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317 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2021
“Everyone thinks if they achieve this or that, then they’ll be happy. Then they can start living. But what they fail to see is that this is it.” He bent down and thumped the ground before raising both hands up to the sky. “This is life. It’s happening right now. And if you don’t stop and soak it in, you’ll miss it.”
“You made me want again. You made me laugh again. You made me hope and desire and care.” He swallowed. “You make life worth living.”
“And what of love, then? Where does she fall in all of this?” he asked. “She doesn’t fall at all,” I answered quickly. “She stands. Strong. Confident. Eluding the cowards too weak to wreck her, and waiting patiently for those brave enough to receive her.”
“Perfect is the last thing I want in a daughter or wife or the mother of my child. And it’s the last thing I wish for you. Because you, Harley Chambers, are so goddamn beautiful and smart and charming and funny and stubborn and maddening, that it would be a shame — no, a crime — for perfection to take all that away.”
“I climbed into his lap, straddling him, pressing my lips to his, and winding my hands up into his hair as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into him. All I wanted was to soak up his sadness, to replace it with the love he insisted didn’t exist. What a treacherous game to play.”
“There is a storm of emotion inside each of us,” I whispered. “So many reasons to be sad, to be angry, to feel cheated. So many experiences that have rubbed us raw, broken us down, and begged us to believe their insistence that life is nothing but a miserable prison we are forced to endure. But we mustn’t forget we have a choice,” I continued. “We can surrender to those thoughts, those reasons, those dark clouds… or,” I countered. “We can take the lessons they offer us, and we can choose to find gratitude for experiencing them, for having felt such a terrible grief that we come to appreciate joy for the truly magnificent emotion that it is.”
“Liam, look,” I said breathlessly on a smile, pointing behind him. “Fireworks.” But when I looked back at him, his eyes were locked on me, and he shook his head, sliding his hand back into my hair to tug me close again. “I think I’d rather make our own.”
“I instantly wanted my brushes and a blank canvas. I wanted to paint every bright, brilliant color Liam Benson made me see.”