Daring Forever: Vol 2 (The Forever Series): New adult college romance

by TARA GALLINA

  Curious, I stand and walk to the door. As soon as I reach it, knocking sounds from the other side.

  My heart jumps into my throat.

  The door handle jiggles. "Ainsley? It's Sebastian. Let me in."

  My tense muscles relax with a breath only to tighten again. What if this is a trick? What if his dad is using Sebastian to lure me out because he knows about us and he wants to punish Sebastian or worse, me too?

  No. That doesn't make sense. If he wanted in, I'm sure he has a key.

  The handle wiggles again. "Ainsley? He's gone. You can come out."

  To be safe, I text him.

  Did he leave or is this a trick to get me to come out?

  Geez. The question seems even stupider in a text.

  "No." His voice comes from the other crack of the door. "I promise."

  Since staying in here is no longer an option, because this girl is about to climb the walls, I clutch the handle and slowly open the door.

  Sebastian and only Sebastian stands on the other side. "Are you okay?" He studies me from head to toe.

  I nod, although I’m not sure why. Am I okay? My emotions are jittery, and my brain is overloaded with information.

  "Fuck. You're not okay." He exhales and runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry you had to stay in here. I know you were scared. I wish you hadn't witnessed my father and how he is. I didn’t mean anything I said. I have to act differently around him, and I had to make him think you're nothing to me. I never wanted you involved in this."

  I’ve never seen him this on edge, like he’s afraid. It makes me desperate to reassure him. "I was scared, but I’m okay. I mean, I'm not hurt, and I’m not in trouble. Right? Your father doesn't know about me. Right?"

  "He believes what I said about you. About Enzo." He studies me again and raises his hand—to touch me?—but lowers it back to his side. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Yes." Sort of. "What about you? Are you okay?" I didn't have to face that horrible man. He did. I stifle a shiver.

  He answers with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes and takes my hand. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."

  Chapter 12

  THE CITY OF Orlando passes by outside the passenger window of Sebastian's car. I don't pay it much attention, too lost in my thoughts. I’m not as shaken as when I was locked in the storage room, but I'm not as okay as I led him to believe. The truth is I'm confused about so many things.

  Should I quit working for him, even though I don't have a backup job? How will I pay my bills if I do? I am not moving back home. Should I continue to see Sebastian? Is it safer to put distance between us? Could I? I'm not in danger—that I know of. It's not his fault his father is a maniacal mafia guru and randomly showed up at his business. The business I work for. Ugh.

  "How are you doing?" Sebastian rubs my knee.

  "I'm thinking." From my peripheral, I see him nod.

  He asks, "Anything you want to talk about?"

  Yes. No. Maybe. I bite my bottom lip and shift in the seat, angling my body toward the passenger door. It causes his hand to fall from my knee. I feel bad, but I don't move back or apologize.

  He rests his hand on the stick shift.

  "Did you know the name Witness Protection Program is incorrect? It's called the Witness Security Program."

  "I know. Is there a reason why you're thinking about it?" He crosses under the I-4 overpass, not far from the apartment.

  "When I was locked in the room, I researched the mafia on the Internet."

  "And?" He keeps his voice calm, but his shoulders stiffen.

  "They're real," I choke out. That's not what I wanted to say.

  He laughs. "Yes, they are."

  "They're corrupt, everything they do is illegal, and they have tons of rules and rituals. Not that you don't know that but…" say it, "not everyone in the mafia is trapped. Witness Protect—Security has helped thousands of members safely leave." Geez. I sound like a commercial for them.

  His hand tightens on the gearshift, his knuckles becoming white. He turns onto Denning, where the RV dealership takes up the corner.

  "You're not corrupt, Sebastian. You don't belong with them."

  "I don't have a choice, Ainsley." He swings the car into the plaza where Harper lives, parking to the left of the movie theater. Her apartment complex is on the right side.

  "You do have a choice," I say in a tender voice and angle my legs toward him in the seat. "You can reach out to the protection program and let them try to help you leave."

  He taps a finger on the steering wheel, his jaw muscle ticking. "I told you about my mother and what happened to her when she trusted the Feds to get her out."

  "I know, but that was a long time ago. It might be different now. I’m sure it is. It has to be and I—"

  He silences me with a harsh glare. "Where is this coming from? Is it from what you researched, or have you been talking to Nathan?"

  Nathan? "No. Why? Does he want you to leave too?" An ally like him in this would be so helpful.

  "I can't talk about this. Not now and not with you." He lets out a heavy sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  I rest my hand on the center console. "I'm not trying to push you."

  "No?" He arches a dark brow at me.

  "I don't mean to be. I just don't want to see you stay in a place you don't want to stay. It's hurting you, all of you." I gesture to his body. "Inside and out. And I want better for you. You deserve better." Tension builds behind my eyes with the start of a headache. I sink back into the leather seat and rub my temples.

  "I'm not good for you," Sebastian blurts. "You shouldn't be caught up in this, in me. It's why I don't hire anyone outside of people I know and trust. It's why I don't get involved romantically with anyone outside that circle either."

  So much of that statement hurt, but one part cuts at me the most. "You don't trust me? I would never tell anyone about your private life. It's your business, not mine."

  He brushes the back of his fingers across my cheek, his eyes pained. "I know, and I do trust you. But you shouldn't trust me. Look what happened today. You don't deserve that."

  "I deserve a pay check, and I earned it today. I don't want to quit." Yet. "I need this job, but I don't think I can do inventory again. If that's a problem…"

  "I’m never bringing you back there. You don't have to worry." His head turns forward, his jaw tight with anger as he grips the gear shift like he's about to drive over to Harper's side of the plaza.

  I want to tell him to wait so we can try to work this out, but I don’t see how. He won't budge on Witness Protection, and I can't be with him if he won't even consider leaving, let alone talk about it.

  I stifle a laugh at my own words—I can't be with him. I’m not with him now. Not really. We're not a couple. We're a secret.

  Sebastian reverses the car from the spot and drives to the parking lot of the apartments. He stops in front of the main entrance and keeps the car in drive.

  "Take the week off," he says, "with paid leave, and think about other jobs. Better jobs. I won't let you go until you have another one. If that helps."

  My stomach drops to my feet. "You're firing me?"

  "That's not what I said." He doesn't look at me.

  "Yes, it is." I nod, my gaze locked on his profile as tears burn my eyes, ones I refuse to shed in front of him.

  I don't like taking handouts but, in this case, I must. I have rent and bills to pay, and a new job to find, apparently.

  "Okay," I agree in a murmur and grab the door handle, pausing to see if he'll say more or look at me.

  He doesn't.

  Hurt slices through me. My hand shakes as I clutch my bag and force myself to get out of the car. "Thank you."

  He doesn't ask, for what? He keeps his gaze out the front window, his grip locked on the wheel, his knuckles bright white.

  The moment I close the door, he drives away.

  I watch as his car disappears around the corner, and a
lmost collapse. The weight of what just happened crashes over me, like a wave knocking me off my feet. I'm no stranger to rejection and the sting that comes with being hurt, but this burns deeper. I fear it will last longer too, maybe never go away.

  The tears I fought to hold back release down my cheeks with silent cries. This isn't how I thought it would end. Not so soon, and not like this: without a look or even a goodbye.

  I hate him for leaving that way. I hate him for staying with his family and Marina when there is hope for a better life. He just has to reach for it. And I hate him for being so amazing and making me fall for him, harder than I've ever fallen for anyone. But most of all, I hate myself for allowing it to happen, for thinking I can handle it, and diving in head first with a guy who was never free to be mine.

  The problem with a broken heart is it doesn't know the difference between right and wrong. It just knows what it wants and aches when it can't have it.

  More tears pour from my eyes. The pain in my chest hurts as much as it did on the day I moved out of my mom's house.

  A girl and guy holding hands give me a concerned look as they walk toward the entrance doors of the apartments.

  If I’m going to be a sniveling pathetic mess, I should at least do it in the shelter of my own room.

  The moment I enter the loft, my phone chimes with a text. Sebastian?

  I scramble to pull it from my bag. The text is from Lowell.

  Hey Goldilocks. Just wanted to send a quick, Bonjour. I've been sucking at texting people back, but I haven't forgotten about you or Harper. I heard you finally moved out. Time to live it up! Enjoy your new-found freedom!

  My grandma used to believe the world sends you what you need when you need it. I so needed this. More tears fall. I haven't thought about her in a while. Too long. This summer will be two years since she passed. She was my biggest advocate against my mother, always telling me to follow my heart and no one else's. When she died, my dad and I shut down and gave up on fighting my mom. I guess that's how I ended up at Ryland studying Elementary Education.

  Speaking of degrees, I need to apply to more colleges and look for jobs. The thought makes my brain hurt. Damn Sebastian.

  I set my bag on the dining room table, wipe my soaked cheeks, and send Lowell a heart emoji.

  I consider sending Sebastian an emoji face with its tongue out. Better yet, I could send him a GIF of a person kicking someone out of their car—their life—without saying goodbye. If one like that even exists, which it probably doesn't. I should add a GIF-making class to my electives.

  I stomp to my room and tear off my clothes, not wanting any reminders of his scent. To be safe, I take a shower and wrap myself up in a yellow robe. My hair is in a messy bun atop my head, washing it would have been too much work.

  In a hurry to distract my brain from any thoughts of Sebastian, I send Harper a quick text asking where she is and if she wants to do something. Then I set my personal laptop on my bed and check my email in case Manitoba replied.

  Nothing yet. I frown and send the university a checking-my-status nudge. Then I apply for student financial aid and follow up on a few grants and scholarships I submitted back when I first applied to the Canadian college.

  I have two grants now, plus my scholarship to Ryland. My hope is that I can get something similar to other colleges. Next, I fill out a financial aid form and submit that too. I go to a few more northern university websites and apply to their design programs. Either, I will have to find a way to pay for student housing or find a person off campus who's looking for a roommate. I'll worry about my living arrangements then if I have to at all. Manitoba may accept me.

  With that settled, I grab a handful of Cheez-It crackers from the pantry and check my phone.

  Two missed texts show from Harper.

  I forgot I turned the ringer to silent, so I wouldn't get distracted from my college hunt.

  You're home? How did today go? Did you quit? I hope so.

  I'm at Nathan's watching the game. Come over. A bunch of us are hanging out.

  A bunch of us as in Sebastian? My fingers ball into a fist, crushing the crackers in my hand to pieces. Dammit. It's one more reason to be mad at him. He's not sulking at home alone like I am. He's in a house full of people, living it up as if I never existed.

  I march to the kitchen and brush the crackers from my hand.

  Harper's right. Guys have a sick, twisted way of detaching themselves from everything. It's not fair. The only way I'll be able to detach my brain from Sebastian is if I have alcohol. A lot of it too.

  I don't feel like going out or putting on clothes, but our cabinets are dry of liquor since neither Harper or I are twenty-one yet. Do I want to go to Nathan's and risk interaction with the douche I'm trying to forget?

  Guilt stabs at me for thinking of him as a douche. He's many things, tortured, sad, stuck in a world he doesn't want to be a part of—a world he stays in by choice.

  If he's so miserable, why not fight for something better? I understand why he's afraid to fight, but the only thing he has to fear is fear itself. Wow. I’m quoting Martin Luther King now? I need help. I need a drink.

  Harper sends me another text.

  Get your butt over here, already. Riley made new shots. Buttery nipples. Don't let the name scare you, they're packed with liquor but taste like butterscotch. You'll love them.

  Looks like I’m going to Nathan's.

  I trek to my closet to dig out something to wear. It's not like I’m going to impress anyone. Tonight, I’m not dressing for a party, or a theme, or wearing something Harper picked out. I'm dressing for me.

  I slide on my favorite cut-off jean shorts, a white cropped tank top, and tie a thin button-down shirt that looks like a fuchsia and red striped flannel around my waste, in case I get chilly. Finishing off my outfit, I put on my berry red Doc Martins. They're glossy and one of a kind—because I've never seen anyone else in Winter Park with a pair. Of course, Doc Martins aren't a big sell in Florida, but one Christmas in high school they were popular here for some reason and I got a pair.

  Lowell convinced me to buy them as a birthday gift to myself. I loved—love—them but my mom wouldn't let me out of the house with them on. She said they made me look Goth. She doesn't know what she's talking about.

  They make me feel sexy, as does the casual outfit. Since I didn't wash my hair, I secure it in a high ponytail with a few tendrils hanging around my face. Mascara, lip gloss, and a few spritzes of strawberry lemonade body spray complete my look. If anyone says anything about my outfit, I'll blow them off. Tonight is about me. For once.

  Chapter 13

  SEBASTIAN'S MASERATI, NATHAN'S Hummer, Harper's Audi, and a few other cars fill the driveway. No big party tonight. I park behind two sports bikes, one red and one blue, near the street.

  The night carries a slight chill. The scent of wet grass and oak trees perfume the air. Is it weird that I adore both?

  I untie my shirt from my waist and slide it on. Muffled cheers erupt from somewhere in the house as I approach. My guess is the game room above the garage. No one guards the door tonight.

  I text Harper and take a chance by ringing the doorbell.

  Moments tick by, leaving me to the quietness of the neighborhood and light singing of crickets and cicadas.

  A click sounds from the door and it opens. A guy with dark blond hair, tan skin, and a look that shouts all American jock greets me.

  "Ainsley?" He arches a brow, an easy smile warming his deep blue eyes.

  I nod in confirmation at the could-be Tommy Hilfiger model.

  "Harper sent me. Come on in." He steps back so I can enter and gives me a once over, seeming confused.

  "Is something wrong?" I ask as he closes and locks the door.

  "No. Sorry." He shakes his head, a light pink tinting his cheeks. "I, uh, I wasn't expecting you, is all."

  Huh? "Did Harper invite someone else too?"

  "No. She just, uh, described you differently." His unea
se, like he doesn't want to insult me, is cute. So different from Sebastian.

  "What did she say?" There are only a few ways to describe someone like me. I'm fairly basic.

  "It's not bad." He glances over my body again. "She said, 'My friend Ainsley is here, looks like Goldilocks and is dressed in blue. Would you get her for me?'"

  Oh. A soft laugh escapes me. "Goldilocks was my nickname in high school. And I was wearing a blue shirt when she saw me earlier today."

  "Yeah. I pictured someone sweet. Blonde curls, blue dress, not an edgy sex-kitten in red Docs. Not that I’m complaining—at all." His smile widens and his cheeks darken more. He waves for me to follow him up the stairs. "Come on. We’re in the game room."

  Sex-kitten? No one has ever called me that before. I like it and am certain my blazing cheeks put his pink ones to shame.

  Aren't we a pair? Both shy but friendly.

  "I didn't get your name?" I ask when we round the second-floor landing. Sebastian's room is on the right. The door is closed. I barely glance at it when we walk by.

  "Brenton," he says over his shoulder.

  Brenton. I've never heard a name like his. Brandon? Brendon? Brennan? Yes.

  We enter the game room. Marcus and the other guy who usually guards the door with him are playing pool.

  Marcus sends me a welcoming grin. "Damn. Where'd you find her?" He lets out a low whistle.

  I gape. What? "Marcus, you know me. I come here with Harper a lot." Not lately, but I used to.

  His dark brows tighten with a your-crazy expression. "I'd remember you." He eyes his friend, who's getting ready to make a shot. "Aiden, you seen her before?"

  Aiden. Now I know his name. Of course, I could have just asked.

  He straightens from the table, his dark eyes narrowing on me like he's thinking really hard. "Do you wear your hair up like that a lot?"

  I shake my head. "Never here."

  His gaze rakes over me, and then he studies my features. A smile breaks across his face. "I’ve only ever seen eyes like that on one girl before, and yeah, we’ve seen you plenty. She comes here with the busty one," he says to Marcus and rounds his arms like he's hugging two boulders as boobs.