Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail

Are we talking about the same woman? Tattoos? New York City attitude for days? A general disdain for clothes in any shade lighter than the ninth circle of hell?

She was going to act instead of all this constant, exhausting thinking.

But love doesn’t always think through the details. Sometimes, love just does.

Those bombs Meredith had dropped, they left scars. Deep ones, carved into Jordan’s heart, lungs, brain, blood, and she’d spent nearly a year in therapy trying to heal them to no avail.

Never before doesn’t mean never ever.

“Because,” Astrid had mumbled. “She left you like you didn’t mean anything. And you do. You mean something.”

Jordan tilted her head at Astrid. “You don’t strike me as the swearing type.”

Astrid lifted a hand and let it fall back down, slapping against her leg. “Why does everyone always say that? I swear just like anyone else.”

They loved her, she knew that, but that didn’t mean they believed in her talents.

They loved her, she knew that, but that didn’t mean they believed in her talents.

There’s running from something,” Angela said, “and there’s running to something new.