“Huh?”
She reached to her neck and wrapped her fingers delicately around the necklace. A strange sense of calm washed over her as she turned her back on Nick forever, and walked down the hallway. “Go back to Madison. You two were made for each other.”
3:59 A.M.
“Are you sure?” Nick says.
Jo nods. “It’s the least I can do.”
Nick’s face is anxious. “And she’ll see it?”
Jo shrugs. “She should. She’s seen everything else.” She glances at her watch. Only fifty-five seconds until four o’clock. “Hurry up.”
Nick looks into the mirror in Jo’s bedroom. Jo follows his gaze, even though she knows what he’ll see: her room. Just her room. A regular reflection of a regular room, not another room like hers, with a girl who looks like her but isn’t.
Josie used to wish she lived Jo’s life. Now it’s the other way around.
Nick sighs and turns back to her. “I’m ready.”
“Go ahead.”
“Josie,” he says, staring straight at Jo but without seeing her at all. “I’m here. I’m okay. Dr. Byrne pulled me out of the portal.”
Jo clears her throat.
“Dr. Byrne and Jo pulled me out of the portal.”
“You’re welcome,” Jo says.
“I never got to say it the other night.” He runs his hands through his thick hair. “But I . . .”
Nick’s voice trails off and a look of sadness sweeps over his face. Jo knows how he feels, the dull, endless ache of a love that can’t be. She knows it only too well.
She looks at her watch to hide the emotion she’s feeling. “Thirty seconds.”
Nick nods and takes a deep breath. “Josie, I don’t even know if you can see me. I may never know. But I had to tell you at least once: I love you. I love you so much it feels like a piece of my heart has been cut away at losing you.”
Nick takes a step closer and Jo catches her breath. “Ten seconds,” she whispers.
“I swear this, Josie. I swear on my life I will never stop, never give up until I find a way back to you. I promise.”
Jo fights to keep her eyes on Nick’s face.
“I love you, Josie,” he says again. “Never forget.”
Josie’s eyes flew open.
Her cheeks were wet with tears that came while she was sleeping, immersed in the most beautiful dream. She was sad, and yet she was smiling, so big and so real she thought her heart might burst. Nick was alive, and he loved her.
She sat up and stared at the remnants of the mirror. The glass had been shattered, the last of its shards removed and melted down at the lab by her mom. But her dad had built a stand for the empty gilt frame and positioned it in the corner of her room, where she could look at it every day. A remembrance. A memento.
A promise that she’d never forget.
Josie slowly lay back down in bed, her fingers tracing the loops of the hearts that hung around her neck. Nick’s face still danced before her eyes; his words lingered in her ears.
“I love you too,” she said out loud. “Never forget.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Some books practically write themselves; others are a struggle. 3:59 was the latter. The people below made this book happen. Without them, I’d still be curled up under my desk in the fetal position.
To my darling John Griffin, who literally held my hand throughout this process. He gave me strength, encouragement, and unwavering support, and a hug whenever I needed it.
To Roy Firestone, who, as always, listened to every complaint, rant, whine, tirade, and breakdown with calm sympathy.
To Ginger Clark. I refer to her as “my rock star” for a reason. She’s not just an agent, she’s a partner in crime.
To Kristin Daly Rens, who worked as diligently as I did to whip this book into shape. She saw the kernel of a fantastic story, then made sure I saw it, too.
To the amazing folks at Curtis Brown: Holly Frederick, Dave Barbor, Jonathan Lyons, and Kerry D’Agostino.
To my Balzer + Bray family: Donna Bray, Alessandra Balzer, and Sara Sargent, as well as the ridiculously talented HarperCollins team, including Emilie Polster, Stefanie Hoffman, Caroline Sun, Ray Shappell, and Kathryn Silsand.
To Carrie Harris and Laurel Hoctor Jones, whose astute critiques and timely brainstorming saved this book.
To my Bacon sisters: Jessi Kirby, Stasia Kehoe, Elana Johnson, and Carrie Harris (again). I’m only sane because of you.
To Deb Shapiro, publicist extraordinaire, who did not get a thank you in Ten.
To Amber Sweeney, who generously did all the legwork and design on the Army of Ten promotion—http://armyoften.blogspot.com—and who has been a tireless advocate and ally.
To the Generals in the Army of Ten, the best street team in the history of street teams: Alisha Blanchard, Sophia Candrilli, Danielle DeVor, Jennifer Halligan from A Book and a Latte, and Jen Runkle.
To my mom, as always. My little red caboose.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR