Some stories begin with heartbreak—and grow into something more powerful than ever imagined.
Robin once believed she’d found forever in Jed. He was passionate, unpredictable, and deeply flawed. But when he died suddenly, she was left with nothing but memories—and a play he’d written just for her. Ten years later, Robin is stepping into that very script, even as she begins to build something real with Nick, a man who offers comfort, humor, and stability. As the past resurfaces in haunting dreams and forgotten feelings, Robin is caught between two versions of herself: the woman she was with Jed, and the one she’s becoming with Nick. Can she honor both loves without losing herself?
The Next Breath is a story about the push-pull of memory, the healing power of art, and the difficult beauty of moving forward while still looking back.
Excerpt
Jed stood on the porch, alternately breathing and coughing. He didn’t have a beer, just a bottle of water that rested against the railing. I stood next to him. “Hey. What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
“Too smoky in there. I need a break.”
“Yeah…” It was a cool night; fall was resigning to winter. Hugging myself, I pulled on the sleeves of my belted sweater, worn over a black t-shirt and stretch pants. My beatnik look.
“What’d you think of the play?”
He coughed so he could speak. “You were brilliant.”
“Right.”
“No, really.”
“I’m pretty much the scenery, Jed.”
He shook his head. “That’s not true. During Jacques' ‘All the world’s a stage’ speech you have this great look on your face. I love how you respond to him.”
“Why?”
Jed yanked the strings of his grey hoodie, which was attached to a denim jacket. “Because that speech is a load of crap. Your face rescues the entire scene.”
“It’s a load of crap?” I searched his watery eyes, for a sign that he was joking, but his face held firm. “It’s one of Shakespeare’s most famous speeches.”
“Yeah, and it makes this assumption that everyone’s life is the same. That we’re all male, we’ll all live to be old, and we all experience the same stuff at the same time.” Jed cleared his throat and up came indignation. “People are more unique than that.”
I shivered. Time to tread lightly. “Well, sure. But some of what we experience is universal, isn’t it? We all have our exits and our entrances, and we all play many different parts.”
“Some of us get more parts than others.” He coughed again, so hard that my own chest tightened.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That makes you the first.” He coughed again, a mad, racking sound that echoed in the night. “People always have something to say.” Jed squeezed his eyes shut with a wince. “Sorry. I try to be more than just my illness. I don’t want CF to be the most fascinating thing about me.”
“It’s not.”
His voice was flat “Oh yeah? Then what is?” He looked me straight in the eye, daring me to answer.
I blew out a steady stream of air. “Your attitude. You’re not afraid of anything, you find almost everything interesting, and I’ve never met anyone less shy than you.” I gripped the porch railing and stared at my cold fingers. “If you were a boat, you’d never be tied to the harbor.”
“If I was a boat, I’d sink.” He hacked and took a swig of water. The night air was static, but we could hear the boisterous party noise coming from inside. I put my hand on his shoulder and he turned towards my touch.
“Wanna know a secret?” He whispered. “I’m just an actor, like everyone else.” Then he closed his eyes,and when he opened them I thought I saw longing. Like the beginning of a tsunami.
“All the world’s a stage, right?”
Jed tilted his head. “Yeah.”
We hovered for a moment, moving towards each other. When our lips met, his mouth was soft, inviting, and powerful enough to make my toes curl. He let out a little sigh, like he was relieved to be kissing me, but before I could wrap my arms around his shoulders, he stepped away.
“No,” he said. “This is a bad idea.”
“Why?” I tried to sound jokey, light. “You’ll sleep with anything that moves.”
He matched my tone. “That’s not true. I’ll only sleep with human females, in my age range, and attractive.”
“Don’t I fit that requirement?”
He looked me up and down, his nostrils flaring. “Yeah, of course you do.”
“Then why?”
Jed stepped back again, making new space between us. “I just think we’re better off as friends.”
I squared my shoulders to pretend I wasn’t wounded. “If it’s because you think you’ll corrupt me, don’t worry. I’m not a virgin.”
“Okay.” He raised his hands in defeat and kept his voice steady, like I’d bite him if he wasn’t careful. “Look, I’m not in a relationshipy place right now; I can’t be, with all my health issues. If we were together, you’d have high expectations because that’s how you are.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I see you, Robin. You don’t hide or lower your standards. I like that about you, but it also makes us bad for each other.” Lines crumpled his forehead as he held my gaze. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I leaned against the side of the house. How had I gotten to this point, practically begging Jed to have sex with me? I was a pathetic cliché.
“No, you’re right.” I forced out a weird, strained laugh. “We’d regret it, you and me…” I tilted my head towards the stars and groaned. “Never mind. Delete the last couple of minutes from your memory.”
I turned to go inside.
“Robin…” He grabbed my arm and I let him pull me towards him. The yearning on his face told a different story to the one he’d just recited. I put my hand at the base of his neck, but withdrew my fingers in shock.
“Oh my God. You’re burning up.” His forehead was clammy and hot and not the way a healthy forehead should be.
He ducked from my touch. “I’m fine,” he growled.
“No you’re not.”
He started to hack. “Just tired.”
“Can I help you get home?”
“I don’t need your help. And I’m not ready to leave yet.”
He slammed the door as he went back into the party.
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