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  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ve watched the show all season. You’ve done so well. I’m so proud,” he started, but his voice trailed off. He knew it wasn’t his right to be proud.

  “And you waited until now to contact me?” she asked. “Did you want money?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t come here for that.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  He swallowed hard. “I don’t have too much time left, Lacy. And,” he struggled to compose himself, “I had some things I needed to say while I still could. They are things you needed to know.” She didn’t say anything. She just crossed her hands in her lap and waited. “What happened with Doyle Quinlan was unforgiveable. I never should have let him anywhere near you. It’s something I will regret till the day I die.” She looked away. The memories of that night had haunted her, though they had faded in the past year. “When I first got diagnosed, I sort of self-destructed. I worked at a bar, still around music but not playing directly. I just drank myself into a daily stupor, figuring it was better to kill myself sooner than later. Finally I just kind of realized dying slowly and painfully was exactly what I deserved. I hurt the person who had trusted me the most. A quick death would be too good for me.”

  Tears she didn’t want to shed found their way down her face as she listened. He seemed truly contrite. She had never seen him that way before.

  “So death has taken its time and I’ve had a lot of time to think about things. And though I don’t deserve to rest easy, I knew that wasn’t even a possibility until I faced what I had done, both to you and to your mama.”

  His voice softened as he mentioned Jules. Lacy sensed he had a great deal of regret for what had happened with her as well. “I don’t know that she’s ready to see you. If she’ll ever be ready.”

  He nodded. “I figured as much.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Give her this. Maybe it will help.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just… something I should have given her a long time ago. I know saying I’m sorry doesn’t mean anything. But maybe, with that…,” he trailed off again. “I don’t know. Maybe she can find a way to be happy.”

  “She is happy,” Lacy promised him. “She’s in love.”

  He wore a ghost of a smile as he nodded. “Good. She should be.”

  “Are you?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve got friends,” he said. “That’s all we can hope for at the end of the world.”

  Her heart sank. He looked even frailer than he had when he first arrived. “How long?”

  His voice caught. “Not very. Weeks. Days. I’ve been living in a convalescent home for months now.”

  She tried to wrap her mind around it. He just showed up to tell her he was going to die? “If you need money, maybe for health care, some fancy Beverly Hills doctor,” she started but he held out his hand.

  “I don’t need your money, sweetheart. Save that for your son.”

  She held back a sob with one hand. “So you just came here to say goodbye?”

  “I came back here to say…,” he struggled for the words. “I’m proud of you. You were always the best of me.”

  “Daddy,” she managed before she hugged him. He felt fragile in her arms. His attendant stepped from the shadows with a wheelchair that he had abandoned to walk to his daughter on his own two feet.

  “You all right, Mr. Abernathy?”

  He nodded. “I should be going,” he told her.

  “You just got here,” she said in a plaintive, small voice.

  Tears spilled from his eyes as he looked at her. He cupped her face with his hand. “Break a leg, baby girl.” He kissed her on her forehead, his lips thin and cold. She sobbed into her hands as she watched the attendant help him into his wheelchair and lead him away.

  All this time she had wanted to hurt him, to punish him. But life had taken care of that a long time ago.

  “You okay?”

  She turned to see Vanni standing behind her. She shook her head and he quickly pulled her into his arms. “Oh, Lacy,” he murmured as he kissed her hair. “I’m so sorry.” He held her as she cried.

  She didn’t go see her mother that night. She couldn’t. She needed to work through her emotions first. She didn’t even think she could perform that coming Monday. How could she sing that song now? She was nearly hysterical every time she thought about it.

  Finally she decided that the show must go on. This was her job, one she was blessed to have. She’d go out there and she’d sing her song, dedicated to her father.

  By the time she took the stage, everyone knew that her father was terminally ill and had been admitted into hospice care. His kidneys had failed. He needed a transplant, but had refused it since he would have died either way.

  Now they were simply waiting for nature to take its course.

  Jules had thought about going to see him, but Lacy didn’t think that was a good idea. In the end it was Don who changed her mind. He showed up on her doorstep and she threw herself in his arms.

  She let go of Lucas Abernathy before he shuffled off of his mortal coil. She didn’t bother to read the letters he had given Lacy. She hadn’t cashed the check, which was all he had left in the world. That would go to Cody someday. Jules no longer needed it.

  She forgave him without the benefit of all of it, just because she needed to let him go at last.

  When Lacy sang her song, everyone was in tears. Jules sobbed quietly as Don comforted her. Lacy sang through her tears, but her voice failed her by the end of the song. No one had a bad thing to say about it. When she walked back to Tony Paul and Sydney, they both held her tight.

  Jonah watched from the sidelines, willing all of his love her way.

  She was sure she was going to go home the next day, but it was Tony Paul’s name that was called. “What have you learned from your journey here on Fierce, Tony Paul?” Dom asked.

  He choked up. “When I came here, I was so sure I was going to win the whole thing. I took it all for granted that this was a journey, that whoever wins has to really discover who he or she is at the core, to be the artist the fans deserve. With everyone that has performed with me on the show, or supported me even when I didn’t deserve it, I’ve learned what kind of man I want to be.”

  “And what man is that?”

  His answer was simple. “A father.”

  Lacy motioned to Alan, who scrambled to get Cody up onstage. He ran to Tony Paul as fast as his little legs could take him, carrying a stuffed frog in his hands from the newest batch of fan mail. Tony swooped him up for a big hug, but Cody scrambled around to address Dom. She offered the mic.

  “This is my Daddy!” he told the audience, who roared in response, especially after Cody gave Tony Paul his consolation prize: a stuffed frog. In the world of Cody, this was a big deal. Lacy wiped tears from her eyes as she joined them center stage, holding them both. She had already called Gay and told her that if Tony Paul should go home, she thought that it would be good for Cody to stay with him for the next week, until the finale was over.

  That night she returned to her mother’s townhome, where Jonah was waiting for her. She practically wilted into his arms and he carried her up to their room. He undressed her slowly and didn’t say anything. He just climbed into bed, pulled her into his arms and held her as she emptied her soul of every single emotion one could feel. He held her through the storm. When day break, she felt purged. All her ghosts were now put to rest. That was when he slipped a diamond engagement ring on her finger.

  Even with two contestants left, the show that week was nuts. They were bringing back the final twelve to perform together for the results show, so she got to see a lot of old friends. Everyone had a consoling hug or compassionate word for her.

  This was her family now, and she knew they always would be. She couldn’t wait to go on tour with them in a few months.

  The mood was somber for the performance shows. It was down to two daughters, one young and o
ne grown. They sang three songs each, including an original written by Lucas Abernathy.

  Her mother hadn’t read his letters, but Lacy had. She pulled out every song he had included, handwritten in a drunken sprawl, to say in song what he could never put into words. When she showed them to Graham, he was so impressed he was ready to sign her anyway, win or not, to record an album.

  As she took her spot for her final song, a love song that Jonah once sang to her, she addressed the audience. “This has been a wild ride,” she told them. “I needed a lot of fixing when I got here. I just didn’t know it. These people,” she said, referring to the judges and her costars, “helped me become the artist I wanted to be. They helped me become the woman I wanted to be. On my terms. That’s the only way to be truly fierce. And with that in mind, I’d like to announce something.”

  Jonah shook his head from the audience. He didn’t want her to alienate all her fans who still hoped for a TP&L reunion. But she didn’t want to wait anymore. She wanted to scream it from the rooftops.

  “I had some secrets when I came here. You know most of them. I had a child with Tony Paul,” she said, pointing to him where he sat with Cody. Cody waved at her and made the audience collectively, “Aww.”

  “I had some old wounds that needed to be healed,” she said, referring to her mother and, by default, her father, who had passed away just days before.

  “But I also had a secret love. Someone I met over a year ago, someone who challenged me and inspired me, pushed me and caught me whenever I fell. He is my hero. He is my protector. He is my friend and my lover. And soon he’ll be my husband. Life’s too short, and I’m not waiting another day for my happily ever after. I love you, Jonah,” she said directly to him. He choked back tears as he watched her. She launched into her song and didn’t look away from him the entire two and a half minutes it took to sing it. When she was done, Jonah rose from his seat and inched his way down the aisle, hopping up onto the stage and walking to where she stood. He took her into his arms and kissed her, which the crowd seemingly loved from their explosive applause.

  The party that night was legendary. It was a reunion of friends, an engagement party and an after-party all rolled into one. Everyone was in such high spirits that it almost didn’t matter who won the next night.

  Celebrities performed with the Top Twelve, including all three judges and each Fierce season winner and runner up. This included Jace and Jordi, the Season One sweethearts. Also in attendance was a boy named Jonathan Fullerton, who was a huge fan of the show and the heir to the Fullerton family fortune. He got such VIP treatment that he came on stage and shared his story of loss, then introduced his favorite contestant, Sydney, to perform. He then took a seat next to Leah, whom he had met backstage. He didn’t tell her, but he was her biggest fan.

  Then the moment was upon them, the moment they had all toiled so hard to get to after all those months. The lights went down and Sydney and Lacy held onto each other as they waited for the results. “And the Season Three Fierce winner is…,” she paused long and Lacy felt as though she was going to vomit. She couldn’t imagine hearing her name being called. It all seemed too much. It was then she realized she didn’t need to win that show. She knew who she was and what she had, and it was so much more than she ever could have dreamed. She had finally won at life and she knew it. It didn’t even hurt when Dom read, “Sydney Lambert!” Instead, Lacy was relieved. She was overjoyed for her young friend, whose journey had just begun. There would be so many things for her to see and do and learn.

  As for Lacy, she had a family. That was her wealth.

  When she joined them, she didn’t even know who she was hugging. It didn’t matter. There was nothing but love everywhere she looked.

  When she reached her mother, Jules took her into her arms. “I’m so proud of you, honey. You’re always going to be my star.”

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  “I don’t know whether to offer congratulations or condolences,” Don said as he joined them. He knew he couldn’t anywhere close to Sydney now. She was being swept along from media outlet to media outlet.

  “Congratulations,” Lacy decided. “For both of us.”

  “Ah, not me,” he corrected and she gave him a puzzled look. “You see, I had a bet with your Mama. If you won, she’d marry me.”

  Lacy’s eyes shot to Jules. “What?”

  Jules shrugged. “Win some, lose some, I guess.”

  “Mama!” she admonished at once. She wasn’t seriously going to let this man go because of some stupid bet.

  Jules heaved a deep sigh. “I guess if you have to do something right, you have to do it yourself.”

  Even in her high heels and the first dress Lacy had ever seen her wear, she got down on one knee in front of Don, whose mouth fell open in surprise. “I’m done being an idiot,” she said as she took his hand. “I want to be happy. And that can only happen with you. Make an honest woman of me?”

  He pulled her up and swung her around. “You’re goddamn right I will! We’re flying to Vegas tonight!” He kissed her hard.

  Two arms grabbed Lacy from behind. She turned to see her fiancé, with those tawny eyes and that sexy smirk. “Care to make it a double ceremony?” he asked.

  She turned into his arms. “You got it, Ace,” she said as she reached for a kiss.

  THE END

  Be sure to check out the adventures of Clementine Pomeroy in FULL-FIGURED FLOOZIES, a new book by Ginger Voight, coming in 2015! Enjoy this excerpt now.

  Full-Figured Floozies: An Introduction

  Cheap.

  Easy.

  Jezebel.

  Slut.

  Skank.

  Whore.

  There are, like, a gazillion words to describe a woman who dares to enjoy sexual liberation; those who can speak passionately and confidently about the g-spot, the clitoris, all manners of kink and battery-operated boyfriends with nary a blush, even among mixed company. I have been called all these names, both before and after I became sexually active. These unsavory labels generally contained the word ‘fat’ somewhere in the description, no matter what size I happened to be wearing at the time.

  Apparently there’s only thing worse than being a woman who enjoys sex, and that is being a big-boned, plus-sized, Rubenesque, BBW, overweight, curvy, thick, or fat woman who enjoys sex.

  Eventually I became kind of numb to it. If it’s the go-to insult for a woman who simply dares to live life on her own terms, then I embrace all these epithets with pride. Call me a slut, I don’t care. The word doesn’t hurt simply because I don’t find anything shameful about tasting all the luscious treats on life’s buffet.

  I have a healthy appetite for all the good things in life. Sex ranked right up there with chocolate in my book. And I didn’t mind nibbling every decadent morsel in the box.

  If I had my druthers, I really prefer “floozy” the best. It’s cute. It’s cheeky. Let’s face it. It’s a fun word without much venom, the kind of word you toss around with your girlfriends when you’ve had too much to drink. A skank goes after your man. A slut goes after her man’s best friend. But a floozy? She’s the happy girl surrounded by a dozen suitors, who can (and does) take her pick as the mood strikes.

  N’ I’m one doozy of a floozy.

  Why should I be ashamed of fully exploring all the joys of adventurous sex with hot and sexy partners? Partners, mind you, who never get called a skank, a whore, a slut or a floozy for having the audacity to sleep with me or a number of any other girls at any given time. Is there a word for a promiscuous male besides, oh, a man? Boys will be boys but good girls don’t. Fuck that noise. By the time I was twenty-two, I, along with some sexually liberated friends, created a special little club that celebrates all the finer attributes of being a trollop. No judgment. No rules.

  Actually that’s not true. We have our own set of rules about relating to the opposite sex (or, for Antoine, the same sex.) You have to, really. It just keeps things nice and neat. Our expect
ations are low, our standards are high, and we’re just about the merriest group of hussies this side of the Mississippi River.

  That was why it came as a complete surprise to all of us when I, Clementine Pomeroy, card-carrying founding member of the Full-Figured Floozies (or FFF,) led the charge for our merry trio of trollops to hang up our stilettos and fall hopelessly, completely, and ridiculously in love.

  If this were some kind of fairy tale, I’d tell you that the man who finally lay claim to my heart was my prince charming, who knew all the right things to say and all the perfect things to do to make me fall in love with him. I’d tell you all about how he wined me and dined me, taking me well in hand both in and out of the bedroom.

  No, because the universe has a completely warped sense of humor, I happened to fall head over heels for the guy who tried to torpedo our club not only for being different, but for being unapologetic about how different we are. I knew from the moment I met him that he was an arrogant, condescending, raving asshole behind a sexy smirk.

  But God damn if he wasn’t hot as hell.

  So I set out to show him what’s what. He couldn’t change me. He certainly couldn’t stop me. I was going to live my life on my terms and he was just going to have to deal with it. All I ever cared to do was show him what he was missing. I never intended to change him. People don’t change unless they want to. I learned that lesson in my hopelessly romantic youth.

  Yet here we are, one year later, and I found out the one who has changed…

  Is me.

  Only Jack Darby could turn me into a one-man woman. And it’s going to take a lifetime for me to forgive him for it. This is convenient, since it’ll take about that long for my best friends to forgive me.

  This year changed all of us in strangely interconnected ways.

  This is our story. It is a salacious tale of seduction, betrayal, heartbreak and destiny. If you pride yourself a FFF like us, you can consider this story a code… a guide… a cautionary tale.

  Buckle up, cupcakes. This is one bumpy, sexy ride.