Living In The Present Book Novels & Stories

“I’m trying not to think about anything that comes next.” I was actually panicking, but he didn't need to know that. “That’s what got us into this mess in the first place,” he muttered as I tossed him a shirt. “You’re so damn focused on the past and the future,” Finn stood, giving me one of few views I’d never tire of seeing. I was an attractive guy, but goddamn, Finn was a masterpiece, which meant, I may as well open my own personal museum considering I have the Goddess’ finest work right here in this very room. “That you don’t bother to live in the present.”

Where we have always lived. Where we will always live. In the ordinary days. Which are everything. Which have always been everything. Which will always be everything. That is what she built. That is what we hold. That is what we pass forward. Not a monument. Not a legacy. Not a conclusion. A practice. An ongoing practice. Of being present. Of receiving fully. Of choosing. Again. And again. And again. In the space. In the between. Where we live. The morning is coming. It is always coming. We will be here. End of Chapter Forty-Six.

My first night away from home was spent on the thin, stiff mattress of a school dorm bed. As I listened to the occasional police sirens passing by outside the window, I actually felt an unprecedented sense of peace. I no longer had to endure being summoned and scolded at any moment, wait on those prized pets, or win over people who never once looked at me with warmth. It was the first time in 20 years I felt like I could really breathe. A few days later, Fabio's name lit up on my phone screen.

The transition from the grand, consuming scale of the master architect to the intimate, quiet scale of a life well-lived was not a sudden departure, nor was it a fading away. It was a slow, graceful descent into the present moment. Elena had discovered, after the world was fully built, that the most profound work was no longer the act of shaping the environment, but the simple, radical act of being fully present within it.

"Thank you." I couldn't help but pinch her cheek. "What if I take you somewhere in this house? Would you like that?" "I'd love it if you did. But are you okay? I mean, what if it makes you even sadder?" "Not anymore. I think you're right, Quinny. The past should be left in the past and just be a memory. Now I'm living in the present, and that's what's more important." Quinn tapped my nose. "You're growing up fast."

*Or am I repeating old patterns because my wolf recognizes him despite everything that happened? "I can hear you overthinking from here," Jace murmured against my hair. "How about this: for today, we don't worry about the future or what-ifs. We just exist in the present. You're safe, I'm safe, we're together, and Amber is somewhere far away plotting her next move while we're here rebuilding what she tried to destroy." "That sounds dangerously close to complacency," I observed. "That sounds like self-care and trust-building," he corrected. "We can't spend our entire lives waiting for the next attack. At some point, we have to actually live instead of just surviving."

For the first time in two lifetimes, I have something they can't touch. And it feels like power. The next morning, I'm sitting at my desk with a cup of expensive coffee and my new watercolors when the thought hits me: I could die tomorrow and I would have lived more in the past month than I did in twenty-seven years of my first timeline. The thought should be depressing. Instead, it's liberating. I'm not waiting anymore. Not waiting for divorce to be happy. I'm living now. Today. This moment. With fifty thousand dollars my grandmother left me because she believed I deserved a life worth living.

‌ “Do yo⁠u know if we need‍ the textbook today?” A shrug, no eye⁠ contact and n⁠o answer. T‌he fri⁠e⁠n‌dliness drained awa‍y, replaced by cold c‍alculation. Som‌ethi⁠ng w⁠as off. The room‌ felt cu⁠rated, orchestrated. Athlet‍es sprawle⁠d comfortably and legacy stu⁠dents ga‌th‌e⁠red in permanent clu‍sters. Rules weren’t wr‌it‍ten on walls, yet everyone‍ followed them. Ev⁠eryone except me.

Her response comes immediately: "Proud of you. Remember—you can always change your mind. Nothing is permanent. But for now, be present. See what's actually here instead of catastrophizing what might happen." I set down my phone and focus on being present. The sound of Damien breathing beside me. The unfamiliar city sounds outside. The weight of a choice I can't take back. I'm here. In Seattle. With Damien. Building something new. And I have no idea if it's going to work. But at least I'm trying. At least I'm here. And maybe—just maybe—that's the bravest thing I've ever done. Not knowing the ending. But showing up anyway.

That's enough. I close it and put it on the shelf next to the others. Four volumes of becoming. Of breaking and rebuilding. This life—the one I'm building with Adrian and Ava and everyone who's chosen to be part of it—this doesn't need documentation. It just needs living. And I'm finally learning how.