Page 89 of Cherish

Intellectually, I know that. I do. But that doesn’t mean my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. And it doesn’t mean that I don’t need to see with my own eyes an empty spot where her frozen body used to rest.

Since finding out about the paranormal world and falling in love—first with Jaxon, and now with Hudson, forever—I’ve had to take so much on faith. Had to believe things that I had no proof of and that didn’t make sense when held up to everything I’d learned until I was seventeen years old.

And now I have to believe—have to accept—that I was ripped out of the timeline here. That all of these memories of people and places and Hudson, so many memories of Hudson, are all true even though they don’t actually exist anymore. At least not anywhere that isn’t in his head and mine.

I can believe that. No matter how hard it is, I can even accept that it had to happen that way. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want just a little bit of proof. Just a little bit of confirmation that I’m not the only one this strange, bizarre, unbelievable thing has happened to. And that the reason Artelya doesn’t remember me is because she was yanked out of the timeline, too.

So yes, I rush ahead to Noromar’s town square, determined to prove to myself that the statue of the gargoyle and the dragon that was in it the whole time I lived here is actually gone.

And it is.

My first step into the square shows me that Artelya and Asuga really are gone.

Everything I remember really did happen. Relief sweeps through me, even before I realize another statue has replaced the one that stood in the center of town for a thousand years. And this one is so. Much. Bigger.

“Are you fucking with me?” Jaxon says as he, too, steps into the square. “You’re just fucking with me at this point, right, bro? This can’t actually be real.”

But even Hudson is taken aback by this newest statue that seems to tower over every building that edges the square—even the multiple-story inn. Because this isn’t just any giant statue.

No, this statue isspecial.

49

If You Love It, You Better

Put a Blanket on It

Carved out of shining purple marble and standing at least thirty feet tall is a very lifelike rendition of averynaked,verywell-endowed Hudson.

“I’m trying not to look at it,” Macy chokes out, and by “it” I know she means a certain unmissable part of the statue. “But it’s impossible.”

“It really is,” Eden agrees, looking half impressed and half terrified.

“It’s just, like, right there,” Heather says. “Just, like, right there, Grace. Really big and right there.”

I nod, because she’s absolutely right. It isreally bigandright freaking there.

“It’s okay, baby.” Flint pats Jaxon’s back soothingly, even though he, too, seems to be mesmerized by the statue. “I still think I got the better brother.”

“Are youfucking kidding me?” Jaxon says again, and this time I don’t know if he’s talking to Flint, to all of us, or to the universe itself.

Eden’s shaking her head by this point. “You poor girl.”

“Grace.” It’s the first sound Hudson’s made since he’s seen the statue, and it sounds really strained.

“You okay?” I ask, because while the statue is gorgeous and obviously a piece of art, I can see how it might feel like a violation, especially to someone like Hudson, who keeps so much of his true self hidden from the world. And while this is just his physical self, it’s still a whole lot of exposure.

“I can’t—” He breaks off and takes a deep breath, then blows it out slowly. “How am I supposed to walk past that thing to get to the inn? I feel so…”

“Naked?” Macy quips.

“That,” he agrees quietly. “Exactly that.”

Smokey, who slept through most of the trip and our entire walk through town, chooses this moment to peek her head out of the backpack slung over one of Hudson’s shoulders. She squeals when she sees that Hudson is still carrying her and chitters away at him for several seconds before crawling out of the backpack and scooting up to his neck.

But she’s barely settled herself there when she makes a loud squealing noise, followed by what can only be a gasp. And then she throws her little baby hands over her little baby eyes and lets out a loud, keening cry.

“It’s okay, Smokey,” I tell her, reaching up to rub her head.

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