He gives me that hint of a half smile tempered with those smoky eyes, a look that’s probably stolen virginities, broken hearts, and inspired a few bad poems.

I don’t want to fear life – I want to live it.

If you want to know where your heart is, follow your mind when it wanders.

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That I made a mistake, and that mistake doesn’t define me.

So who has more at stake? A young man trying to get laid with the least amount of white water before he ships off to his next assignment and has nothing but a memory of a nice month on the beach, or a family that desperately needs and wants old heartaches to disappear?

For the first time in my life, I understand the meaning of the word swoon. And I don’t like it. Swooning is dangerous, helpless, and it doesn’t feel so great.

Deep, dark secrets always hurt to share. That’s why we keep them in the deep dark.

Sumo vestri proeliis.

I don’t really hate my mother. But I loathe that haunted, sad, scared, pained look that turns Libby Summerall’s gray eyes into two burned-out pieces of charcoal.