Afterword
Still with me? Hating me right now? Yeah, I get that. Sorry! Just know that the next book will be hot and soothe away a lot of the damage this book caused in all the best sexy ways. Thanks for sticking with Eden and her men!
HUGE thank you to the sweetest girl, my niece, Mariah for letting me ramble on about these stories and helping me climb out of plot holes. I wouldn’t be able to find the magic without you. Also, thank you for loving my books so much that you walked into a beam because you couldn’t put it down. So glad you didn’t need stitches!
My ride or die, Rachelle, who listens to me panic when I just know I won’t get the book done by deadline and just rolls her eyes and says, “Shut up and write, bitch. You know you can do it.” She never stops believing in me and it is…everything.
Another huge thank you to Tiffany for coming to my rescue with a last minute beta read. You have no idea how much I appreciate it and all the wonderful suggestions that only made this book better!
As always, my amazing husband and kids who let me disappear for weeks at a time to live in my stories and all the Bingham’s who let me squat on their land to binge write in my camper. So much love to you all!
Reese
Dying To Love – Preview
Kelsey
Isnuggle deeper under the comforter, trying to find the will to get up and face another day but sometimes the emptiness of my existence makes me want to just not bother. Waking up to this emptiness, this desire to just quit, is becoming more and more frequent as the days go by. As I stare up at the ceiling, I wonder if today is the day that I'll finally find the courage to end it all. Even though I’ve just woken up I’m exhausted and it takes everything I have to throw back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed to the floor. There’s a wall of mirrors that hides the closet that I’m facing and I take stock of my ragged appearance. Limp, greasy hair the color of mahogany falls tangled and dull just below my breasts in length. Dark purple smudges look like shadows below my lifeless gray eyes. Eyes that are practically hidden under brows that haven’t seen a tweezer in months. My skin is dull, even with the light tan I’ve gotten from all the work I put in on the crops. I make a face as my gaze goes lower and shift slightly to the side so that I can see the outline of my ribs through the tight tank I wore to bed. I’m at least twenty pounds under a healthy weight and it's not even because of a lack of food.
Cooking and sitting down to a meal for one just emphasizes how alone I am and has stolen most of my appetite so now I just nibble quick bites here and there throughout the day, never sitting down to a full meal. My lips tug up in a smirk as I look at the forest of hair that's grown out on my pale legs and I wonder briefly if I could braid that shit. I could start a new style if there was anyone left alive to follow it. Apocalypse body braids, yeah, it could totally be a trend.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I've been here before. This state of mind. This is the start of a steep slide that ends with a gun barrel pressed against my forehead and my finger hovering over the trigger.
Tara settles onto the bed beside me and looks at my reflection in the mirror with an amused smirk.
“Damn, girl! When you let yourself go, you fully commit and go all the way. Look at that leg hair. You bringing bush back in style too?”
Her laughter rings out as I glare at her in the mirror and spit out, “I didn’t let go all the way or I’d be with you instead of stuck here alone!” Turning away from her I mutter under my breath, “bitch.”
She rolls her eyes and bumps me with her shoulder. “Whatevs, we’ve already covered that. You know I wanted to be with Ryan. Besties trump a lot of things, but not true love. Sorry.” She pins me with her signature “You’re an idiot” look and shakes her head.
“Come on, you got to move past that. You’re the last one standing so make it fucking count.” She wrinkles her nose and waves a finger back and forth and up and down my body. “Fix this shit cause that’s just sad and an affront to all women. You know what you need to do. Round up the girls and make a plan to kick-start your vibe again.”
I close my eyes and breathe out so I don’t blast her with all the angry words that I have bottled up inside, but when I open them again, she’s gone. The ache in my chest flares to life, making me want to join her so badly but her pep talk and the small stubborn spark that still exists in my heart forces me to my feet in defiance. Time to pack that shit away and change the channel. Tara’s right. I need a jump start.
It's time for a hen party. As Taylor used to sing, I need to shake it off - and the best way to do that is to dance. First thing’s first, if I'm going to go and have a girls' night, I need to clean up the hot mess my appearance has become and that means it’s going to be a high-maintenance, full works, spa day.
I lean over and sort through the pile of dirty laundry on the floor and my nose wrinkles at the rancid smell that wafts up. Oh-kay. So laundry and a full camper cleanup will have to go on today's list too. I finally locate a semi-clean hoodie with only a few questionable stains and throw it over my sleep tank top, not bothering with pants to go over the booty shorts I am wearing. It's not like there's anyone around to see anyway. Three carpeted steps take me down out of the bedroom to the main level of the 5thwheel trailer I call home.
The clean slate state of mind I’m trying to overwrite my depression with has me looking critically at the mess that I've let my small kitchen become. Dirty plates, glasses, and cups litter the counters and fill the sink. I shake my head at how lost I have been for the past few weeks to let it get so bad. So, a full day of physical and mental maintenance it is, body and living space - before I end the night with a few cocktails and some dancing with my girls. It won't magically fix everything that's wrong with me but it's a good first step.
My gaze lands on the hand-drawn calendar I’ve tacked to the wall and I mentally add another day to my tally. It’s been 662 days since the dead rose up to destroy the world as I knew it and 413 days since I last spoke to another living person. If I want to quit my slow descent into darkness, I have to believe there are others out there and one day I won’t be alone anymore. I find a travel mug to pour coffee into before jamming my feet into a pair of rubber boots and open the camper door to a beautifully sunny, late June day. I stand stock-still for a few moments, listening closely. I can hear leaves rustling in the light breeze but no sounds of the moaning dead. Maybe it will be a good day.
My eyes scan the small apocalypse empire I am the Queen of, all ten acres of it. Seven of the acres are dedicated to crops and gardens that I only actually need a fraction of to survive. The extra I just keep canning, dehydrating, and storing away for that mythical day when there will hopefully be more mouths to feed. Besides, what else do I really have to do to fill the long hours of each day?
Two acres are stacked end to end with solar panels that make life after civilization a little more bearable. The power they produce means that I’m two steps up from a pioneer woman and I don’t have to hand scrub my laundry … yay me. The last acre has the three RV campers we brought here to live in. Only mine is used to live in. The other two are crammed full of scavenged supplies that I will never use up by myself, but again - one day.
The campers back onto a wall of rock that goes up at least fifty feet and bolted into it halfway up is a massive, heavy tarp that juts out at an angle to cover all three campers. It’s supported by wooden frames at both ends and two more frames between the campers and gives me a large protected outdoor living space. There are three sets of patio furniture, fireplace tables, grilling stations, and patio heaters in front of each of the campers that were all used in the beginning but now sit covered in dust and blown leaves. Sitting around a fire and making s’mores for one lost its appeal pretty fucking quick.
If I squint, I can make out the ivy-covered inner fence that surrounds my empire and keeps me safe, or a prisoner depending on my outlook for the day. Today, I’m choosing to feel safe.
I take a big slug of coffee and get on with it, starting with turning back inside and gathering up all the gross clothing littering my bedroom floor and dresser and carrying it over to the middle camper that has a small washer and dryer in it. I have to wait for the water heater to heat up but once it’s ready I get the first load going and search for the beauty supplies Tara insisted we scavenge and haul back when we were first getting this place set up.
After the fences, security, food, and basics were stocked up, Tara and Lisa convinced the guys we needed to do a luxury run. By that point, we had leveled up so high in this zombie apocalypse game that it was an easy run to do, as were the next two. That’s how we ended up living the high life with every want we could think of scavenged and stored away.
I lay the beauty tools and products out on the dining table and dive in. I choose a cherry-colored tint for my hair and while it processes, start ripping hair from all over my body with wax strips. Legs, pits, and lady bits are attacked with much cursing and screeching but by the time the color rinse in my hair is ready to be washed out I’m as smooth as an egg and really fucking pink in places from the abuse. I jump in the camper shower and scrub from head to toe while my hair gets a deep condition. By the time I get out, the water is cold and I feel a little more like my old self. Fat rollers go up and will stay for the rest of the day until my hair dries while I go to work plucking and shaping my brows back into two distinct shapes rather than the unibrow they have been growing into. Just to ramp up the fun, I add a few falsies to bulk up my lashes and get to work on my makeup. A girl’s night of drinks and dancing calls for a bit of extra so I wing my eyes with liner and brush on a smoky eyeshadow look. When I finally lean back from the mirror and get the overall look at my face, I’m smacked hard by memories of me, Tara and Lisa crowded into Tara’s bathroom as we did our faces for a night of clubbing. When tears well up I force myself to blink them away. Tara would kick my ass if I ruined the smoky eye look I had nailed.
The first load of laundry goes into the dryer and I attack my nails and toes. Trimming, shaping, and painting them a pretty peach color for the season. Other than my hair and dress that I will do later, I’m done with the beauty maintenance portion of getting my shit together. Next up, decontaminate my camper.
