In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Elaine: I just saw your missed calls. Sorry, I didn't pick up. I was in a six-hour surgery. You stopped calling, so I'm assuming everything worked out?
Paris: Yes. She let me inside.
Elaine: Great! I can barely keep my eyes open to write this message, Paris. But before I go to sleep, I just want to thank you again for doing this.
Paris: It's not a problem, Elaine. I'll let you know if anything comes up.
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I'M DEAD ON MY feet when my plane lands in New York, and thankful that the taxi Everett promised would take me to Manhattan is sitting right outside the airport. I approach the skinny redhead leaning against a yellow taxi, and he lowers the sign that has my name written on a blue Bristol board.
“You Paris?”
“That depends. You, Benny?” We shake hands, and he offers to help me put my suitcases in his trunk.
“Everett said I should look for a big, ugly guy with tattoos,” Benny tells me when we're driving through the city that never sleeps.
“How much extra did he pay you to make sure I knew he said that?”
“Fifty bucks,” he answers, smirking at me and flashing a gold canine. I can't stop the smile from pulling at my lips. It's undoubtedly the kind of thing Everett would do, and as much as I hate to admit it, I've missed the fucker. I take my phone out of my pocket and try to call Elaine again, but just like before, my calgoes to her voicemail. I leave a message after the sixth attempt and hope she gets it. Trepidation thrums under my skin the closer we get to Manhattan, and I tip my head back against my seat, letting my eyes fall shut. This is a bad idea. Heaven knows I've tried putting Reagan Sinclair out of my head, but it's been an irritating, impossible thing. Every day for the past year and a half, I've thought about her. Wondering if she's alright. If she's sleeping enough or eating enough. I've never believed in the whole love at first sight, fate, and the universe bullshit, but the second I saw her, I felt.....something. This tug in my chest. I couldn't look away. I didn't want to.
The sight of her hit me like a hurricane, and as beautiful as she was, there was nothing about her that should have demanded my attention. But something did, all the same. She was willowy but petite and had the same patch of white staining the front of her forehead and hair, exactly like her mother's. Only made more noticeable against the brown of her skin. I had to make a conscious effort to stop staring at the raven curls hanging wild and untamed down her back. The way rainbow hues shone through the stained-glass windows of the chapel and made them glow almost red. It made her look otherworldly, angelic. She sat there in the front pew with her parents, her head bent and her fingers rhythmically tapping against her thighs, and I couldn't, not for the life of me, look away.
