The 52nd (The 52nd Saga Book 1) (46 page)

He breathed out a deep, piercing sigh and looked away. “That’s all I wanted to say. I needed to get it off my
chest.”

“I’m glad you told me this.” When he shivered and put his hands in his pockets, I recalled the poster in the front with his name on it. “Are you singing tonight?”

“Yeah. Will you be here to hear
it?”

I poked his arm playfully. “Are you kidding?”

“Good,” he smiled. His bottom lip trembled as he shivered again. “Let’s get inside. It’s freezing out
here.”

The convention hall had been transformed into a spectacular ballroom. The round tables circling the dance floor were decorated with candles and feathers and shiny silver ornaments. Swaths of fabric draped from the ceiling. Above the stage on one end of the hall, a large screen played the news channel, showing the east coast crowds at Times Square just moments after the ball dropped. They were hollering, “Happy New Year!” and sharing wild
kisses.

Lucas, Gabriella, and Dylan were standing around a table with Bri, Ashley, and Tana. As the girls’ gazes snapped to us, it was hard to say whether they approved of the makeover or disapproved of my injuries. My nerves frayed. They wore cocktail dresses, probably something they’d picked up on sale at the local department store, with cheaper fabric and uneven seams. For a moment I wished I was dressed like them: plainer, less attention-grabbing. And then Gabriella glanced at me, proud of her work, and I felt grateful.

Lucas fixed his gaze on Jett as we
neared.

“Thanks, Lucas, for letting me borrow her for a few minutes,” Jett
said.

Everyone stared at Jett, shocked at his civil statement, and doubly so when Lucas stretched his hand out. Jett looked down, confused as I, and then shook
it.

“Thanks for not making me come looking for her,” Lucas replied coolly, though I felt the truth behind
it.

Jett shot me a cracked smile and turned to Lucas. “I would never hurt
her.”

When they broke their stare, Jett turned his back to Lucas and closed the space between
us.

“I’ve got to go backstage. See you around?” he
asked.

“Sure.” I
nodded.

“You were right, Gabriella,” Bri started as Jett walked toward the stage. “It doesn’t look like
her.”

Ashley touched my hair. “Gabriella, you’ve got to show me how you did
this.”

“Extensions,” Gabriella
said.

I knew
it.

Someone tapped the microphone, and we turned toward the stage as New York City faded off the
screen.

“Welcome to the Lodge’s fifth annual New Year’s Ball,” a lean man with mousy hair said. “The countdown to the new year draws near, and I know you’re all anxious, but first we have a special program for you. Our first guest this evening is a very talented young man who was recently invited by Gold Label Records to tour this summer. I wouldn’t be surprised if the label picks him up afterward. We were thrilled when he agreed to sing for us tonight. So, ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for our very own Jett Christensen!”

The crowd rose to its feet, clapping as the lights dimmed, and Jett’s dark figure walked to the center of the stage. He sat down on a barstool and propped one leg up as he adjusted his shoulder strap. Then he strummed his guitar once, and a spotlight beamed down on him. My ears rang as girls shrieked and ran to the stage. I rolled my eyes, though I maybe felt slightly jealous of their swooning nonsense, in which case I was grateful Lucas couldn’t see my
face.

Jett paused, waiting for the screaming to stop, and when it didn’t, he casually waved his
hand.

“I just wanted to thank you all for being here tonight. I love singing, and I appreciate your support. This first song I’m going to sing I wrote for a girl who has been my best friend for many years. But I made a mistake, a big one. And if I could take it back, I
would.”

He looked in my direction, though he probably couldn’t see me in the spotlight’s glare, and a lump congealed in my throat. A few woos rose from the crowd, and he chuckled to himself. They shushed as he pulled the microphone
closer.

“I’d like to give some words of advice to you men out there, which I can, ’cause you know, I’m speaking from experience. Don’t waste any time telling the woman you love how you feel, because before you know it, some other man might say it first and take her away from
you.”

No he didn’t.
I stiffened, mortified, and then checked Lucas, who was statue
still.

Jett held his hand up to the awwing crowd and shook his head, looking pleased. “Yes, I know. I lost.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She fell in love with someone else because I was stupid and immature.” He strummed a chord on his guitar and leaned into the microphone again. “But I learned something, and that is that I will
never
make that mistake
again.”

More awws filled the room. It made me want to shrivel up and
die.

“So she is here tonight,” he announced through the
mic.

Heads turned in every direction, trying to find her . . . trying to find me. I forgot to breathe until Lucas slid his arm around my waist, easing the immense pressure in my throat and releasing the breath caught behind
it.

Jett found me in the crowd and whispered into the microphone, “And I am dedicating this song to
her.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Bri staring, admiring what Jett had just done.
That is so sweet,
she mouthed. I nodded in agreement and leaned happily into my prince, feeling his warm body pressed next to
mine.

Why did it have to be the most perfect song? Jett hit every note true, even when he went into falsetto. He sang it with soul, with visible emotion. In that moment, I felt what he did, I really did. But how could I choose between an immortal who’d been waiting hundreds of years for me and a human boy pouring out his heart to me? What more could any human do than be as completely vulnerable and honest as he was right
now?

Jett sang a few more songs, some faster, upbeat ones, with keyboard, drums, and other instruments backing him up. In the middle of one of his songs, a boy came out with a microphone in hand and sang in unison with Jett. Bri screamed. I wondered why her eyes were popping out, but then I recognized him. He was the lead singer of one of her favorite rock bands, known for his great dark hair and sexy
voice.

Jett looked happy on the stage. It was a good direction for him. He was meant to be in the spotlight, but that truth made me anxious. I couldn’t bear to not see him after this. If this really happened for him, he would travel and meet new people. I was proud of how far Jett had come with his career, but I didn’t like the feeling of him leaving me forever.

Lucas was trying to read my blank expression.

“What is wrong?” he
asked.

“Just thinking about next
year.”

“What about
it?”

“Well, look at Jett. I think it’s kind of obvious that he is going to move to Los Angeles and make it
big.”

“So?”

“So, we have been friends for so long. It just makes me sad that we are growing up. Life isn’t the same anymore.”

“That may be true. But growing up is a good thing, Zara.”

The guilt came as I felt his envy of my ability to age. “I know, you’re right. It’s just hard saying good-bye to
people.”

“Good-bye to people, or good-bye to Jett?” Lucas wondered.

My mind weighed heavier, imagining all the people Lucas had said good-bye to, and now I could be one of them. I’d cause him more pain. This was a sick game we played, but I couldn’t
not
play; I loved him too much. I paused to clear the thought, eventually letting the truth settle in, and then answered hesitantly, “The
former.”

Lucas didn’t answer. We both stood still, watching silently as Jett wrapped up on stage. When a new performer took over, Lucas
moved.

“Want to go outside?” he asked. I nodded quietly.

He helped me to the balcony where Jett and I had talked earlier. Lucas handed me his jacket because I’d forgotten mine in the
car.

“Thanks,” I said, sliding into the lined jacket, which smelled like warm, fresh coconut.

“Can I ask you something?” he
said.

“Anything.”

I was wary about what he would say, and I watched him carefully as I felt my nose changing colors. It hurt to breathe in the sharp pinch of coldness. His nose, of course, stayed the same color. He stepped closer nervously, his shirt brushing against my dress and the bandages beneath
it.

“I
need
to ask you this,” he said, his chin almost touching my forehead as he looked
down.

“What?” I asked, suddenly weakened by his proximity.

His eyes didn’t waver from mine. “Do you love
Jett?”

“Why . . .” I shook my head, feeling almost upset. “Why would you ask
that?”

“You’re incredible.” Lucas smiled, though it was crooked.

“Why?”

“Because you are more powerful than you know,” he said, his face unchanging
now.

I looked back blankly.

“You have both Jett and I locked inside a cage. Each of us wanting your love, right?”

“Well,
you
have it,” I assured
him.

“That may be, but what about Jett? Someone locked in a cage will do only one thing: try to get
out.”

I wasn’t following, so I just looked at
Lucas.

His feet shuffled through the grainy snow, but then his calmness evaporated and he burst out, “You can’t keep Jett locked up if you are planning to be with me, or anyone else for that matter. It isn’t fair. If you care for him, you will let him go. Let him move on and be
happy.”

His bluntness stunned me at first, and then its unvarnished principle stung my core. It was the truth. I couldn’t hold on to Jett and move on with Lucas. It was like trying to live in summer and winter at the same time. It was impossible. One had to
go.

“I know!” I lowered my head and fussed with the buttons of his shirt, the feeling of losing Jett still settling into my heart. “You’re right,” I whispered. “I let him go. I told him so earlier.”

“I’m not trying to be right. I just want you to know how I feel.” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed gently. “It’s unfortunate that you were Jett’s worst mistake, because you were by far my best mistake.”

I squeezed back and breathed in his tropical scent. “And I want you to know how I feel. I want
you
 . . . I just hope we know what we’re
doing.”

There was a clear expression of fear on his face before he pressed his forehead to mine. “I don’t want to lose
you.”

“You’re not,” I
said.

“No, I mean, I don’t want to
lose
you.”

The reality of our conversation went from sad to horrifying as he finally realized the time bomb that was our relationship. I shivered, picturing myself seventy years from now. I couldn’t think of that now. He cinched my young self tightly, until I could feel his belt buckle pressed against my
belly.

The music inside suddenly blared, shaking the double-paned windows. But it didn’t break his fond stare as I grazed my fingertips along his cheek and then upward across his forehead, searching for anything like me—a wrinkle, a mole, a crease. But his face was perfectly polished, except for the short hairs shadowing his chin. My eyes fluttered as I tried to regain the breath he’d unintentionally stolen.
He will always be this beautiful.

“I am not going to lose you,” he
said.

I twisted my fingers into his. “In time you may, but as long as I live, you will always have my
heart.”

Lucas joined our lips, a graze barely there before he straightened up. He led me inside to join the others as the last few minutes of the year drifted by in laughter, singing, and dancing, not caring how silly we looked in fancy clothes and cheap New Year’s
hats.

Then, as the clock counted down, we chanted as a group, “Ten, nine, eight . . .”

Lucas drew me into his arms and stilled, keeping me tucked into him as he smiled. “Happy New
Year.”

“Happy New Year,” I responded.

And then I leaned in to kiss my
prince.

Acknowledgments

In honor of finishing my first novel, I am putting on my headphones and pushing play on my playlist, Zama, one last time. After all, that’s what THE 52ND was called for three years before deciding on the title. Zama—once the name of Tulum, meaning “City of Dawn” because it faced the sunrise—always had a place in my heart from the moment it was created. To this day, I occasionally use the
name.

I want to publicly thank my wonderful husband, Rodney, who through the end has been here at my side—sending emails, making phone calls, and going on late night food runs—and thanks to my small nuggets; Luke, Mia, and Chloe. The sacrifices that my family made in order for me to complete this journey were incredible. It wasn’t easy, and most times it felt like we were slugging through the trenches of mac ‘n’ cheese, cereal, frozen burritos, and Eggo Waffles.

Thank you to my Pubslush supporters who surprised me with their high donations: Alberto De La Paz (my funny, Latino dad), Daryl Carlson, Jamie Feller, Audrey Miller, and Ryanne Nigro. I still can’t seem to comprehend the generosity, love, and interest that each of you have shown over the course of publishing.

Thank you my beloved beta readers. Without your opinions—and fearlessness to tell me those opinions—THE 52ND wouldn’t be the same. Zara might have still been in high school, Lucas would have repeated the same shiz over and over, and their relationship would have been dull: Ashley Davidson; Kaymee Cottrell; Lindsey Bailey; Amber Stewart; Morgan Baldwin; Charlie Melvin; Erin Burton; Katie Gregory; Ashley Gaskell; and mi abuela, Bertha Szilady, aka “Grandma Titi” Titina.

Okay okay, Charlie deserves a little more. She helped me with my very first draft. That alone merits her a special spot in here, not to mention the hours she took reviewing and pointing out my mistakes. Love you, prima. Let’s go to Cancun now . . . on
me.

And my fabulous team: Kellie Hultgren, my power editor who gives harsh truths in the gentlest way possible . . . she says it how it is. Kellie had me working so hard my brain still hurts. Thanks to Jay Monroe for the design. Where did you come from, Jay?! The first draft he showed me was magic, no changes needed—it blew my mind. Amy Quale, my Wise Ink manager. Let’s go to conception; thank you for being at the Writer’s Digest Conference in LA. I know you traveled far to be there, but phew, THE 52ND and you were a pair meant to
be.

And lastly, thank you, my readers. This story was never supposed to be for me. It was always meant for
you.