The final writing hours for Lessons in Gravity have commenced! I have until Sunday to get this book to editing, and while I finish those details (read: last 15K words), I wanted to share some of my favorite pieces of these characters with you.
Gunner and CC, what can I say? They are so real. I know, I know, I love all my book children, but these two have been so amazing to me because what they struggle with isn't something we can fix, or that someone else can fix. What they struggle from is life: crushing expectations, self-doubt, and a love so strong it can't possibly survive. Or can it?
Phew, go ahead and read. Until April 20 (or thereabouts, because, ya know, 15k left!!!!). xoxo
Excerpt from Chapter 15, Gunner's POV:
She sucks in a breath like I’ve knocked the wind out of her, and before I can grab her hand she’s out the door, slamming it shut. Shoving my own open, I jump out, barely catching her by the time she reaches her front porch. “Wait, CC. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I said don’t lie to me. Of course you meant it like that, and why wouldn’t you? It’s not like I don’t deserve it.” She holds herself rigidly still, even with my hands cupping her shoulders. “Just let me go, Gunner. We knew this wouldn’t work; it was stupid to even think we could be friends.”
“Quitting again?” I snap.
Her eyes go to slits. “Yeah—I guess I’m pretty messed up.”
I drop my hands from her shoulders and shove them through my hair, scattering rain droplets in the process. “What did you want me to say, Cam? That I’m a glutton for punishment? That I offered to help you because I never got over you, even after you treated me like a leper and broke my heart? That even after all this time, it kills me to watch you drive away on Saturday night? That I worry every single time, even when I know you don’t care what I think?”
She’s frozen again, and my chest is heaving, my heart ready to explode out of it. “I don’t…I don’t know. I just…why? I don’t deserve it, so why?”
Her eyes are asking me to be honest—but it’s not that which has me answering. It’s her words, and the fact that on some elemental level she doesn’t really think she deserves to be helped.
Stepping forward, I slide my hands over her shoulders again, my touch firm but gentle, holding her in place while I look into her eyes. “Remember what I told you that day at breakfast?” She shakes her head no, but she’s lying. The slight tremble in her body tells me that. “I helped you because the idea of not helping you, of watching you think you deserved to fail at anything, made me physically ache. I can handle you hating me, Cam, but I can’t handle watching you hate yourself.”