I'm back today with All This Time, the final book in Mel Henry's Time After Time series. And...oh man. What a final installment.
Amicable could easily define Carly
Cooper, so it’s only fitting that it should describe her divorce from detective
Trey Foster, too. Between two career-driven people, marriage can be hard
enough, but combined with fertility issues and constant loss, it just became
too much for them to bear.
While sorting out her feelings about
her broken marriage and seemingly broken body, she decides to move in with her
lifelong best friend, Alejandro Cruz. Alex has been with Carly through all her
triumphs as well as her low points, including the break-up with her first love,
Josh McCarthy, whom Alex is still friends with.
Carly just wants to get to a point
where she can get closure from all her relationships so she can succeed at one
– just one that she can keep forever. Determined to help her do that, Alex
invites Josh to their house for a “besties” get together weekend. Good food,
good wine, and good conversation.
Fortunately for the three of them,
closure is exactly what they all get, and for the first time in their lives,
they can move forward. After all, Josh has really exciting news that he wants
to share with his best friends: South Station Boyz are reuniting. With a new
album, new videos, and even a new tour on the horizon, they invite Carly and
Alejandro to join them and the Trainwreckz, the tongue-in-cheek nickname for
their fans, on this crazy journey.
While trying to prove her closure to
herself and others, she becomes quite enthralled with handsome group member
(and band mate of Josh), Dave Butler. He returns the interest and sparks fly.
Then, one unplanned, reckless night (something that goes against Carly’s very
own DNA) in Miami derails all her hard work, possibly throwing everything into
the wind. As she tries to sort it out,
she also battles to not lose the people she loves. Can what she’s done while
under one drunken indulgence ruin everything she’s worked so hard to fix after
all this time?
Oh man. I don't even know what to say about this without giving away any spoilers. This was the perfect ending for this story. Josh and Carly have been on an absolute rollercoaster for the last almost twenty years. Through that whole time, they've never stopped loving each other, even if it seems like they don't. In a weird twist, they're the steadiest relationship in the series, even if they have their ups and downs. They both want the other to be happy, even if that means letting go. While heartbreaking in the moment, they always find their way back to each other.
These books have all the feels, and most of the time I find myself grinning like an idiot while reading. Carly and Josh are so adorable, and it's the greatest to read about a girl getting her ultimate wish: falling in love with a boy bander that falls right back for her. This book showcases a more adult Carly and Josh learned to navigate their strange friendship as Josh's bandmate courts Carly and Josh deals with his wife, Abby, and their demanding relationship.
And there's more Alex! You don't even know how much I love this guy, and you're going to be mad about him from the moment you start this series. Or maybe you already are, and then you know exactly how I feel. Alex is the best. He's amazing. Awesome. Magnificent
. I don't think there's enough adjectives in the world for how great Alex is. He keeps Carly grounded when she needs and smacks sense into her even when she thinks she knows what she's doing. He's the bestest best friend a girl can have, and Carly is infinitely lucky.
Following these two in the last two books made me appreciate the efforts they made. They tried to be adults the best way they knew how, while simultaneously having a good time with their separate endeavors. Carly is a successful businesswoman going through a tough time with her divorce, but she always comes out on top. I get what Josh sees in her. Life isn't always easy, but Carly manages to smile through it anyway. And Josh. Josh, in my mind, is a mixture of all those gorgeous boy band members from my youth wrapped up in one delicious package. It would have been impossible for me not to absolutely fall in love with him, and then add the Boston accent (which is totally endearing), he hooks you in no time.
BUT THEN THE FEELS PUNCH YOU RIGHT IN THE FACE.
Meet the Author
Mel Henry has been an avid reader since stealing her first
Harlequin from her mom’s nightstand in second grade. Because some words were
too big for her seven-year-old vocabulary, she took to writing her own stories
(much to the relief of her teacher) and has been doing so ever since.
After having held various jobs in her life that brought her
no satisfaction and only a piddly income, she decided to publish her first
book. She figured being a starving artist instead of just starving sounded much
more interesting. Being able to do it in her pajamas and no make-up are just
perks to the job.
Living in Iowa with her husband and a couple of teenaged
kids, Mel’s an avid cook (sometimes by choice), traveler (always by choice),
and a hardcore warrior against chronic Lyme disease (definitely not by choice).
She loves concerts, thunderstorms, and good coffee. She loathes conspiracy theories,
egotistical people, and sushi.
She is currently collaborating with three other authors on a
project, and has the foundation in place for her next series. In the meantime,
you can find her current works on Amazon and other online booksellers.
Social Links
Excerpt
I skimmed over the document in front of me and sighed. It
read just as I wanted it to—my attorney had made sure of that. This didn’t make
me feel any better, of course, but at least there hadn’t been an argument. My
pen poised over the line above my name, I briefly considered what it meant once
I signed.
My marriage to Trey Foster was over.
The last five years would be just another page in my
history book. There were no children involved. My defunct body had guaranteed
it, despite several attempts. Trey and I were relatively diplomatic about our
separation. We split everything equally and overall, we were walking away
unscathed. We had come to the decision to get divorced as easily as we’d come
to the decision to get married in the first place. We approached it with logic
and reason, each of us having our own views on why we thought our marriage
failed, another miscarriage—earlier this year—being the final straw for us
both. We’d mutually decided to end things before it got ugly. Hell, Trey and I
hadn’t really fought the whole time we were married. It was only natural that
we end it civilly, too.
I scrawled my name on the line and took a deep breath.
The documents stated that I would return to my maiden name once it was filed,
so I took pause as I looked at my name signed as “Carlene Foster” for the last time. My heart felt heavy and I took a
deep, shaky breath as it all sank in. I slowly slid the paper across the table
and looked up at my soon-to-be-ex-husband. I offered a
half-smile/half-frown—one of those “I shouldn’t smile, but I don’t want you to
think I hate you” kind of expressions. We’d both become good at those over the
last year or so. He returned the gesture as he picked up the pen and signed his
own name. He looked over at me sadly then handed the paper to his attorney, who
picked it up and went into the hallway to make duplicates before the clerk took
it to the courthouse to be signed by the judge. My lawyer followed him out of
the room, leaving Trey and me alone. The second hand ticked on the clock above
the door.
“We tried,” I said, breaking the silence.
“We did.” He nodded in agreement,
his lips flattening in a slight scowl.
“I’m glad we can stay friends.”
“Me, too,” he agreed.
More silence. I picked at a snag on my skirt and stared
at a smudge on the, otherwise shiny, board room table.
“I’m sor—” he began.
I held up my hand and shook my head. “No regrets, Trey.
Remember? No regrets, no woulda-coulda-shouldas, no apologies. We agreed.”
Trey and I had talked about our pending divorce for a
couple of months and worked out all of the details ahead of time instead of
paying our attorneys to create fights where none existed.
“I think it’s over,
Trey,” I said softly as I picked at my dinner with my fork.
He looked up at me from over his
wine glass, swallowing a mouthful of Riesling. He set the glass down and wiped
his mouth. “It?”
“Us. This marriage. You and me.
It’s over.”
He laid his napkin next to his
plate and crossed his ankle over his knee, leaning back in his chair. He rested
his chin on his fist and looked at me. Our eyes locked for what seemed like
several minutes and he finally inhaled and nodded.
“I think you’re right.”
“I mean, it isn’t that I don’t love
you. I do,” I started to argue.
“As I do you,” he agreed. “But
you’re right, this just isn’t working.”
I nodded solemnly. “Do you think
counseling would help?” I offered, though knowing in my heart it wouldn’t.
Counseling wouldn’t bring back our lost babies. Or the tension brought to our
bedroom with every miscarriage. You couldn’t relight a fire under cold embers.
No amount of counseling could fix that.
He shrugged, “We could, but I don’t
know that it would help.”
“It’s not like we haven’t tried. I
mean, we have,” I reasoned.
“We’ve definitely tried.” And we
really had. We took a trip to Hawaii in February for our anniversary. After the
last miscarriage, in April, Trey made arrangements with a co-worker to borrow
his cabin on Lake Michigan for a weekend. We went to New York for a week in
June for his mother’s sixtieth birthday. We tried to scale back our work days
and we purposely took weekends off with the intentions of spending them
together.
All of it was futile, though. When
you’re married to a cop, there is no such thing as time off. His cell phone
rang non-stop and his hours were always long. If it wasn’t a case occupying his
time, it was training or recertifying.
And I wasn’t blameless in the
matter, either. My phone was constantly pinging with new emails from work, too.
Photographic editors weren’t always as busy as I was, but when your boss was
the female version of Hugh Hefner, you didn’t get to ignore emails. Besides, I
loved my job with Beguile. We were two workaholics and I didn’t see that changing for either one
of us any time soon.
“Maybe if we gave it a little more
ti—”
“Babygirl,
we’ve been living like roommates for months,” he said. “How long do we really
wanna pretend it’s gonna work? Let’s face it, there’s just nothing left
anymore.”
I’d
spent so much time worrying about how hard he’d fight me on this that I wasn’t
really prepared for his acquiescence. Tears I’d spent months shedding in
solitude, rushed to my eyes; my face grew hot. I hoped for at least some small
argument—something that told me I was wrong—that he did still believe in us and we just needed to
work on it some more. His immediate agreement indicated otherwise, and that
stung worse than admitting out loud that we had problems.
Ever the peacemaker, he stood and
took my hand, pulling me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me and rubbed
my back as I let the tears spill.
We
decided that he would keep our loft on Superior. It was only six blocks from
his work and since I worked by the lake, it would make more sense for me to
find a new place closer to the office. We’d bought our condo in 2007, when we
relocated to Chicago from New York, and we both worked so much that it was
mostly just a place to sleep and change clothes between meetings and travel.
Trey insisted I stay as long as I needed to, in order to find a decent place.
He felt there was no reason to stop being nice just because our marriage
failed. I agreed but moved into the guest bedroom that night.
Our
attorneys returned and handed us a copy of our divorce papers explaining they’d
send us each a notarized copy of the finalized decree sometime in the coming
week after the judge signed it.
That was it.
We shook our lawyers’ hands and turned, walking out of
the meeting room together.
Buy Links
All This Time (#3) (Everywhere for a LIMITED TIME, then Amazon only)
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