t.” He stared at her in astonishment, and hastily reached for a table napkin to wipe at the stream of tears on her face. “No, no, don’t cry—” “I love you, Marcus.” Taking the napkin from him, Lillian blew her nose noisily and continued to weep as she spoke. “I love you. I don’t mind if I’m the first one to say it, nor even if I’m the only one. I just want you to know how very much—” “I love you too,” he said huskily. “I love you too. Lillian… Please don’t cry. It’s killing me. Don’t.” She nodded and blew into the linen folds again, her complexion turning mottled, her eyes swelling, her nose running freely. It appeared, however, that there was something wrong with Marcus’s vision. Grasping her head in his hands, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and said hoarsely, “You’re so beautiful.” The statement, though undoubtedly sincere, caused her to giggle through her last hiccupping sobs. Wrapping his arms around her in an embrace that was just short of crushing, Marcus asked in a muffled voice, “My love, hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s bad form to laugh at a man when he’s declaring himself?” She blew her nose with a last inelegant snort. “I’m a hopeless case, I’m afraid. Do you still want to marry me?” “Yes. Now.” The statement shocked her out of her tears. “What?” “I don’t want to return with you to Hampshire. I want to take you to Gretna Green. The inn has its own coach service— I’ll hire one in the morning, and we’ll reach Scotland the day after tomorrow.” “But… but everyone will expect a respectable church wedding…” “I can’t wait for you. I don’t give a damn about respectability.” A wobbly grin spread across Lillian’s face as she thought of how many people would be astonished to hear such a statement from him. “It smacks of scandal, you know. The Earl of Westcliff rushing off for an anvil wedding in Gretna Green…” “Let’s begin with a scandal, then.” He kissed her, and she responded with a low moan, clinging and arching against him, until he pushed his tongue deeper, molding his lips tighter over hers, feasting on the warm, open silkiness of her mouth. Breathing heavily, he dragged his lips to her quivering throat. “Say, ‘Yes, Marcus,’” he prompted. “Yes, Marcus.
Lisa Kleypas (It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2))
I started blasting my gun. Letting loose a stream of words like I'd never used before. True to form, Misty didn't stay put and stood at my side. Tears stained her cheeks. Her gun firing wildly. It was a blur. The next thing I knew, no zombies were left standing and we knelt at Kali's side. I took out a rag and wiped the feathers from his face. We could tell he was still alive. His chest rising and falling in jerks. "Kali, how bad are you hurt?" I asked with an unsteady voice. "I'm okay, guys. Did we get all of them?" he whispered. "Nate, he's been bit all over!" I looked down at his body, covered in white feathers, speckled with splotches of deep red. "Yep. You got 'em, even those freak chickens." "Nate, I'm thirsty," his voice shaky and cracking. "Okay, buddy. We've got water in the truck." "No, not water. How about a glass of lemonade?" "Kali, what are you saying?" Misty's voice was tense as a piano string. "Hurry, Nate. I'm getting weak—the lemonade." I think running into the crowd of zombies would have been easier than this. Maybe that's why Kali chucked a rock at my head—he knew he could count on me for this. I ripped off a small water gun I had taped on my suit and tore off the cap. "Oh, Nate, don't. Maybe there's something we can do. Maybe—" she stopped. I put my hand behind Kali's neck and felt a slight burn, probably zombie snot. Misty took one of his hands and held it to her chest. "You were so brave, Kali, so brave." My hands didn't shake anymore; they were numb, as if they didn't belong to me. I manipulated them the best I could—like using chopsticks. Lifting Kali's head, I poured the juice into his mouth until it was gone. He was burning up; his skin felt like it was on fire. "I never thought I'd have friends, real friends—thank you, guys." He closed his eyes and I felt the muscles in his neck go limp. Gently, I put his head down and cleaned my blistering hand with the rag. Misty wiped her tears as I put the rag over Kali's face. "No, thank you, kid." We sat there still, silent except for the small cries that we both let slip out. Misty, still holding his hand. Me, staring down at my hands, soaked in tears. I don't know how much time passed. It could have been five minutes; it might have been an hour. Suddenly, the feathers moved, flying in every direction. Looking up, I saw a helicopter coming down in front of us—one of those big black military ones. It landed and three men stepped out. They wore protective gear like you see in those alien movies. I worried a little about what they might have planned for us. I've seen enough movies to know those government types can't be trusted—especially when they're in those protective suits. "What happened here? How did you manage to negate the virus?" one of the hooded figures asked. "Zombie juice," I replied. "Zombie juice?" "Actually it was the Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb," Misty added as she stood and took my hand.
M.J. Ware (Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb)
WILL WORK FOR FOOD © 2013 Lyrics & Music by Michele Jennae There he was with a cardboard sign, Will Work For Food Saw him on the roadside, As I took my kids to school I really didn’t have time to stop, Already running late Found myself pulling over, Into the hands of fate The look in his eyes was empty, But he held out his hand I knew my kids were watching, As I gave him all I had My heart in my throat I had to ask, “What brought you here?” He looked up and straight into my eyes, I wanted to disappear. CHORUS He said… Do you think I really saw myself, Standing in this light Forgotten by society, After fighting for your rights WILL WORK FOR FOOD, WILL DIE FOR YOU I AM JUST A FORGOTTEN SOLDIER, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO v. 2 He put the money in his pocket, Then he took me by the hand Thank you dear for stopping by, I am sure that you have plans He nodded toward my children, Watching from afar It’s time they were off to school, You should get in the car My eyes welled up and tears fell down, I couldn’t say a word Here this man with nothing to his name, Showing me his concern I knew then that the lesson, That today must be taught Wouldn’t come from textbooks, And it could not be bought CHORUS He said… Do you think I really saw myself, Standing in this light Forgotten by society, After fighting for your rights WILL WORK FOR FOOD, WILL DIE FOR YOU I AM JUST A FORGOTTEN SOLDIER, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO v. 3 I told him then that I had a job, That I could give him work And in return he’d have a meal, And something to quench his thirst He looked at me and shrugged a bit, And followed me to the car We went right over to a little café, Just up the road not too far After I ordered our food he looked at me, And asked about the kids “Shouldn’t these tykes be in school, And about that job you said.” “Your job,” I said, “is to school my girls, In the ways of the world Explain to them your service, And how your life unfurled.” He said… Do you think I really saw myself, Standing in this light Forgotten by society, After fighting for your rights WILL WORK FOR FOOD, WILL DIE FOR YOU I AM JUST A FORGOTTEN SOLDIER, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO v. 4He wasn’t sure quite what to do, As he ate his food And began to tell us all about his life… the bad… the good. He wiped his own tears from his eyes, His story all but done My girls and I all choked up, Hugged him one by one Understanding his sacrifice, But not his current plight We resolved then and there that day, That for him, we would fight. We offered him our friendship, And anything else we had He wasn’t sure how to accept it, But we made him understand LAST CHORUS That we had not really seen before, Him standing in the light No longer forgotten by us, We are now fighting for his rights He had… WORKED FOR FOOD HE HAD ALL BUT DIED FOR ME AND YOU NOT FORGOTTEN ANYMORE BUT STILL A SOLDIER IN TRUST
Michele Jennae
Slothrop is just settling down next to a girl in a prewar Worth frock and with a face like Tenniel’s Alice, same forehead, nose, hair, when from outside comes this most godawful clanking, snarling, crunching of wood, girls come running terrified out of the eucalyptus trees and into the house and right behind them what comes crashing now into the pallid lights of the garden but—why the Sherman Tank itself! headlights burning like the eyes of King Kong, treads spewing grass and pieces of flagstone as it manoeuvres around and comes to a halt. Its 75 mm cannon swivels until it’s pointing through the French windows right down into the room. “Antoine!” a young lady focusing in on the gigantic muzzle, “for heaven’s sake, not now. . . .” A hatch flies open and Tamara—Slothrop guesses: wasn’t Italo supposed to have the tank?—uh—emerges shrieking to denounce Raoul, Waxwing, Italo, Theophile, and the middleman on the opium deal. “But now,” she screams, “I have you all! One coup de foudre!” The hatch drops—oh, Jesus—there’s the sound of a 3-inch shell being loaded into its breech. Girls start to scream and make for the exits. Dopers are looking around, blinking, smiling, saying yes in a number of ways. Raoul tries to mount his horse and make his escape, but misses the saddle and slides all the way over, falling into a tub of black-market Jell-o, raspberry flavor, with whipped cream on top. “Aw, no . . .” Slothrop having about decided to make a flanking run for the tank when YYYBLAAANNNGGG! the cannon lets loose an enormous roar, flame shooting three feet into the room, shock wave driving eardrums in to middle of brain, blowing everybody against the far walls. A drape has caught fire. Slothrop, tripping over partygoers, can’t hear anything, knows his head hurts, keeps running through the smoke at the tank—leaps on, goes to undog the hatch and is nearly knocked off by Tamara popping up to holler at everybody again. After a struggle which shouldn’t be without its erotic moments, for Tamara is a swell enough looking twist with some fine moves, Slothrop manages to get her in a come-along and drag her down off of the tank. But loud noise and all, look—he doesn’t seem to have an erection. Hmm. This is a datum London never got, because nobody was looking. Turns out the projectile, a dud, has only torn holes in several walls, and demolished a large allegorical painting of Virtue and Vice in an unnatural act. Virtue had one of those dim faraway smiles. Vice was scratching his shaggy head, a little bewildered. The burning drape’s been put out with champagne. Raoul is in tears, thankful for his life, wringing Slothrop’s hands and kissing his cheeks, leaving trails of Jell-o wherever he touches. Tamara is escorted away by Raoul’s bodyguards. Slothrop has just disengaged himself and is wiping the Jell-o off of his suit when there is a heavy touch on his shoulder. “You were right. You are the man.” “That’s nothing.” Errol Flynn frisks his mustache. “I saved a dame from an octopus not so long ago, how about that?” “With one difference,” sez Blodgett Waxwing. “This really happened tonight. But that octopus didn’t.
Thomas Pynchon (Gravity's Rainbow)
Wyatt." She tore it open and stood there, drinking him in.Just the sight of him had her heart doing a happy dance in her chest. "Don't throw me out." He lifted a hand. "I come in peace.With food." When she didn't say a word he added, "Pizza.With all your favorite toppings.Sausage, mushrooms, green..." "Well,then." To hide the unexpected tears that sprang to her eyes,she turned away quickly. "Since you went to so much trouble,you may as well come in." "It was no trouble.I just rode a hundred miles on my Harley,fought my way through the smoke screen at the Fortune Saloon,had to fend off Daffy's attempts to have her way with me, and discovered that I'd left my wallet back at the ranch,which meant I had to sign away my life before Vi would turn over this pizza,wine,and dessert. But hey, no trouble at all.It's the sort of thing I do nearly every day." He followed her to the kitchen, where he set down the pizza box and a brown bag. He glanced over at the stove. "Are you going to lift that kettle, or did I interrupt you making a recording of you whistling along with it in harmony?" Despite her tears,she found herself laughing hysterically at his silly banter. Oh,how she'd missed it. He set the kettle aside.The sudden silence was shocking. Because she had her back to him, he fought the urge to touch her.Instead he studied the way her shoulders were shaking. Troubled,he realized he'd made her cry. "Sorry." Deflated,his tone lowered. "I guess this was a bad idea." "Wyatt." He paused. "It was a good idea.A very good idea." She turned,and he saw the tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh,God,Marilee,I'm sorry.I didn't mean to make you..." "I'm not crying." She brushed furiously at the tears. "I mean I was,but then you made me laugh and..." "This is how you laugh?" He caught her by the shoulders and held her a little away. "Woman,I didn't realize just how weird you are. Wait a minute.Do you think being weird might be contagious? Maybe I ought to get out of here before I turn weird,too." The more she laughed,the harder the tears fell. Through a torrent of tears she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on, burying her face in his neck. "You can't leave.I won't let you." He tipped up her face,wiping her tears with his thumbs. "You mean that? You really don't want me to go?" "I don't.I really want you to stay, Wyatt." "For dinner?" "And more." "Dessert?" "And more." His smile was quick and dangerous. "I'm beginning to like the 'and more.'" She smiled through her tears. "Me,too." "Maybe we could have the 'and more' as an appetizer, before the pizza." Her laughter bubbled up and over, wrapping itself around his heart. "Oh, how I've missed your silly sense of humor." "You have?" "I have.I've missed everything about you." "Everything?" He leaned close to nibble her ear,sending a series of delicious shivers along her spine. "Everything." Catching his hand,she led him to the bedroom. "I worked very hard today making up the bed with fresh linens. Want to be the first to mess it up?" He looked from the bed to her and then back again. "Oh,yeah." He drew her close and brushed her mouth with his. Just a soft,butterfly kiss, but she felt it all the way to her toes. "I mean I want to really, really mess it up." "Me,t..." And then there was no need for words.
R.C. Ryan (Montana Destiny)
A tear cringed off his cheek and stained her writing on the paper. He didn’t wipe it, men must be honest and transparent, they should never wipe their tears.
Bruce Crown (Chronic Passions)
I am not that God who wipe off your tears, I am that God who wipe out his eyes who cause others tears
P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar
It won’t be long now.” Such an odd old holy man, young Scytale thought. Even compared to the smells of disinfectant, medicine, and sickness, he’d always had an odd smell about him. Sounding compassionate, Yueh said, “There isn’t much we can do.” Gasping for air, old Scytale croaked out, “A Tleilaxu Master should not be so weak and decrepit. It is . . . unseemly.” His youthful counterpart tried again to trigger the flow of memories, to squeeze them into his brain by sheer force of will, as he had attempted to do countless times before. The essential past must be in there somewhere, buried deep. But he felt no tickle of possibilities, no glimmer of success. What if they are not there at all? What if something had gone terribly wrong? His pulse pounded as the panic began to rise. Not much time. Never enough time. He tried to cut off the thought. The body provided a wealth of cellular material. They could create more Scytale gholas, try again and again if necessary. But if his own memories had failed to resurface, why should an identical ghola have any better luck without the guidance of the original? I am the only one who knew the Master so intimately. He wanted to shake Yueh, demand to know how he had managed to remember his past. Tears were in full flow now, falling onto the old man’s hand, but Scytale knew they were inadequate. His father’s chest spasmed in an almost imperceptible death rattle. The life-support equipment hummed with more intensity, and the instrument readings fluctuated. “He’s slipped into a coma,” Yueh reported. The Rabbi nodded. Like an executioner announcing his plans, he said, “Too weak. He’s going to die now.” Scytale’s heart sank. “He has given up on me.” His father would never know if he succeeded now; he would perish wondering and worrying. The last great calamity in a long line of disasters that had befallen the Tleilaxu race. He gripped the old man’s hand. So cold, too cold. He felt the life ebbing. I have failed! As if felled by a stunner, Scytale dropped to his knees at the bedside. In his crashing despair, he knew with absolute certainly that he could never resurrect the recalcitrant memories. Not alone. Lost! Forever lost! Everything that comprised the great Tleilaxu race. He could not bear the magnitude of this disaster. The reality of his defeat sliced like shattered glass into his heart. Abruptly, the Tleilaxu youth felt something changing inside, followed by an explosion between his temples. He cried out from the excruciating pain. At first he thought he was dying himself, but instead of being swallowed in blackness, he felt new thoughts burning like wildfire across his consciousness. Memories streamed past in a blur, but Scytale locked onto each one, absorbing it again and reprocessing it into the synapses of his brain. The precious memories returned to where they had always belonged. His father’s death had opened the barriers. At last Scytale retrieved what he was supposed to know, the critical data bank of a Tleilaxu Master, all the ancient secrets of his race. Instilled with pride and a new sense of dignity, he rose to his feet. Wiping away warm tears, he looked down at the discarded copy of himself on the bed. It was nothing more than a withered husk. He no longer needed that old man.
Brian Herbert (Sandworms of Dune (Dune Chronicles #8))
Why are you crying love?" he asked gently wiping off the tear, and looking at her a little worry evident in his own eyes. "How? Why?" she whispered not knowing what to say. "That doesn't matter, all that matter's is that are you happy." he said leading her inside the room. "Are you happy?" " I don't know what to say, this is Amazing...
Amy Dane (Now & Forever)
You aren’t going to get her? She’s your wife. Her place is beside you.” “A man cannot own a woman, cousin. He can only…” Hunter’s words trailed off. A picture of Loretta’s face flashed in his mind. “He can only love her. The blood of the tosi tivo will flow bridle high. To force her to stay with us while we slaughter her people would be torture. Before this is over, my name will be a curse upon her lips.” Red Buffalo drew away and lifted his ravaged face skyward. “So you have lost her. I’m sorry, Hunter. It’s my fault.” “Not yours alone. This would have come to pass no matter what. Red Buffalo, I have to make sure my woman makes it safely to her wooden walls. Only a few men can be spared to ride with me. Warrior needs to be here these next few days, with his children. I must trail the tosi tivo, make certain they do not harm her and her Aye-mee. If things go wrong, we may have to attack. I need your strong arm. Can you set your hate for her aside and ride beside me?” Red Buffalo wiped his cheeks dry with the heels of his hands. “You want me beside you? After all I’ve done?” Hunter clamped a hand around his cousin’s arm. “I’m afraid to go without you. Her life depends on us.” Red Buffalo straightened his shoulders. “Then I am with you.” Hunter nodded. “Once again my brother, yes?” Red Buffalo pushed to his feet. “Yes--your brother.” He clasped Hunter’s hand and met his gaze, fresh tears spilling down his face. “About my hate…” His mouth quivered. “I will not only set it aside, I will bury it. If I must, I will die for her.” Hunter blinked away tears of his own. “I have lost too many already, cousin. Do nothing boisa to prove your loyalty to me. Protect her, yes. But guard your back while you’re at it.
Catherine Anderson (Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1))
He moved down from the trail we had just been climbing and started to take the steep dirt path downward. Not paying a bit of attention to the trail because I was too focused on wondering how hard it would be to get myself off using his body and the vibrations, when his nose end hit the mud first, a huge wave of brown wetness covered us. And of course, because I was too busy trying to work at getting myself off, my back was arched. I had, in my mind, the best plan to arch my back and rub my core against the seat and his hard body. But when that mud wave came up and then back down, it shot straight down the back of my pants. “Oh, my God, Lee!” He doesn’t answer, just laughs harder. So hard, in fact, that he has to stop the four-wheeler. “This isn’t funny! I have mud . . . oh my God . . . I have mud in my ass!” His laughter picks up until he is forced to hold his sides. “Holy crap. I can feel it. It’s all in my panties, Lee!” Again, the big jerk just keeps on laughing until he has to pull his shirt up, flip it to the inside and wipe the tears his laughing has caused, rolling down his face. “I swear, Liam Beckett. I was this close, this freaking close,” I scream, holding my pointer finger just an inch from my thumb, “To having one hell of an orgasm. It was building so high, I was too busy wondering if I would fall off the back when I went off. This freaking close and now . . . now I have mud in my ASS!
Harper Sloan (Bleeding Love (Hope Town, #2))
Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m fine, yeah,” she said. She wiped tears off her cheeks. “Somebody who totally fucked me over died today,” she said. “Then why are you sad?” he asked. “I mean, fuck him. If it was a him.” “I don’t know. I guess because it means what he did can never be changed. His death makes it permanent.” “I think I get that.
Michael Connelly (The Late Show (Renée Ballard, #1; Harry Bosch Universe, #29))
When I was ten, my mother got me a subscription to a website called Seeds Anonymous,” I said. “Every month I would get an unmarked package of seeds in the mail with instructions on how to plant them and care for them. I wouldn’t know what I was growing until it came up out of the ground. Every day after school I’d run straight to the backyard to see the progress. It gave me something to look forward to. Growing things felt like a reward.” I could feel Atlas staring at me when he asked, “A reward for what?” I shrugged. “For loving my plants the right way. Plants reward you based on the amount of love you show them. If you’re cruel to them or neglect them, they give you nothing. But if you care for them and love them the right way, they reward you with gifts in the form of vegetables or fruits or flowers.” I looked down at the weed I was tearing apart in my hands and there was barely an inch left of it. I wadded it up between my fingers and flicked it. I didn’t want to look over at Atlas because I could still feel him staring, so instead, I just stared out over my mulch-covered garden. “We’re just alike,” he said. My eyes flicked to his. “Me and you?” He shook his head. “No. Plants and humans. Plants need to be loved the right way in order to survive. So do humans. We rely on our parents from birth to love us enough to keep us alive. And if our parents show us the right kind of love, we turn out as better humans overall. But if we’re neglected . . .” His voice grew quiet. Almost sad. He wiped his hands on his knees, trying to get some of the dirt off. “If we’re neglected, we end up homeless and incapable of anything meaningful.
Colleen Hoover (It Ends with Us)
If you trap the moment before it’s ripe, The tears of repentance you certainly wipe. But if once you let the ripe moment go, You can never wipe off the tears of woe. William Blake
Kimberley Chambers (The Trap)
Some of the difficult moments in life is giving someone a hug when you need it the most. Fighting back the tears in your eyes to wipe off someone else’s tears. Listening to somebody’s grief when you want your misery to be heard. Being the reason for someone’s smile when your own smile is lost. Being the strong one, you know?
Nitya Prakash
Alexander walked around the bed to stand in her line of sight. He wasn’t letting go of his rifle. Tatiana wiped her face. “Tania, please don’t cry,” he said emotionally. “Last night I came here ready to sacrifice everything, you included, to satisfy the burning inside me I’ve had since the day we met. But God was looking out for you, and He stopped us, and more important He stopped me, and I, in the gray of the morning, am less confused…” Alexander paused. “Though only more desperate for you.” He took a long breath, staring at his rifle. Tatiana could not find her voice to speak. Alexander said, “You and I—” then broke off, shaking his head. “But the time is all wrong for us.” She turned onto her back, putting her arm over her face. The time, the place, the life. “Couldn’t you have thought this through before you came here?” she said. “Couldn’t you have had this talk with yourself before last night?” “I cannot stay away from you,” he said. “Last night I was drunk. But tonight I’m sober. And I’m sorry.” Tears choking her throat, Tatiana said nothing. Alexander left without touching her.
Paullina Simons (The Bronze Horseman (The Bronze Horseman, #1))
Will you be my best friend, Alisa?” he asked, wiping the tears off her face. “Yes. Will you be my moral support while I make the necessary changes in my life?” “I certainly will.
Summer Lee (Standing Strong: A Christian Novel)
Hayder didn’t bother checking the time when he left the condo. He banged on the closest door and waited with arms crossed, foot tapping. It opened a moment later on a tousled-hair Luna, who scowled. “What do you want?” “A lifetime supply of porterhouse steaks in my freezer.” Like duh. What feline wouldn’t? “Smartass.” “Thank you. I knew those IQ tests I took in college were wrong. But enough of my mental greatness, I need a favor.” “I am not lending you my eighties greatest hits CDs again to use for skeet practice,” she grumbled. “That’s not a favor. That’s just making the world a better place. No, I need you to watch Arabella’s place while I talk to the boss about her situation.” Obviously the rumor mill had been busy because Luna didn’t question what he meant. “You really think those wolves would be stupid enough to try something here?” Luna slapped her forehead. “Duh. Of course they are. Must be something in their processed dog food that inhibits their brain processes.” “One, while I agree that pack is mentally defective, you might want to refrain from calling them dogs or bitches or any other nasty names in the near future.” “Why? Aren’t you the one who coined the phrase ‘ass-licking, eau de toilette fleabags’?” Ah yes, one of his brighter inspirations after a few too many shots of tequila. “Yeah. But that was in the past. If I’m going to be mated to a wolf—” “Whoa there, big guy. Back up. Mated? As in”— Luna hummed the wedding march—“ dum-dum-dum-dum.” Hayder fought not to wince. Knowing he’d found the one and admitting it in such final terms were two different things. “Yes, mated. To Arabella.” “The girl who is allergic to you?” Luna needed the wall to hold her up as she laughed. And laughed. Then cried as she laughed. Irritated, Hayder tapped a foot and frowned. It just made her laugh all the harder. “It isn’t that funny.” “Says you.” Luna snorted, wiping a hand across her eyes to swipe the tears. “Oh, wait until the girls hear this.” “Could we hold off on that? It might help if I got Arabella to agree first.” Which, given her past and state of mind, wasn’t a sure thing. “You’re killing me here, Hayder. This is big news. Real big.” “I’ll let you borrow my treadmill.” Damned thing was nothing more than a clothes rack in his room. Indoor running just couldn’t beat the fresh adrenaline of an outdoor sprint. “Really big news,” she emphasized. He sighed. “Fine. You can borrow my car. But don’t you dare leave any fast food wrappers in it like last time.” “Who, me?” The innocent bat of her lashes didn’t fool him one bit.
Eve Langlais (When a Beta Roars (A Lion's Pride, #2))
Sedative,” a stern voice commands. Another needle in my neck, and my heart begins to slow down. I sob with relief. For seconds all I can do is sob with relief. That was not fear. That was something else; an emotion that should not exist. “Let me go,” Tobias says, and he sounds scratchier than before. I blink so fast I can see him through my tears. There are red marks on his arms from where the Dauntless traitors held him back, but he is not dying; he is all right. “That’s the only way I’ll tell you, is if you let me go.” Jeanine nods, and he runs to me. He wraps one hand around mine and touches my hair with the other. His fingertips come away wet with tears. He doesn’t wipe them off. He leans over and presses his forehead to mine. “The factionless safe houses,” he says dully, right against my cheek. “Get me a map and I’ll mark them for you.” His forehead feels cool and dry against mine. My muscles ache, probably from being clenched for however long Jeanine left me with that serum pulsing through me. He pulls back, his fingers wrapped around my fingers for as long as they can be until the Dauntless traitors pull him from my grasp to escort him elsewhere. My hand falls heavy on the table. I don’t want to struggle against the restraints anymore. All I want to do is sleep.
Veronica Roth (Insurgent (Divergent, #2))
I’m a virgin, Alex. What if I do everything wrong?” “There is no wrong here. This isn’t a test in Peterson’s class. This is you and me. The rest of the world is shut out right now, okay?” “Okay,” she says softly. Her eyes are glistening. Is she crying? “I don’t deserve you. You know that, querida, don’t you?” “When are you gonna realize you’re one of the good guys?” When I don’t answer, she pulls my head down to hers. “My body is yours tonight, Alex,” she whispers against my lips. “Do you want it?” “God, yes.” As we make out, I shrug off my jeans and briefs and hug her tight, devouring the softness and warmth of her body against mine. “Are you scared?” I whisper in her ear when she’s ready and I’m ready and I can’t wait any longer. “A little, but I trust you.” “Relax, preciosa.” “I’m trying.” “This won’t work unless you relax.” I pull away and reach for a condom, my hands shaking. “You sure about this?” I ask. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I love you, Alex,” she says. “I love you,” she says again, saying it almost desperately this time. I let her words seep into my body and hold myself back, not wanting to hurt her. Who am I kidding? The first time for a girl hurts, no matter how careful a guy is. I want to tell her how I feel, tell her how much she’s become the center of my being. But I can’t. The words won’t come. “Just do it,” she says, sensing my hesitation. So I do, but when she sucks in a breath, I just wish I could take the pain away from her. She sniffs and wipe a tear that’s running down her cheek. Seeing her that emotional is my undoing. For the first time since I saw my dad lying dead in front of me, a tear drops from my eye.
Simone Elkeles (Perfect Chemistry (Perfect Chemistry, #1))
As we started our long drive back to the zoo, we stopped at what could be called a general store. There was a pub attached to the establishment, and the store itself sold a wide variety of goods, groceries, cooking utensils, swags, clothing, shoes, even toys. As we picked up supplies in the shop, we passed the open doorway to the pub. A few of the patrons recognized Steve from television. We could hear them talking about him. The comments weren’t exactly positive. Steve didn’t look happy. “Let’s just get out of here,” I whispered. “Right-o,” he said. One of the pub patrons was louder than the others. “I’m a crocodile hunter too,” he bragged. “Only I’m the real crocodile hunter. The real one, you hear me, mate?” The braggart made his living at the stuffy trade, he informed his audience. A stuffy is a baby crocodile mounted by a taxidermist to be sold as a souvenir. To preserve their skins, hunters killed stuffys in much the same way that the bear poachers in Oregon stabbed their prey. “We drive screwdrivers right through their eyes,” Mister Stuffy boasted, eyeing Steve through the doorway of the pub. “Right through the bloody eye sockets!” He was feeling his beer. We gathered up our purchases and headed out to the Ute. Okay, I said to myself, we’re going to make it. Just two or three more steps… Steve turned around and headed back toward the pub. I’d never seen him like that before. My husband changed into somebody I didn’t know. His eyes glared, his face flushed, and his lower lip trembled. I followed him to the threshold of the pub. “Why don’t you blokes come outside and tell me all about stuffys in the car park here?” he said. I couldn’t see very well in the darkness of the pub interior, but I knew there were six or eight drinkers with Mister Stuffy. I thought, What is going to happen here? There didn’t seem any possible good outcomes. The pub drinkers stood up and filed out to face Steve. A half dozen against one. Steve chose the biggest one, who Mister Stuffy seemed to be hiding behind. “Bring it on, mate,” Steve said. “Or are you only tough enough to take on baby crocs, you son of a bitch?” Then Steve seemed to grow. I can’t explain it. His fury made him tower over a guy who actually had a few inches of height on him and outweighed him with a whole beer gut’s worth of weight. I couldn’t imagine how he appeared to the pub drinkers, but he was scaring me. They backed down. All six of them. Not one wanted to muck with Steve, who was clearly out of his mind with anger. All the world’s croc farms, all the cruelty and ignorance that made animals suffer the world over, came to a head in the car park of the pub that evening. Steve got into the truck. We drove off, and he didn’t say anything for a long time. “I don’t understand,” I finally said in the darkness of the front seat, as the bush landscape rolled by us. “What were they talking about? Were they killing crocs in the wild? Or were they croc farmers?” I heard a small exhalation from Steve’s side of the truck. I couldn’t see his face in the gloom. I realized he was crying. I was astounded. This was the man I had just seen turn into a furious monster. Five minutes earlier I’d been convinced I was about to see him take on a half-dozen blokes bare-fisted. Now he wept in the darkness. All at once, he sat up straight. With his jaw set, he wiped the tears from his face and composed himself. “I’ve known bastards like that all my life,” he said. “Some people don’t just do evil. Some people are evil.” He had told me before, but that night in the truck it hit home: Steve lived for wildlife and he would die for wildlife. He came by his convictions sincerely, from the bottom of his heart. He was more than just my husband that night. He was my hero.
Terri Irwin (Steve & Me)
I put the water on scalding, and climbed inside. Then and only then did I finally, finally let it out. There was the pain at first, just the raw, brutal sensation of love lost, of a future I had been planning on disintegrating, leaving me to have to rebuild a new one. After that, oh yeah, that was when the bitter set in. Five years. Five freaking years and he dumped me because Mommy and Daddy didn't approve? What a pathetic, weak-willed, co-dependent excuse for a man. Any real man would have flipped them off, told them to take their money and shove it, and went home to the woman they loved and made plans. And it was an awful, ugly thing to realize that I had been all-consumingly in love with a man who loved money more than he loved me. On that thought and knowing to my soul that I was not going to be the type of woman who broke herself into pieces over a man who didn't deserve it, I wiped the tears away, I got redressed, I ate half my body weight in sweets... and I decided to move on with my life.
Jessica Gadziala (Peace, Love, & Macarons)
Bailey,” I say, my voice carrying easily across the marble floor. “Wait.” She turns back and rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed to see me coming her way. She quickly wipes at her cheeks then holds up her hand to wave me off. “I’m off the clock. I don’t want to talk to you right now. If you want to chew me out for what happened back there, you’ll have to do it on Monday. I’m going home.” “How?” Her pretty brown eyes, full of tears, narrow up at me in confusion. “How what?” “How are you getting home? Did you park on the street or something?” Her brows relax as she realizes I’m not about to scold her. “Oh.” She turns to the window. “I’m going to catch the bus.” The bus? “The stop is just down the street a little bit.” “Don’t you have a car?” She steels her spine. “No. I don’t.” I’ll have to look into what we’re paying her—surely she should have no problem affording a car to get her to and from work. “Okay, well then what about an Uber or something?” Her tone doesn’t lighten as she replies, “I usually take the bus. It’s fine.” I look for an umbrella and frown when I see her hands are empty. “You’re going to get drenched and it’s freezing out there.” She laughs and starts to step back. “It’s not your concern. Don’t worry about me.” Yes, well unfortunately, I do worry about her. For the last three weeks, all I’ve done is worry about her. Cooper is to blame. He fuels my annoyance on a daily basis, updating me about their texts and bragging to me about how their relationship is developing. Relationship—I find that laughable. They haven’t gone on a date. They haven’t even spoken on the phone. If the metric for a “relationship” lies solely in the number of text messages exchanged then as of this week, I’m in a relationship with my tailor, my UberEats delivery guy, and my housekeeper. I’ve got my hands fucking full. “Well I’m not going to let you wait out at the bus stop in this weather. C’mon, I’ll drive you.” Her soft feminine laugh echoes around the lobby. “Thank you, but I’d rather walk.” What she really means is, Thank you, but I’d rather die. “It’s really not a request. You’re no good to me if you have to call in sick on Monday because you caught pneumonia.” Her gaze sheens with a new layer of hatred. “You of all people know you don’t catch pneumonia just from being cold and wet.” She tries to step around me, but I catch her backpack and tug it off her shoulder. I can’t put it on because she has the shoulder straps set to fit a toddler, so I hold it in my hand and start walking. She can either follow me or not. I tell myself I don’t care either way. “Dr. Russell—” she says behind me, her feet lightly tap-tap-tapping on the marble as she hurries to keep up. “You’re clocked out, aren’t you? Call me Matt.” “Doctor,” she says pointedly. “Please give me my backpack before I call security.” I laugh because really, she’s hilarious. No one has ever threatened to call security on me before. “It’s Matt, and if you’re going to call security, make sure you ask for Tommy. He’s younger and stands a decent chance of catching me before I hightail it out of here with your pink JanSport backpack. What do you have in here anyway?” It weighs nothing. “My lunchbox. A water bottle. Some empty Tupperware.” Tupperware. I glance behind me to check on her. She’s fast-walking as she trails behind me. Am I really that much taller than her? “Did you bring more banana bread?” She nods and nearly breaks out in a jog. “Patricia didn’t get any last time and I felt bad.” “I didn’t get any last time either,” I point out. She snorts. “Yeah well, I don’t feel bad about that.” I face forward again so she can’t see my smile.
R.S. Grey (Hotshot Doc)
Ellie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand; sometimes she didn't realize she'd been crying until the tears slid off her chin and dripped down her neck.
Jill Mansell (To the Moon and Back)
joke around—nothing serious—as I work to get my leg back to where it was. Two weeks later, I’m in an ankle-to-hip leg brace and hobbling around on crutches. The brace can’t come off for another six weeks, so my parents lend me their townhouse in New York City and Lucien hires me an assistant to help me out around the house. Some guy named Trevor. He’s okay, but I don’t give him much to do. I want to regain my independence as fast as I can and get back out there for Planet X. Yuri, my editor, is griping that he needs me back and I’m more than happy to oblige. But I still need to recuperate, and I’m bored as hell cooped up in the townhouse. Some buddies of mine from PX stop by and we head out to a brunch place on Amsterdam Street my assistant sometimes orders from. Deacon, Logan, Polly, Jonesy and I take a table in Annabelle’s Bistro, and settle in for a good two hours, running our waitress ragged. She’s a cute little brunette doing her best to stay cheerful for us while we give her a hard time with endless coffee refills, loud laughter, swearing, and general obnoxiousness. Her nametag says Charlotte, and Deacon calls her “Sweet Charlotte” and ogles and teases her, sometimes inappropriately. She has pretty eyes, I muse, but otherwise pay her no mind. I have my leg up on a chair in the corner, leaning back, as if I haven’t a care in the world. And I don’t. I’m going to make a full recovery and pick up my life right where I left off. Finally, a manager with a severe hairdo and too much makeup, politely, yet pointedly, inquires if there’s anything else we need, and we take the hint. We gather our shit and Deacon picks up the tab. We file out, through the maze of tables, and I’m last, hobbling slowly on crutches. I’m halfway out when I realize I left my Yankees baseball cap on the table. I return to get it and find the waitress staring at the check with tears in her eyes. She snaps the black leather book shut when she sees me and hurriedly turns away. “Forget something?” she asks with false cheer and a shaky smile. “My hat,” I say. She’s short and I’m tall. I tower over her. “Did Deacon leave a shitty tip? He does that.” “Oh no, no, I mean…it’s fine,” she says, turning away to wipe her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I just…um, kind of a rough month. You know how it is.” She glances me up and down in my expensive jeans and designer shirt. “Or maybe you don’t.” The waitress realizes what she said, and another round of apologies bursts out of her as she begins stacking our dirty dishes. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Really. I have this bad habit…blurting. I don’t know why I said that. Anyway, um…” I laugh, and fish into my back pocket for my wallet. “Don’t worry about it. And take this. For your trouble.” I offer her forty dollars and her eyes widen. Up close, her eyes are even prettier—large and luminous, but sad too. A blush turns her skin scarlet “Oh, no, I couldn’t. No, please. It’s fine, really.” She bustles even faster now, not looking at me. I shrug and drop the twenties on the table. “I hope your month improves.” She stops and stares at the money, at war with herself. “Okay. Thank you,” she says finally, her voice cracking. She takes the money and stuffs it into her apron. I feel sorta bad, poor girl. “Have a nice day, Charlotte,” I say, and start to hobble away. She calls after me, “I hope your leg gets better soon.” That was big of her, considering what ginormous bastards we’d been to her all morning. Or maybe she’s just doing her job. I wave a hand to her without looking back, and leave Annabelle’s. Time heals me. I go back to work. To Planet X. To the world and all its thrills and beauty. I don’t go back to my parents’ townhouse; hell I’m hardly in NYC anymore. I don’t go back to Annabelle’s and I never see—or think about—that cute waitress with the sad eyes ever again. “Fucking hell,” I whisper as the machine reads the last line of
Emma Scott (Endless Possibility (Rush, #1.5))
Don’t jump to conclusions,” scolded Ahimsa as he wiped away a stray tear. “I’m happy I was thrown away. I love it here. I kicked off my shoes and lost my sock on purpose. I knew if I did, I’d get thrown out. People don’t like to keep things that are incomplete.
Jacqueline Edgington (Happy Jack)
I gently moved the hair stuck to her tear-soaked face back and tucked it behind her ears. She glanced down and tensed as she finally noticed my lack of a shirt. My chest was now soaked with not only sweat but her tears. I started to say something but the words got stuck in my throat as her hand oved up to my chest and she began softly wiping the droplets of moisture off me. I stopped breathing. I knew it was wrong to let her do this, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. She shifted in my lap until she was straddling me. I let my hands fall to her waist as she continued touching my chest. My heart started slamming against my ribs so hard I knew she had to feel it. I needed to stop this. “Beau,” she said. I tore my eyes away from her hands on my chest and gazed up at her face. There was a question in her eyes. I could see it. “Yes.” I managed a strangled reply. Her hands left me, and I started to take a deep breath to ease my burning, oxygen-deprived lungs when I realized why she’d stopped driving me crazy with her innocent caresses. That deep breath lodged in my throat as her top came off. Without taking her eyes off me, she dropped the little tank top onto the grass beside her. I had thought nothing could be sexier than Ashton in a bikini; I’d been so wrong. Ashton in a lacy white bra was by far the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. “Ash, baby, what’re you doing?” I asked in a hoarse whisper. I tried forcing myself to look up at her face and gauge what she was thinking, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her boobs. “Touch me,” she whispered. The fact she was Sawyer’s girl no longer seemed to matter. I couldn’t tell her no. Hell, I couldn’t tell myself no. I traced a line from her collarbone to the top of her cleavage. She gasped loudly and sank down in my lap, applying pressure to my cock. She was going to send me into a crazed frenzy if she kept it up. As if she could read my thoughts, she seemed to test me as she wiggled her ass in my lap. “Ah, damn,” I moaned before grabbing her face and pulling her mouth to mine. The moment my mouth touched hers, my world started spinning beneath me. I couldn’t get enough. I had her bra off and my hands full within seconds. The loud moan of pleasure that escaped from her mouth almost sent me over the edge.
Abbi Glines (The Vincent Boys (The Vincent Boys, #1))
My legs and arms were starting to tingle from being held in that one position, but I ignored it—or at least, I tried to. It started at my ankles, and began working its way up my shins and to my knees. I didn’t dare move my legs to stretch them out, but the prickling sensation was starting to irritate me. So, I reached down and began rubbing my legs with my free hand. As I smoothed down the fabric of my dress, I froze as I felt something roil under my hand. Quivering, I removed my hand, and began to draw up my skirt, the sound of fabric sliding across my skin filling the small space of the log. It spilled over my knee and I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming at the long black centipede clinging to my leg. I became aware of other movements around me, and felt the brush of thousands of sharp little legs. Something shifted behind me, disturbing my hair, and I felt the weight of a hard body pressing into my scalp. I screamed and scrambled out of the hole, jerking my bag around me. Three centipedes hit the ground as I shook my body and head frantically, trying to dislodge the creatures. I shuddered, crying openly now as I continued to shake myself, my mind and body convinced there were more on me. I ran hands over my arms and hair, trying to make sure they were all clear. Revulsion welled up in me at the thought of any of those insects on me, their tiny little legs pricking into my flesh, crawling over me. I couldn’t seem to stop shaking, and had to take the mask off a few times to wipe my face and the glass lenses as cold tears spilled down my cheeks. I realized I was having a panic attack. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, trying to convince myself that they were gone.
Bella Forrest (The Gender Secret (The Gender Game, #2))
Statistics are human beings with the tears wiped off.
Paul Brodeur
I can’t stop cleaning and I have a monster inside my brain and I miss you and Sloan is falling apart and his parents won’t take him off life support, so his organs are rotting. I can’t get all the lines right on the carpet with the vacuum and Stuntman is in a kennel and I haven’t seen him in days, and I just need you to let me clean this fucking apartment!” I’m not sure how much of it he heard, if any. I was crying so hard I could barely understand myself. He just held me and caressed my hair, and for the first time in weeks the velociraptor hunted other prey. Josh made me weak. Or strong. It was hard to tell anymore what I was without my coping mechanism. At least when I rode the beast, I got shit done. And now I was nothing but an emotional mess. But at least the mess was mine. Why did he have this effect on me? He had this way of waking up dormant parts of my soul. He ripped through me and let everything in with him like a storm surge. I took on water. And at the same time, something told me if I let him, he’d keep me afloat. He wouldn’t let me sink. I’d never felt this vulnerable and safe with anyone. I felt hot and shaky. I gasped and clutched his shirt until the crying spasms stopped. He held me so tight my knees could have given out and I wouldn’t have fallen an inch. “I can’t be the only one who has their shit together,” I whispered. His chest rumbled as he spoke. “It doesn’t look like you have your shit together…” I snorted. “Josh, please.” I looked up at him, my hands trembling on his collarbone. “I need you to insert yourself here. Go talk to his parents. They’ll listen to you.” He looked at me like seeing me cry was agony. The longing on his face was razor blades to my heart. His sad eyes, the set of his mouth, his knit brows. He loved me almost as much as I loved him, and I knew I was hurting him. I knew he thought I was enough. But I wasn’t enough. How could one of me be any kind of substitute for the half dozen kids he’d always wanted? It just couldn’t. The math didn’t work. The logic wasn’t sound. He wiped a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll go. Just, sit down or something. Stop cleaning.” He dipped his head to catch my eyes. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.” He put a hand over mine to still the tremor against his chest, and the closeness of him made me whole for the first time in weeks. “I’m fine,” I said, swallowing. “Just hurry, okay?” He looked at me for a long moment, like he was trying to memorize my face or steal an extra second to hold me. Then he turned for the bathroom. When he walked away from me, the absence of his body pressed into mine felt like I’d lost my clothes and I stood naked and exposed to the elements. I missed him. No amount of time lessened it. It made it worse. My heart was a neglected building, and every day I weathered a fierce storm that dripped through my roof, flooded my floors, and broke my windows, and the disrepair just made me weaker and closer to collapse. The water turned on in the bathroom and I looked around the apartment, my compulsion raging back with a fury now that he was gone. At least I could do this for him. I could take care of his space, give it order. Wash his clothes and his blankets. Make things smell clean, turn his home into someplace he wanted to be. Do this thing that he obviously couldn’t do for himself at the moment.
Abby Jimenez
I love you, Kris. I’m always going to love you,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.” I looked away from him, wiping a tear from my cheek. “I can forgive you if you can forgive me back.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pressed his cheek to the side of my head. Our embrace was full of loss and regrets and what-ifs. Tyler was a version of my life. A path I could have taken. But now I was so far off course I didn’t even know where I was going anymore. All I knew was I was headed for a dead end. And when I got there, I’d be alone. “Kristen, have you ever heard of the red thread of fate?” Tyler said over me. “No.” I sniffled. He turned me until I sat facing him. “I’ve been studying Mandarin,” he said, speaking to my eyes. “Learning a lot about the Chinese culture. And there was a story I read that really resonated with me.” He reached out and tenderly wiped a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “In Chinese legend, two lovers are connected by an invisible red thread around their pinky fingers. The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers from birth, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. The cord might stretch or tangle, but it can never break.” His eyes moved back and forth between mine. “You are on the other end of my thread, Kris. No matter how far apart we are, you’re tied to me. I stretched us and I tangled us and I’m sorry. But I didn’t break us, Kris. We’re still connected.” He paused. That pause that he always did on the phone, the one that told me he was about to tell me the good part. Then he pulled a tiny, black velvet box from his pocket and opened the lid. My heart stopped dead. Oh my God. “Marry me.
Abby Jimenez (The Friend Zone (The Friend Zone, #1))
Dr. Campbell handed us off to the orthopedic surgeon, who went over the next steps to deal with Brandon’s broken bones. Another surgeon told us about the repairs to the laceration to his liver. Then a plastic surgeon talked to us about the skin grafts he would need to cover the extensive road rash on his left arm. By the time the doctors were done with us, Sloan was wiped. I put her back in her chair and called Josh. The phone was still ringing when I heard it behind me. I spun and there he was. The second I saw him, my emotional disconnect from the situation clicked off. My coping mechanism snapped away from me like a rubber band shot across a room, and the weight of what happened hit me. Sloan’s grief, Brandon’s condition—Josh’s trauma. I dove into his arms, instantly withered. I’d never trusted anyone else to be the one in control, and my manic mind gave it to him immediately and without reservation and retreated back into itself. He clutched me, and I held him tighter than I’d ever held anyone in my life. I wasn’t sure if I was comforting him, or if I was letting him comfort me. All I knew was something subconscious in me told me I didn’t have to hold the world up anymore now that he was here. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered, breathing him in as my body turned back on from being in suspended animation. The sound to the movie around me turned all the way up. My heart began to pound, I gasped into his neck, and tears instantly flooded my eyes. He put his forehead to mine. He looked like shit. He’d looked bad this morning at the station—I knew he hadn’t slept. But now his eyes were red like he’d been crying. “Any updates?” His voice was raspy. I couldn’t even comprehend how hard it must have been for him to see what he saw and stay at work, going on calls. I wanted to cover him like a blanket. I wanted to cover them both, Josh and Sloan, and shield them from this. I put a hand to his cheek, and he turned into it and closed his eyes. “He just got out of surgery,” I said. Then I told him everything, my hands on his chest like they anchored me. He stood with his arms around my waist, nodding and looking at me like he was worried I was the one who wasn’t okay. It didn’t escape me that we were holding each other and I didn’t care what it meant or what wrong signals it might send to him at the moment. I just knew that I needed to touch him. I needed this momentary surrender. For both of us.
Abby Jimenez
People make their own decisions, Sloan. He lived the life he wanted to live. He was a twenty-nine-year-old man. He was capable of making choices.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “So you can decide for Josh, but I shouldn’t have decided for Brandon?” I saw the trap, but it was too late. She shook her head, blinking through tears. “You have no clue, do you? You think he’s settling? For Josh, not being with you is settling. Don’t you get that?” “Sloan,” I said gently. “You don’t und—” “Don’t I?” she snapped. “Do you think if Brandon wouldn’t have been able to have kids after his accident that I would have been settling to stay with him? I would have taken him any way I could have him. Disabled. In a wheelchair, without his fucking arms and legs. This thing that you’re obsessed with doesn’t matter. He loves you. He wants you.” She breathed hard. “Don’t be like me. Don’t live the rest of your life without the man you love. Go home, Kristen.” “Sloan—” “Go home! Get out of my house!” Her shout shocked me into action and I stood. “Go home.” Her eyes went hard. “And don’t you ever come over here without Josh again.” She picked up Stuntman and shoved him into my arms. Then she corralled me out of the house onto the front porch. She took the house key from the planter and slammed the door in my face. The shock had me standing there staring at her door for a full minute. She kicked me out. She went off on me, and the crazy bitch kicked me out. I hovered a hand over the door and knocked. “Sloan, open up.” The chain raked across the door and the bolt locked. “Sloan! Come on!” I pressed the doorbell in quick succession. Nothing. Un-fucking-believable. Well this was just perfect. Who was going to make her bed? She couldn’t even wash the dishes. The ones from lunch would probably just get moldy in the living room. And what about dinner? She would starve to death without me. She was being completely unreasonable. Stuntman looked up at me like he didn’t know what just happened. Neither did I.
Abby Jimenez
She reaches in and pulls out the carved white marble box. My box of secrets. It has been years since she’s seen this box, though she could still sketch it from memory. It too looks smaller than she remembers. She wipes off a layer of dust and leaves her hand there for a moment, on the cool surface. She realizes she’s holding her breath, draws it in deeply, and opens the box. She unfolds the first letter inside, a small rectangular piece of faint pink stationery. Slowly, she reads the words written there in familiar childlike script: Dear Mom,         Today my teacher asked our class to write a letter to someone in another country. My father told me you are in India, but he doesn’t know your address. I am nine years old and in the fourth grade. I wanted to write you a letter to tell you I would like to meet you one day. Do you want to meet me? Your daughter, Asha The raw display of sentiment makes her cringe. She feels tears prick at the back of her eyes and the slow flood of emotions she has not experienced in a long time.
Shilpi Somaya Gowda (Secret Daughter)
Statistics are just people with the tears wiped off.
Spencer Rascoff (Zillow Talk: The New Rules of Real Estate)
And when God, in answer to their prayers and succeeding their endeavours, delivers, restores, and advances his church, according to his promise, then he is said to answer, and come, and say, Here am I, and to show himself; and they are said to find him, and see him plainly. (Isa. lviii. 9.) "Then shall thou cry, and he shall say, Here I am" (Isa. xlv. 19.) "I said not unto the seed of Jacob, Seek ye me in vain." Chap. xxv. 8, 9.) "The Lord will wipe away the tears from off all faces, and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off the earth. And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God, we have waited for him, and he will save us: This is the Lord, we have waited for him; we will be glad, and rejoice in his salvation." Together with the next chap." ver. 8, 9. we have waited for thee; "the desire of our soul is to thy name, and to the remembrance of thee. With my soul have I desired thee in the night; yea, with my spirit within me will I seek thee early. For when thy judgments are in the earth, the inhabitants of the world will learn righteousness." Isa. lii. 6-8. "Therefore my people shall know my name; therefore they shall know in that day, that I am he that doth speak: behold, it is I. How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace, that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation, that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth! Thy watchmen shall lift up the voice, together shall they sing; for they shall see eye to eye, when the Lord shall bring again Zion.
Jonathan Edwards (Humble Attempt to Promote Explicit Agreement and Visible Union of God's People, In Extraordinary Prayer, For The Revival of Religion and the Advancement ... Edition (With Active Table of Contents))
Second, this is not my wife. She would not resort to self-pity when she is needed most. Now wipe off the tears and go find her…because I love her and I want her back.
Laury Falter (Reckoning (Guardian Trilogy, #3))
I don’t want to die.” I say, defiantly. “Bright Side, what?” He’s confused. Of course he’s confused. No one starts a conversation like that. I repeat, “I don’t want to fucking die.” “Oh, shit, Bright Side.” I hear him take a deep breath, a primer for the conversationthat’s about to unfold. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” “I’m fucking dying, Gus. I don’t want to die. That’s what’s fucking going on.” I hit the steering wheel with my palms. “Goddammit!” I scream... Gus doesn’t deserve this, but I know he’ll deal with it better than anyone else would. “Calm down, dude. Where are you?” “I don’t know. I’m sitting in my car in a fucking parking garage in the middle of motherfucking Minneapolis, Minnesota.” That was hostile. “Are you by yourself?” “Yes,” I snap. “You’re not supposed to be driving while you’re on your pain meds.” I don’t want his fatherly tone. “I know that.” “Are you in danger or hurt?” I burst out laughing, surprised that I can’t even laugh without sounding angry. The question is absurd to me though. I’m dying. “Bright Side, shut up for a second and talk to me. Do I need to call 911? What the fuck is going on?” He sounds scared. I shake my head like he can see me. “No, no. I’m just ... I’m fucking mad, Gus. That’s all.” And at a loss for words because my mind is jumbled up into this bitter, resentful ball. I don’t know what else to say so I repeat myself. “I’m really fucking mad.” “Well shit, by all means, there’s plenty of room at my table for anger.” He gets it. That’s why I called him, after all. “I’ve been dishing out heaping servings of fury for the past month. I feel better knowing I’m not the only one in this whole debacle with some rage issues. So fire away. Fucking give it to me.” I do. An explosive, steady stream of expletives flows out of me. I’m cursing it all, shouting out questions, pounding the steering wheel, and wiping away hot, angry tears. Occasionally Gus joins in, yelling affirmations. Sometimes he waits for a pause on my part and takes his turn and sometimes he just steamrolls over the top of me... Eventually, my tears stop, and I’m able to take normal breaths. My throat feels tight and my head hurts a little, but I’m calm. On the other end of the line, Gus gets quiet, too. Silence falls between us... My voice is raspy when I decide to break the silence. “Gus?” “Yeah, Bright Side.” He sounds like himself again. Calm. “Thanks.” I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of me. And now I need to apologize. “Sorry, dude.” He laughs. “No worries. You feel better?” I can actually smile now. “Yeah, I really do.” “Good, me too. I think we should’ve done this weeks ago.” “I think I should’ve done it months ago.” I mean it. It felt so good to let it all out. “Bright Side, you know I love you all happy and adorable in your little world of sunshine and rainbows, but you’re kinda hot when you’re angry. I dig aggressive chicks. And that was crazy aggressive.” He knows I’m going to say it, but I can’t help myself. “Whatever.” I even roll my eyes. “I think I’m gonna rename you Demon Seed.” “What? I show you my dark side and now I have to be the fucking antichrist? I don’t like that. Why can’t I just be Angry Bitch?” He laughs hard and my heart swellsbecause I haven’t heard this laugh out of Gus in a month. And I love this laugh. “Well dude, since it seems my therapysession has wrapped up, I’d better get going. I need to get home.” “Sure. Drive slowly and text me when you get there so I know you made it. And no more driving after this trip.” “Yes sir. I love you, Gus.” “Love you, too, Angry Bitch,” his voice low and dramatic. He pauses because he knows I’m not going to hang up to that. “I was just trying it out,” he says innocently.
Kim Holden (Bright Side (Bright Side, #1))
As he turned her face to study her, he said, “You have more courage than you have strength, Yellow Hair. It is not wise to fight when you cannot win.” Looking up at his carved features and the arrogant set of his mouth, she longed for the strength to jerk him off his horse. He wasn’t just taunting her, he was challenging her, mocking her. “You will yield. Look at me and know the face of your master. Remember it well.” Riding high on humiliation, Loretta forgot Amy, Aunt Rachel, everything. An image of her mother’s face flashed before her. Never, as long as she had life in her body, would she yield to him. She worked her parched mouth and spat. Nothing came out, but the message rang clear. “Nei mah-heepicut!” Releasing her, he struck her lightly on the arm. Wheeling his horse, he glanced toward the windows of the house and thumped his chest with a broad fist. “I claim her!” Loretta staggered, watching in numb disbelief as Hunter pranced his stallion in a circle around her. I claim her? Warily she turned, keeping him in sight, unsure of what he might do. He rode erect, his eyes touching on her dress, her face, her hair, as if everything about her were a curiosity. A taunting smile curved his mouth. His attention centered on her full skirt, and she could almost see the questions churning in his head. He repositioned his hand on the lance. The determination in his expression filled her with foreboding. He rode directly toward her, and she sidestepped. He turned his mount to come at her again. As he swept by he leaned forward, catching the hem of her skirt with his lance. Loretta whirled, striking out with her forearms, but the Indian moved expertly, his aim swift and sure, his horse precision-trained to the pressure of his legs. He was as bent on seeing her undergarments as she was on keeping them hidden. The outcome of their battle was a foregone conclusion, and Loretta knew it. His friends encouraged him, whooping with ribald laughter each time her ruffles flashed. She snatched the dirty peace flag from the wooden shaft and threw it to the earth, grinding it beneath the heel of her shoe. After fending off several more passes, exhaustion claimed its victory, and Loretta realized the folly in fighting. She stood motionless, breasts heaving, her eyes staring fixedly at nothing, head lifted. The warrior circled her, guiding his stallion’s flashing hooves so close to her feet that her toes tingled. When she didn’t move, he reined the horse to a halt and studied her for several seconds before he leaned forward to finger the bodice of her dress. Her breath snagged when he slid a palm over her bosom to the indentation of her waist. “Ai-ee,” he whispered. “You learn quick.” Raising tear-filled eyes to his, she again spat in his face. This time he felt the spray and wiped his cheek, his lips quivering with something that looked suspiciously like suppressed laughter, friendly laughter this time. “Maybe not so quick. But I am a good teacher. You will learn not to fight me, Yellow Hair. It is a promise I make for you.
Catherine Anderson (Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1))
The outcome of their battle was a foregone conclusion, and Loretta knew it. His friends encouraged him, whooping with ribald laughter each time her ruffles flashed. She snatched the dirty peace flag from the wooden shaft and threw it to the earth, grinding it beneath the heel of her shoe. After fending off several more passes, exhaustion claimed its victory, and Loretta realized the folly in fighting. She stood motionless, breasts heaving, her eyes staring fixedly at nothing, head lifted. The warrior circled her, guiding his stallion’s flashing hooves so close to her feet that her toes tingled. When she didn’t move, he reined the horse to a halt and studied her for several seconds before he leaned forward to finger the bodice of her dress. Her breath snagged when he slid a palm over her bosom to the indentation of her waist. “Ai-ee,” he whispered. “You learn quick.” Raising tear-filled eyes to his, she again spat in his face. This time he felt the spray and wiped his cheek, his lips quivering with something that looked suspiciously like suppressed laughter, friendly laughter this time. “Maybe not so quick. But I am a good teacher. You will learn not to fight me, Yellow Hair. It is a promise I make for you.” In that moment, what she felt for him went beyond hate, a black, churning ugliness that made her want to seize the lance he brandished and skewer him with it. I claim her. He planned to take her, then? Her gaze traveled from his woven wool belt of army blue to the muscular tracks that rippled in his belly. The hilt of his knife protruded from a leather scabbard on his hip. How many soldiers had he killed? One, a hundred, perhaps a thousand? Her hair hung from his belt, trailing in a spray of gold down the dark leather on his pants. She felt certain she had never seen him before. Yet he had her hair. The Indian down by the river must have given it to him, and he had come from God only knew where to get her. With a start, she noticed the warrior had stretched out a hand to her. A wide leather band encircled his wrist to protect him from his bowstring. Staring at his dark palm and strong fingers, she shook her head in denial. “Hi, tai,” he said in a low voice. Guiding his stallion closer, he bent to touch her chin. Her eyelid quivered when he brushed at a tear on her cheek. “Ka taikay, ka taikay, Tohobt Nabituh,” he whispered. The words made no sense. Puzzled, she met his gaze. “Tosa ehr-mahr.” Raising his hand, he showed her the glistening wetness on his fingertips. “Silver rain, tosa ehr-mahr.” He compared her tears to silver rain? She searched his eyes for some trace of humanity and found none. After a moment he straightened, raising his lance in what looked like a salute. “Suvate!” he yelled, his glittering eyes sweeping the line of encircling riders. A low rumble of answering voices replied, “Suvate!
Catherine Anderson (Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1))
The outcome of their battle was a foregone conclusion, and Loretta knew it. His friends encouraged him, whooping with ribald laughter each time her ruffles flashed. She snatched the dirty peace flag from the wooden shaft and threw it to the earth, grinding it beneath the heel of her shoe. After fending off several more passes, exhaustion claimed its victory, and Loretta realized the folly in fighting. She stood motionless, breasts heaving, her eyes staring fixedly at nothing, head lifted. The warrior circled her, guiding his stallion’s flashing hooves so close to her feet that her toes tingled. When she didn’t move, he reined the horse to a halt and studied her for several seconds before he leaned forward to finger the bodice of her dress. Her breath snagged when he slid a palm over her bosom to the indentation of her waist. “Ai-ee,” he whispered. “You learn quick.” Raising tear-filled eyes to his, she again spat in his face. This time he felt the spray and wiped his cheek, his lips quivering with something that looked suspiciously like suppressed laughter, friendly laughter this time. “Maybe not so quick. But I am a good teacher. You will learn not to fight me, Yellow Hair. It is a promise I make for you.” In that moment, what she felt for him went beyond hate, a black, churning ugliness that made her want to seize the lance he brandished and skewer him with it. I claim her. He planned to take her, then? Her gaze traveled from his woven wool belt of army blue to the muscular tracks that rippled in his belly. The hilt of his knife protruded from a leather scabbard on his hip. How many soldiers had he killed? One, a hundred, perhaps a thousand? Her hair hung from his belt, trailing in a spray of gold down the dark leather on his pants. She felt certain she had never seen him before. Yet he had her hair. The Indian down by the river must have given it to him, and he had come from God only knew where to get her.
Catherine Anderson (Comanche Moon (Comanche, #1))
Eliza woke with a start at an unusual noise. Her eyes widened, her heart refused to beat, and she tried to muffle a scream. She stayed motionless, too afraid to move, to breathe. Eliza’s blood drained from her face and she tried to rouse her companions without frightening the horrid creature, afraid at any moment it would attack. “Kitty! Thomas!” she squeaked, staying still. Neither of them moved. She called for them again, louder this time. Thomas jerked and grabbed at the pistol underneath his side. He stalled for a moment, looking back and forth before his body shook with a bellowing laugh. Awake and giggling, Kitty rested on her elbow next to Eliza. “Liza, how do you always attract those creatures?” “This isn’t funny! Why isn’t it moving? Get it off of me!” Eliza squealed. Her plea only made Thomas laugh harder. How could they possibly find humor in this? “Please! Get it off of me, one of you. Why doesn’t it just leave?” Eliza covered her mouth and breathed through her fingers while the large gray squirrel stared at her from tiny black eyes. “Allow me to rescue you from this dangerous attacker, fair maiden.” Thomas reached over and shooed the animal from its perch on Eliza’s lower leg. It scampered away as Thomas continued chuckling and wiping tears from his eyes. He winked and his smile softened, but not enough to soothe the waves of Eliza’s embarrassment that crashed against her. She sat up straight and pressed her hand to her chest as she tried to calm the rapid thumping of her heart. Thomas pointed out the cave with a tilt to his voice that announced his teasing. “You could have been killed.” His winsome smile almost took away the shame. Almost. “I’m glad you were both so entertained.
Amber Lynn Perry (So Fair a Lady (Daughters of His Kingdom, #1))
Briette sighed. “I don’t think your intentions were bad, Sir Ansley. And in the end, you warned Calister of what the king planned to do. I simply have a favor to ask.” She smiled. “Which brings me to Calister.” Calister stiffened. “At your service, my lady.” Briette raised her voice so they would all hear. “At the castle, King Jarrod tried to have me arrested. Calister not only fended off the knights, he fought actually King Jarrod himself. A man nearly a foot taller and three times his weight. I have never seen such courage. Noble deeds deserve a noble reward, don’t you think? Calister… come here, please.” Calister crept toward her, uncertain. Briette carefully extracted the long sword she wore at her side. “I must ask you to kneel before me.” “Kneel?” Calister looked confused, then his eyes popped with understanding. “Oh!” He dropped to one knee. Briette lifted the sword and touched the flat of it to his shoulder. “Calister, do swear that you will honor and defend the kingdom of Runa under Princess Maelyn?” “I will,” said Calister. “That you will defend truth and justice, and strive to protect those weaker than yourself?” “I will,” said Calister. “And that you will uphold the noble ideals of chivalry to the benefit of your good name and the greater glory of our land?” “I will,” said Calister. Briette smiled. “Then, by the power invested in me, I now dub you Sir Calister, a knight of Runa Realm. Quite possibly the youngest knight this kingdom has ever known. You may rise.” Calister stood, blinking hard to hold back tears. “Th-thank you, my lady. I – I promise to be a faithful knight, and….” His face crumpled and he fell against Briette and squeezed her tightly. “Thank you, my lady!” “Bree. I am always Bree to you,” she said, returning the hug. She could see the servants over his shoulder. Rupy sobbed openly, Sir Ansley beamed with pride, Old Shivey nodded her head, and Havi wore a crooked smile. The duke, however, remained hard and impassive, his eyes turned away. Calister released her and wiped his eyes. Briette turned back to the group. “I will send for Calister in a few days. We shall make arrangements for him to be transferred to Lumen Fortress where he will continue his training with the knights there. Sir Ansley, I will rely on you to check on him regularly and see that he is progressing in his studies. Can you do this?” “Of course I can! Gladly!” said Sir Ansley. “Thank you. His lost hand is but a minor setback and I intend to have equipment made that will compensate for it. And please continue taking him to visit his mother. I’m sure she will be very proud of him.” Calister smiled, his face red. He rubbed his eyes again and laughed at himself. “I’m sorry, a knight shouldn’t cry.” “The good ones do.” Briette grinned and held out the sword. “Here. Take this as my gift to you. And wear it proudly! I’m sure you will have many adventures, Sir Calister.” Calister clasped the sword and bowed grandly. “I will strive to be worthy of this honor, my lady Bree.” “Oh, he’s adorable!” Miriella cried. Maelyn’s smile was more reserved. Briette hadn’t told her that she would knight a fourteen-year-old
Anita Valle (Briette (The Nine Princesses Book 4))
Please don’t.” Ash raised a hand to Cael’s cheek and wiped a tear away. “I hate to see you like this.” “You almost got yourself killed. Why? Because I’m your teammate? Your friend? Because I’m the little brother you never had? What exactly am I to you, Ash? Every time I get my hopes up that you might…. You pull away or do something to make me think I’m wrong.” “You’re not wrong.” Cael took hold of Ash’s hand. “Then why can’t we—” “No.” Ash pulled his hand away, and Dex saw his brother’s heart split in two. Dex would have been royally pissed off at Ash for breaking his brother’s heart like this if it weren’t for the fact the guy looked equally devastated. What Dex couldn’t understand was why? Ash obviously felt something more for Cael than friendship. Dex could see how much he wanted to be with Cael. So why wasn’t he? “I’m sorry, Cael. I can’t.” “Because you’re not gay? Bi? Whatever you want to call the fact you feel something for me? For fuck’s sake, Ash. You’re lying in a hospital bed after surgery for taking a bullet for me. How can that be harder than telling me the truth? I love you.” Ash
Charlie Cochet (Rack & Ruin (THIRDS #3))
Tears blurred my vision and I had to wipe my eyes with my left hand, while holding the hose with my right. For all my efforts, the fire curled tight and fierce up into the darkened sky. And still, the barking continued like a hammer striking raw metal at my back. As I pulled the hose one more time to stretch it to the limit, I sensed movement off to my left. Fletcher Enloe, my neighbor and tireless commentator that city folks, like me, don’t belong in the mountains, emerged from the pine thicket separating our houses. A canvas, pork-pie fishing hat squeezed low over his thick gray hair, and his wiry body listed from the weight of a dark roll slung over his shoulder.
Morgan James (Quiet Killing (Promise McNeal Mysteries Book 2))
Paul did his job—brow mopping, hand-holding, encouraging, supporting. It went on for almost an hour and he watched as Vanni got more and more tired and Mel stayed busy getting ready to catch that baby. While Paul supported Vanni he heard Mel say, “Hold it a little longer…right where you feel the pressure…. Okay, take a breath and push again…. Way to go!” Mel spread out the baby towel on the bed, brought her clamps, suction, scissors to the bed. Finally she said, “I think we’re going to hit pay dirt on this next one, Vanni. Make it a good one.” “Make it a good one, baby,” Paul heard himself say. “Ready, push. Push. Push. Push.” Mel handed Paul a blanket. “Spread this over Vanni’s tummy, Paul. When the baby is delivered, that’s where he’s going. We’re going to dry him off and then rewrap him in a clean, warm blanket. Okay?” “Okay,” he said, mesmerized. Vanni reared up again, pushing. Paul did his job, just as he’d been instructed. “All right!” Mel said. “We’re almost there! I think the next push is going to do it, Vanni. Here we go now.” “Okay honey, here we go,” Paul said. In spite of himself, he was leaning forward, watching, wanting to see this baby being born, wanting to be in on this all the way now. He heard the baby cry, heard Mel exclaim happily. He grabbed the blanket, did his job and out of the womb came this mucky, squalling infant. Oh, man, he looked unhappy. “Whoa,” Paul said with a laugh. “He’s pissed!” Vanni laughed emotionally. Paul stared in wonder at the new life, astonished by what she’d done. Astonished that he’d been there. Then he remembered—he was supposed to do things. Together, he and Mel dried the baby, and while he was helping with that, he couldn’t help counting fingers and toes. He watched Mel clamp and cut, then he wrapped the baby in a new, dry blanket and carefully lifted him. Vanni was struggling to pull herself up a little bit, trying to get the pillows behind her back. Paul held the baby in one arm, assisted her with the other. Then he knelt beside the bed and watched as Vanni snuggled the baby close, gently kissed his head. And, Paul, not completely conscious, rested his lips against Vanni’s shoulder. She turned her head and looked into his eyes. Vanni reached up a hand to his face and wiped the tears from his cheeks. Tears he had absolutely no idea were there. “We’re in business,” Mel said. “Good job. Good, good job.” Paul was exhausted. He lowered his head to Vanni’s shoulder and just lay there for a moment, trying to imagine what she’d just been through. He
Robyn Carr (Whispering Rock (Virgin River, #3))
What’s this?” he asks, sitting forward. I remove the top off the box and take out a pile of pictures. I hand him one. “This is Jacob,” I say. My eyes fill with tears, and I don’t even try to blink them back. I let them fall over my lashes and onto my cheeks. Paul brushes them away, but I really don’t want him to. I want to feel all of this because I have forced myself not to feel it for so very long. “This is when he was born.” I point to the squirmy little ball of red skin and dark hair. Paul looks from me to it. “He looks like you,” he says. I shake my head. “He looks more like his dad, I think.” These fucking tears keep falling. I’m not crying. It’s like someone opened an emotional dam in me and I can’t get it to close. I don’t want it to. “What happened to his dad?” Paul asks. “He died,” I say. I have to stop and clear my throat. “Drug overdose a few years after Jacob was born. I read about it in the paper.” “I’m so sorry.” I sniff. “I am, too.” I feel like I need to explain, and for the first time ever, I want to. “We were young, and we played around with marijuana and stuff. But I cut it all out when I found out I was pregnant with Jacob. He didn’t. He wasn’t able. It was really sad when I couldn’t be with him anymore. I didn’t have anyone else. But I didn’t really have him, either. The drugs had him, you know?” He nods. I hand him more pictures, and he flips through them. I have looked at them so much that they’re dog-eared in places. He holds one up from when Jacob was about three. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t look like you. Look at those eyes! He’s so handsome.” My eyes fill with tears again, but I smile through them. He is perfect. And I should be able to hear someone say so. “Look at that smirk!” Paul cries when he sees the most recent one. “That is so you!” I grin. I guess he’s right. “Where is your family, Friday?” he asks. “I don’t know,” I tell him. I lay my head on his shoulder and watch as he takes in the photos over and over, poring through the stack so he can point out ways that Jacob looks like me. “They kicked me out when I got pregnant. Terminated their rights.” Paul presses his lips to my forehead and doesn’t say anything. “I thought I knew everything back then.” I laugh and wipe my eyes with the hem of my dress. “Turns out I didn’t know shit.” “Do you ever think about looking for them?” I shake my head. “No. Never.” I point to special pictures of my son. “His mom—her name is Jill—she sometimes sends me special milestone pictures. This is his first tooth he got and the first tooth he lost. And this one is from his first step. That wasn’t even part of the agreement. She just does it because she wants me to know how he’s doing.” I try to grin through the tears. “He’s doing so great. He’s smart. And they can send him to college and to special schools. He takes piano, and he plays sports. And Jill says he likes to paint.” My voice cracks, and I don’t hate that it does. I just let it. “Of course, he does. You’re his mother.” “I just wanted to do what was best for him, you know?” This time, I use Paul’s sleeve to wipe my eyes. I blink hard trying to clear my vision. “That’s what parents do. We do what’s in the best interest of our children.” He kisses me softly. “Thank you for showing me these.
Tammy Falkner (Proving Paul's Promise (The Reed Brothers, #5))
I’m so glad you’re home.” I use my voice because I don’t want to take my hands off her. “Me, too,” she says. A lone tear tracks down her cheek. I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb. “You’re back?” I ask. She nods, turning her head to kiss my palm. “For how long?” “Always.” She smiles. God, she can undo me with that smile. “Promise?” My heart is pounding in my chest. She nods and draws a cross over her chest. “I swear it.
Tammy Falkner (Smart, Sexy and Secretive (The Reed Brothers, #2))
He found her in the bathroom, wearing one of his huge T-shirts, and he caught her softly crying. It had been a very long time since he’d seen her tears, and it knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t bear it. “Here, here,” he said, pulling her into his strong embrace. “You’re crying.” She wiped the tears off her cheeks and looked up at him. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I got my period again. I didn’t want it to come. I wanted to be pregnant.” “You weren’t even late,” he said, for he knew everything about her, about her body. You could set a watch by her. “Not even an hour late,” she said, and a big tear spilled over. “Is it a hard one?” he asked tenderly. “No, it’s nothing at all. Except, I thought maybe finally…” “Okay, it’s time,” he said, wiping away the tear. “You should talk to Mel. Maybe to John Stone. See if we should check something out.” “I get the impression that could be expensive.” “Don’t you worry about that,” he said. “Never mind money—this is about us being happy. We want a baby. We should do what we have to do. Right?” “John, I’m sorry—” “Why are you sorry? You’re not in this alone. Everything is both of us. Right?” “Month after month…” “Well, now we’re going to face it and ask for advice. We’ll get some help. No more crying.” But she dropped her head against his chest and wept anyway, and it tore his heart out. He couldn’t stand Paige to be in any kind of pain. He lived for her happiness; she was his world. His life. “Are you crying because you’re PMS-y?” he asked. “No. I don’t think so.” “Cramps? Want me to rub your back?” “No,” she said. “I feel fine. Really.” He lifted her chin and kissed her deeply. Lovingly. Lustfully. “Want me to make you feel a little better? I know how.” “That’s okay, John. There’s no need.” “You don’t have to be shy with me. There’s no part of your life, your body, that puts me off. I love every bit of you.” She sighed deeply. “I should just take a shower and crawl into bed. I’m feeling sorry for myself.” He
Robyn Carr (Whispering Rock (Virgin River, #3))
You are the most amazing woman. You’ve put up with so much of my crap and I pray that you’ll put up with a little more. I’m trying to do the best I can but it’s a process, you know?” She snorted and sniffed, nodding. Wrapping her arms around his neck she buried her face against him. “I love you, Harper. I would have waited for you, but it was getting so hard.” Fresh tears dripped from her jaw but he wiped them away and cupped her face to look at him. “I know, babe, but you don’t have to do it alone now. I promise you I will be here when you need me, any time. And I will never shut off communication like that again. Just write off that year and a half to me being a stupid, stubborn, idiotic man, okay?” Sputtering, she rocked her head against him. “I will,” she whispered. “I love you, Cat. So very much.” “I love you too, you stubborn man.” They
J.M. Madden (Embattled SEAL (Lost and Found #4))
Horatia sucked in a breath at her sister’s brash behavior. Am I the only sane Sheridan in the family? As soon as the question passed her mind she stifled a groan of embarrassment. She was no better than Audrey, really. “And he did it to help you?” Emily sounded dubious. “Oh yes.” Audrey nodded. “But he took some convincing. He was quite angry with me, especially after I accosted him in his own drawing room. The poor man hid behind a couch to escape me.” It was simply too amusing an image, Charles scrambling over furniture to escape the kisses of a pretty debutante. Horatia had to bite down on her fist to still her urge to laugh outright. Emily was not so restrained. “I would have given the world to see that!” she said, gasping for air, laughing. Horatia was wiping tears from her eyes. Audrey was back to her old self, imitating Charles’s fall off the couch when she’d kissed him. She made a theatrical squawk and toppled to the floor with a thud. By now Horatia was laughing so hard she could scarcely breathe. One floor below, Lucien and the other members of the League gazed up at the drawing room’s ceiling. Arms crossed over his chest, he raised a brow as they listened to the strange noises from above. There was a loud shriek, a thud, and hoots of unrestrained laughter. “What the deuce is going on up there?” Charles asked. “Probably jumping on the beds,” Cedric grumbled. “They’re no longer children,” said Lucien. “Someone should tell them.” -Emily, Audrey, Horatia, Charles, Cedric, & Lucien. His Wicked Seduction
Lauren Smith
The end of this short story could be a rather disturbing thing, if it came true. I hope you like it, and if you do, be sure to COMMENT and SHARE. Paradoxes of Destiny? Dani! My boy! Are you all right? Where are you? Have you hurt yourself? Are you all right? Daniiii! Why won’t you answer? It’s so cold and dark here. I can’t see a thing… It’s so silent. Dani? Can you hear me? I shouldn’t have looked at that text message while I was driving… I shouldn’t have done it! I'm so stupid sometimes! Son, are you all right?... We really wrecked the car when we rolled it! I can’t see or hear a thing… Am I in hospital? Am I dead…? Dani? Your silence is killing me… Are you all right?! I can see a glimmer of light. I feel trapped. Dani, are you there? I can’t move. It’s like I’m wrapped in this mossy green translucent plastic. I have to get out of here. The light is getting more and more intense. I think I can tear the wrapping that’s holding me in. I'm almost out. The light is blinding me. What a strange place. I've never seen anything like it. It doesn’t look like Earth. Am I dead? On another planet? Oh God, look at those hideous monsters! They’re so creepy and disgusting! They look like extraterrestrials. They’re aliens! I'm on another planet! I can’t believe it. I need to get the hell out here. Those monsters are going to devour me. I have to get away. I’m so scared. Am I floating? Am I flying? I’m going to go higher to try to escape. I can’t see the aliens anymore and the landscape looks less terrifying. I think I've made it. It’s very windy. Is that a highway? I think I can see some vehicles down there. Could they be the extraterrestrials’ transport? I’m going to go down a bit. I see people! Am I on Earth? Could this be a parallel universe? Where could Dani be? I shouldn’t have looked at that text message while I was driving. I shouldn’t… That tower down there looks a lot like the water tank in my town… It’s identical. But the water tank in my town doesn’t have that huge tower block next to it. It all looks very similar to my neighborhood, but it isn’t exactly the same: there are a lot of tower blocks here. There’s the river… and the factory. It’s definitely my neighborhood, but it looks kind of different. I must be in a parallel universe… It’s amazing that I can float. People don’t seem to notice my presence. Am I a ghost? I have to get back home and see if Dani’s there. God, I hope he’s safe and sound. Gabriela must be out of her mind with the crash. There’s my house! Home sweet home. And whose are those cars? The front of the house has been painted a different color… This is all so strange! There’s someone in the garden… Those trees I planted in the spring have really grown. Is… is that… Dani? Yes, yes! It’s Dani. But he looks so different… He looks older, he looks… like a big boy! What’s important is that he’s OK. I need to hug him tight and tell him how much I love him. Can he see me if I’m a ghost? I'll go up to him slowly so I don’t scare him. I need to hold him tight. He can’t see me, I won’t get any closer. He moved his head, I think he’s started to realize I’m here… Wow I’m so hungry all of a sudden! I can’t stop! How are you doing, son?! It’s me! Your dad! My dear boy? I can’t stop! I'm too hungry! Ahhhh, so delicious! What a pleasure! Nooo Daniii! Nooooo!.... I’m your daaaad!... Splat!... “Mum, bring the insect repellent, the garden’s full of mosquitoes,” grunted Daniel as he wiped the blood from the palm of his hand on his trousers. Gabriela was just coming out. She did an about turn and went back into her house, and shouted “Darling, bring the insect repellent, it’s on the fireplace…” Absolute cold and silence… THE END (1) This note is for those who have read EQUINOX—WHISPERS OF DESTINY. This story is a spin-off of the novel EQUINOX—WHISPERS OF DESTINY and revolves around Letus’s curious theories about the possibility of animal reincarnation
Gonzalo Guma (Equinoccio. Susurros del destino)
Would you like something to eat?" "No." "A little water to drink, then?" "I do not want anything." "But you must be hungry . . . thirsty . . ." "Please, child.  Just leave me alone." He needed to grieve in privacy, to try to come to terms with what had happened to him, to think what to do next.  He needed to contact his commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Maddison; he needed to get a letter off to Lucien in England; and oh, God, he needed Juliet.  Badly.  He dug his knuckles into his eyes to stop the sudden threat of tears.  Oh, so very, very badly — He wiped a hand over his face, and as he did, his elbow hit a tankard the girl, who was getting to her feet, was holding, sloshing its contents all down his chin and neck. Charles's temper, normally under as tight a control as everything else about him, exploded. "Plague take it, woman, just leave me the devil alone!  I am in torment enough without someone trying to nanny me!" "I'm only trying to help —" "Then go away and leave me be, damn you!" he roared, plowing his fingers into his hair and gathering great hunks of it in his fists.  "Go away, go away, go away!" Stunned silence.  And then he heard her get to her feet. "I'm sorry, Captain de Montforte.  I should have realized that you'd need time to come to terms with what's happened to you."  A pause.  "I'll leave this jug of hard cider next to you in case you get thirsty.  It's not as potent as rum, but maybe it'll let you escape from your troubles for a while."  Her voice had lost its sparkle, and Charles knew then — much to his own dismay and self-loathing — that she was a sensitive little thing beneath that cheerfulness, and that he'd hurt her feelings.  He suddenly felt like a monster, especially when her voice faltered and she said, "I'll be just across the room, peeling vegetables for supper . . . if you need anything, just call and I'll be right there." She
Danelle Harmon (The Beloved One (The De Montforte Brothers, #2))
What happened?” Even in the darkness, he could see her cheeks color in embarrassment. “I saw a spider. I know it was foolish to take a shot at the damned thing, but it frightened me. I hate being afraid.” “A spider,” he echoed like a half-wit. “You tried to shoot a spider.” Relief replaced his terror. “I thought you—” Mirthless laughter broke off his tirade. “You thought I tried to do myself in?” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Do you truly think I would take such a drastic measure after hearing a bit of unpleasant news? And if I did, that I would utilize such a messy, crude method? In such a case I would likely use poison…or leap from one of those high cliffs into the sea…” “Enough!” Vincent cut her off. “I am sorry I caused you undue alarm, my lord.” Her voice remained unnaturally brittle. “I merely wanted a few minutes of solitude, a peaceful nighttime walk. Y-you may return to your guest.” The
Brooklyn Ann (One Bite Per Night (Scandals with Bite, #2))
You told your brother and some guy I don’t even know the things I told you in confidence.” “Yes.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m not sure this helps, but Charlie knows Logan.” “You talked to Charlie?” “Yes, he helped us with the details I didn’t know.” “So you went behind my back, talked to my friends, and told your brothers and some guy everything.” She pressed her lips together. “Yes.” “And you told them things about the blackmail that’s not public knowledge.” Maddie swallowed hard as her throat constricted. “I did.” “I trusted you with information about my family that nobody knows.” “Mitch, I’d never jeopardize you or your family. I’d never tell them if I didn’t trust them implicitly. You know that.” She had to make him understand. He leaned forward, putting elbows on his knees. “I want you to leave.” “What? No. Let me explain.” The blood rushed in her ears as a wave of hot dizziness engulfed her. Fear and desperation warred inside her. “I’m sorry, but you wouldn’t listen.” “You didn’t ask.” Flat. She wrung her hands. “You would have said no.” “I see,” he said, so coldly that it was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. “So that makes it right? You didn’t think I’d agree, so you went behind my back, talked to my friends, your family, and some black-ops guy, revealing the things I’ve told you in private, because you know best?” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yes, the same way you went behind my back and stalled the repairs on my car so I wouldn’t leave.” His head snapped back. “That’s not the same thing, Maddie.” “You lied, just like me. You went behind my back. Just like me.” She hoped he could see reason, but his expression said otherwise. “I told you those things,” he said through gritted teeth, “because I thought I could trust you.” “You can.” Her stomach clenched. “The evidence says otherwise, now doesn’t it?” Cold, cold words. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please understand, I did it for you.” “No, you didn’t. You did it for you,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Tell me something. Why are you so interested in meddling in my life when you have your own to worry about?” She reared back, stepping toward the door, unable to figure out how to handle this dead, cold Mitch who treated her like a stranger. “I wanted to help you.” “You know how you could have helped me?” There was a cruel twist to his lips. “By being the one fucking person who didn’t betray me.” “I didn’t. That’s not what . . .” She trailed off, feeling helpless. She hung her head and said softly, “I’d never betray you.” “Bullshit. If you thought what you were doing was right, you would have talked to me. ” This ice. She’d prepared for fire, for burning anger, not this. She had no defense. No plan. She walked over to him and fell to her knees, taking his hands in hers. He didn’t even flinch. It was like he was made of stone, and she met his eyes. Hard chips of gold. “Mitch, I’m sorry, I wanted to help.” He studied her as though she was a stranger. “You need to leave now.” The words were a crushing blow, threatening to break her. She did the only thing she could think of and confessed the truth. “I love you.” His mouth firmed. Eyes flashing, he pulled away and stood, moving around her and going over to the window that overlooked the nearly deserted parking lot. “I need you to leave.” Her heart shattered into a million pieces and desolation swept over her. She hadn’t felt anything like this since her father had died and she’d woken in a hospital bed. That same heavy weight crushed her chest, numbing her limbs. Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she wiped them away. Her voice trembled as she spoke, already knowing the answer but unable to keep from asking the question. “Is there anything I can do?” “Yes.” His tone was distant and unreachable. “Leave.” There
Jennifer Dawson (Take a Chance on Me (Something New, #1))
I see the shomrim, the community guardians, pull up at the house next door in their armored jackets with the neon logo on the back, stepping off motorized bikes. Three bearded men drag a young black teenager by his hands, and I can see he hangs heavily between them. “That boy can’t be older than fourteen!” says Bubby, looking down at the captured culprit. “For what does he have to steal, so he can be in a gang? Ach, so sad, from so young they are already trouble.” The shomrim members crowd around the quivering boy. I watch them kick him mercilessly until he is sobbing and wailing, “I din’t do nuttin’, I swear! I din’t do nuttin’!” He cries out his one defense, over and over, begging for mercy. The men beat him for what seems like forever. “You think you can come in here and do what you want? Impress your friends? Where are your friends now, huh?” they ask mockingly. “You think you can bring your filthy kind into this neighborhood? Oh no, not here. No, we won’t call the police, but we’ll take care of you like no one else can, you understand?” “Yes, yes, I understand . . .,” the boy wails. “Let me go, please, I din’t do nuttin’!” “If we catch one of you here ever again, we’ll kill you, you hear? We’ll kill you! You tell your little friends that, you tell them never to come near us again or we will rain hell down on their black souls.” They step back, and the young man lifts himself up and flees into the night. The shomrim get back on their bikes, brushing off their shiny jackets. Within fifteen minutes, the street is as silent as death again. I feel sick. Bubby pulls her head back in from the window. “Ah mazel,” she says, “so lucky we are to have our own police force, when the real police can’t catch a nut when it falls from a tree. We have no one to depend on, Devoraleh,” she says, looking at me, “except our own. Don’t forget that.” I chastise myself once again for feeling compassion at the inappropriate time. For the teenager I should not feel pity, because he is the enemy. I should feel bad for poor Mrs. Deutsch, who got the fright of her life and lost all her precious silver heirlooms. I know this, and yet I wipe shameful tears from my cheek. Luckily no one can see them in the dark.
Deborah Feldman (Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots)
If it means I get to spend the rest of my life with you.” She gave me a shy smile. “We’ll have to see,” she said. “We just met, you know.” “I’m in love with you.” Her lower lip started to tremble. “You’re sure about that?” “Yes. I am. Because it’s true.” She smiled at me, but I also saw that she was crying. “I’m sorry for breaking things off with you,” she said. “For disappearing from your life. I just—” “It’s OK,” I said. “I understand why you did it now.” She looked relieved. “You do?” I nodded. “You did the right thing.” “You think so?” “We won, didn’t we?” She smiled at me, and I smiled back. “Listen,” I said. “We can take things as slow as you like. I’m really a nice guy, once you get to know me. I swear.” She laughed and wiped away a few of her tears, but she didn’t say anything. “Did I mention that I’m also extremely rich?” I said. “Of course, so are you, so I don’t suppose that’s a big selling point.” “You don’t need to sell me on anything, Wade,” she said. “You’re my best friend. My favorite person.” With what appeared to be some effort, she looked me in the eye. “I’ve really missed you, you know that?” My heart felt like it was on fire. I took a moment to work up my courage; then I reached out and took her hand. We sat there awhile, holding hands, reveling in the strange new sensation of actually touching one another. Some time later, she leaned over and kissed me. It felt just like all those songs and poems had promised it would. It felt wonderful. Like being struck by lightning. It occurred to me then that for the first time in as long as I could remember, I had absolutely no desire to log back into the OASIS. For Susan and Libby
Ernest Cline (Ready Player One (Ready Player One, #1))
To lift a gun from lap to temple takes only a moment. It happens so fast it’s done before you know it, and you’re wiping the warm bits and pieces of a lost cause off your cheeks while salty tears fall.
Daniel Pyne (Water Memory (Aubrey Sentro, #1))
When at last he took off his glasses, the sun was setting, casting the lake in coppers and golds. He wiped away tears and put his glasses back on. Then he looked over, gave me a sad, sweet smile, and put his palm across his heart. “Forgive an old man his memories,” Pino said. “Some loves never die.
Mark T. Sullivan (Beneath a Scarlet Sky)
Lewis!” The boy jumped and spun around. “What?” “Keep that animal away from my crates.” Tori drew in a breath and deliberately calmed her voice. “Have him play on the other side of you, dear, where there’s more open space for him to explore. And if you think he might need to . . . um . . . water the flowers, let me know at once and we’ll—” Masculine laughter cut off her words. “Water the flowers?” Ben tipped his head back and laughed all the harder. It didn’t take more than a heartbeat for Lewis to join him. “Your ma’s sure got a way with words.” The freighter wiped at his eyes, and for the first time Tori found herself envious. Envious of his unfettered emotion. She used to laugh like that, so hard tears leaked from her eyes. She missed it. Missed the innocent girl who saw the world as full of possibilities instead of threats. Lewis picked Hercules up and dutifully moved him to the other side of his sprawled legs to keep the pup away from the crates. “Aw, she just don’t like talkin’ about—” “Lewis.” Tori gave him a stern look, her warning tone eliciting a pair of irritating male grins. “Womenfolk are like that,” Ben said, turning back to face the road, but not before he winked conspiratorially at her son. “My ma used to say, ‘answerin’ the call of nature.’ And she always blushed when she said it.” He aimed a sideways glance at Tori, and her cheeks immediately heated. Traitorous things. “Well, I don’t think Hercules will need to water the flowers any time soon.” Lewis snickered. “He watered the porch steps at Sarah’s house before we left.” Tori
Karen Witemeyer (Worth the Wait (Ladies of Harper’s Station, #1.5))
My first instinct when I get angry is to come back even harder, to hurt the other person as much as I can. But I don’t want you to leave, and I’m sorry for scaring you by beating the shit out of Dan. I am trying to change, change for you . . . to be what you deserve, but it’s hard for me. Especially when you do things to purposely piss me off,” he says. He brings his hand to my cheek and wipes the drying tears left there. “I wasn’t scared of you,” I say.
Anna Todd (After (After, #1))