The Light in Us

2. Fallon – aged sixteen

2

Fallon – aged sixteen

G roaning, I let my head thud against the scattered papers on my desk as I mutter to myself. “Man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.”

Although I’m feeling pretty defeated right now. Snowed under with essays and extra credit assignments.

A cough sounds behind me, and I jerk upright, flushing.

My dad steps into our home office. We share it, his large oak desk taking up one half, mine facing his and the rest of the room covered in shelves and shelves of books.

He’s grinning as he places a steaming hot chocolate next to me. “Quoting Hemingway already? It can’t be that bad. How’s it going?”

I glower down at my essay. “It’s going.”

In the trash.

My dad only squeezes my shoulder. “You’ve got this. But maybe you should take a break, Fallon. You’ve been working on this for days.”

When I fold my arms, mutiny on my face, my dad points his thumb over to his side of the room. “First copy arrived today.”

I straighten at that. “It did?”

Nodding, my dad reaches for the book and hands it to me. I turn it over in my head, staring down. My chest warms, my smile tugging up my lips. “You changed the title!”

The Light in Us.

And beneath, my dad’s name in block letters.

Rick Matthews.

“Open it.” My dad settles into his battered leather chair.

I flick open the pages, indulging the freak inside me and taking a quick sniff. There’s no better scent in the world to me than the pages of a book.

My eyes settle on the dedication.

For Fallon,My unofficial editor and my brightest light. This book is what it is because of you. May you always shine.

I don’t say anything. My throat is too tight, clogged up with sudden tears and words that don’t feel right.

I don’t hear my dad get up. But his hands curl over mine where they hold the first book I ever worked on – even if unofficially . “You put as much into the manuscript as I did, sweetheart. This one is yours. And the rest of it – it will work itself out. You were born to do this.”

I clutch it tightly, soaking in his words. “Thank you.”

He cups my cheek. “I meant every word.”

My dad leaves me to work, and I place my first, precious copy of The Light in Us where I can see it as I work, my fingers running over the pages reverently.

The first book I ever worked on. But not the last.

And then I throw myself back into my assignments.