“Weirdly, I agree with him,” Reid adds, both of them grating on my nerves. “Do you know what your problem is?” Oh, this should be good. Knocking me in the shoulder to get my attention, he sternly says, “You’re self-destructive. You have been since you lost your chance at going pro. And instead of owning up to your mistakes and learning from them, you sit there and ruin the one good thing that’s come into your life. Brig is right: until your mind has matured, you’re never going to repair the love you broke in the first place.”
This goddamn curse. I don’t ever let myself think about it, and yet it follows me everywhere. I can’t say I believe in it, per se, but I know something happened that night in New Orleans. And I can’t say my brothers are wrong. They scarily speak the truth. I might not have attempted the fate of the curse myself; dating has been something I’ve never given a second thought—only one-night stands here and there—but there’s no need to find out whether the curse is real or not, because I’m already living a cursed life. Ever since the accident, I’ve been a self-destructive disaster when it comes to love.
That fucking night. I can still hear Harper’s screams in my ear, my buddies yelling for someone to call 911, the unbearable pain. That next morning, when I woke up and was told I would never play football again . . . it pretty much set the tone for the rest of my life: bitter disappointment.
But that was seven years ago, and I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I don’t want to be the guy who lay in the hospital bed with a hollow chest and a broken dream. I don’t want to be the guy who throws away his chance at real happiness.
I want more. I worked hard to resurrect myself. I might not be perfect, but I’m a far cry from the boy who dropped out of college and pushed away the love of his life.
If I want something to change, if I want to gain any semblance of happiness again, I very well might have to listen to these two motherfuckers and grow the fuck up.
I run my hand through my hair, my pulse starting to pick up as I consider my circumstances. Harper is here, single, in town, and using my properties for the film . . . there’s an opportunity here, and I won’t forgive myself if I don’t take it.
My fingers run across the side of my jaw, the idea of getting closer to Harper, of earning her love again, starting to percolate in my head. Start as friends, and move from there. I can do that. I mean, that’s how we started in the first place. Friends, best friends, and then soul mates.
The more I think about it, the more I know I can do this.
I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but . . . I’m going to get Harper back.
Fuck the past.
Fuck this curse.
I’m going to make Harper my forever girl again.
“There she is. Come sit down,” Sally calls out and motions to Harper, who’s hurrying into the inn lobby, pink-cheeked and windblown, trailing the crisp scent of autumn as she walks toward us.
We’ve been sitting here for the past half hour, going over the different properties I own that Harper thought Sally would be interested in—and Sally’s thinking about using all of them.
“Hey,” Harper says tentatively, taking a seat and looking me up and down. “I’m sorry, I was running a little late. I was talking with Thomas down at the harbor about his sailboat. He said you guys are really excited about using it.”
“Oh, it was a dream, just like you said. He did ask for a small part in the movie.”
Harper chuckles. “Yeah, I could see him doing that, just like everyone else in this town. Let me guess—he wants to be the captain?”
“Something like that.” Sally organizes her papers into a neat stack. “Now, I was just talking with Mr. Knightly about the different properties you suggested. I think they’re perfect. I’m still on the fence about Peach Tree Terrace, but I think it might be a good location for a scene that’s being rewritten right now. We’ll see. Anyway, Mr. Knightly is more than willing to work with us . . . under one condition.”
“Oh?” Harper turns to me, a nervous look in her eyes.
“He would like to be present for all setup, filming, and takedown, which means you two will be working closely together.”
Sally might not see it, but I do. Harper swallows hard, and her eyes dart back and forth for a second. “That won’t be a problem at all. I’m sure Mr. Knightly will want to keep a close eye on his properties, since they’re a part of his income.”
“Yes, well, I’ll let you two discuss schedules. I have a hair consult to get to. Harper, are we still on for tomorrow morning at eight? I want to make sure we are set before the crew shows up.”
“Of course. Eight is perfect. I’ll see you then.”
Sally stands and shakes my hand. “Mr. Knightly, you made my day. Your properties will shine on camera. Thank you for being so flexible.”
I stand as well. “It’s my pleasure. We’ll be in touch.” Once Sally is gone, I sit back down and adjust the sleeves of my shirt, pulling down on the cuffs before looking up at Harper; she’s staring at my hands, mesmerized. “My eyes are up here, Harp.”
Her face snaps up, her cheeks reddening. “Sorry.” She clears her throat. “Umm . . . so we’ll be working together . . . closely.”
I slowly nod. “I hope that won’t be a problem.”
“Oh no,” she says sarcastically, “it won’t be awkward at all.”
“It’ll only be awkward if we make it awkward.”
Studying me, she leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest. “So you’re just”—she waves her hand through the air—“fine with having to work with me. Just like that.”
I shrug. “Yeah, why not?”
“Why not?” Her eyes bulge. “Did you forget the fact that we not only used to date but were engaged? Or how about the little-known fact that you broke off that engagement like it meant nothing to you, or your proclamation to the town that you wanted nothing to do with me?”
“Minor details.” I smile wickedly.
“Oh no.” She wags her finger. “I don’t think so. I know what that smile is. That’s your I’m trying to charm someone for something smile. So what is it? What are you getting from Lovemark? Why can you suddenly stand to be in the same room as me?”
“I’m not getting anything from them.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fine, then don’t believe me.” I pull out some contracts and lay them on the table along with my specifications for not changing anything in the houses. “Here’s what I told Lovemark about my—”
“So you’re just going to jump right into business? Am I the only one who’s having a hard time just falling into line here? You really think we’re going to work together?”
I fold my hands together and prop them between my legs. “Do you want this job with Lovemark?”
“Yes.”
“Does Lovemark want to use my properties?”
“Yes,” she answers, exasperated.
I click my pen and poise over the papers in front of me. “Then it looks like you’re going to be working closely with me.”
“Can’t your assistant do it? What’s her name? Jennifer?”
“Gina.”
She snaps her fingers. “That’s right, Gina. Can’t she do it?”
“No.”
Stunned, Harper stares at me, mouth slightly ajar. “No? Just like that? You won’t even consider it?”
“No. They are my properties, and with all the equipment being moved in and out of them, I would like to oversee that nothing gets harmed. Especially in the manor.”
“You don’t trust me to make sure everything is taken care of?”
“I trust you, but I don’t trust them. An extra pair of eyes, my eyes, on the property while they’re filming isn’t going to hurt.”
Letting that be the final word, I start signing the contracts Sally dropped off, my pen forcefully scrolling against the cream paper, Harper’s eyes trained on me the entire time. I can practically hear the inner workings of her brain, trying
to understand her new working situation.
Finally, after the last paper is signed, she asks, “Why are you doing this, Rogan? Are you trying to hurt me?”
“Hurt you?” My brow creases in concern. “Why would you think that?”
She leans forward. “You know this is hard on me, seeing you here in town, being around your family, all the memories. This hasn’t been a good few weeks. I finally have something to look forward to, a job that interests me, and it feels like you’re taking that away from me.”
“I would never do that, Harper.”
“No? Well, you took away the most important thing in my life seven years ago. Why should I believe you won’t do it now?”
“Because I fucked up back then,” I answer honestly, shocking her. Hell, I shocked myself. Clearing my throat, I set the pen down. “I’m not doing this to hurt you or take anything away. I just . . . fuck, I miss you, Harp.” I bow my head, my heart pounding as the truth pours out of me. “I fucking miss you, and I know that what I did to us can never be fixed, but I can’t live in this town and ignore you. It’s impossible with the kind of history we have. So . . . I don’t know.” I adjust the collar of my shirt. “I was hoping that maybe we could be friends.”
“Friends?” Harper asks, her voice rising. “You want to be friends?” She throws her head back and laughs . . . hard.
Shit, not the kind of reaction I was hoping for. I was thinking more along the lines of Sure, that would be amazing. I’ve been wanting to be friends this whole time. I miss you too, Rogan.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, trying to stem my irritation at her guffaws.
Wiping under her eyes, she focuses back on me. “You want to be friends? Oh, that is just rich.” She wipes her eye again. “Good one, Rogan. God, I needed that laugh.”
“Why is it so goddamn funny? We can be friends.”
She shakes her head. “When exes say they can be friends, they’re full of shit. No one who has ever loved another person, and I mean truly loved them, can just be friends. It’s not possible, because no matter what, the breakup will always hang over their heads like a giant neon sign. No, never going to happen.”
“It can happen,” I say defensively. “Brig and Reid think we can be friends.”
That makes Harper’s entire face morph with humor. “You asked Brig and Reid about being friends with me? A romantic and a sarcastic ass? Of course they’re going to say we can be friends. Brig’s hoping we get back together, and Reid is setting you up for failure. Why didn’t you ask Griffin or Jen?”
“They weren’t available.”
“You’re ridiculous.” One of her long legs crosses over the other, drawing my attention for a brief second. God, when those legs used to clamp around my waist . . . “We can’t be friends.”
“We can,” I counter, tearing my eyes off her legs so I can look her in the eyes.
“Not going to happen, Rogan.”
“Well.” I stand and button my jacket. “I think you’ve forgotten how persuasive I can be.”
“Oh, please.” She looks up at me, and the little smirk on her lips is my saving grace. She may not believe I can earn her friendship, but I can see in her eyes that she’s looking forward to my attempt.
“Watch your back, Sanders. Before you know it, you’re going to be calling me up in the middle of the night to tell me about your period, just like old times.” With a wink, I stride out the front doors, but not before I hear her groan out loud.
I have her right where I want her.
“Morning,” I say, slapping a newspaper on the bar and patting Harper on the shoulder. “How’s my buddy this morning?”
Eve, who’s filling a glass of water, lets it overflow as she stares between Harper and me. “Um . . . what’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Harper says, attempting to swat my hand away.
“Didn’t you see?” I ask, shocked. “It’s in the newspaper and everything.” I point to the obnoxious headline. “Harper and I are friends again.”
“What?” Eve and Harper ask at the same time, leaning over the paper.
Now, when I say I’m going to do something, I don’t just do it; I go all out. So after my conversation with Harper yesterday, I decided to start off this friendship journey on the right foot . . . by announcing it in the local newspaper. Though I use the term newspaper loosely—it’s essentially a gossip rag that focuses more on the locals than any actual news.
Want something to gossip about? Pick up the Port Snow Gazette; it will give you all the fodder you need. It was centered around Griffin and Ren for a while, but their couple news has died down, and the town needs something new to talk about. And I need all the help I can get. The more the locals congratulate me and Harper on our resurrected friendship, the better.
“What the hell is this?” Harper asks, lifting the paper. “High school sweethearts find friendship.” She points to the paper. “Our names are in this.”
“That’s the point. Announcing our friendship in the paper is the perfect way to start this new journey.”
“Are you insane?” Harper puts down the paper, which Eve picks back up.
“Rogan Knightly and Harper Sanders, longtime lovers, now best friends, have taken Port Snow by storm with their love and respect for one another. Here’s to their journey to being best friends.” Eve looks up. “What the hell is this crap? You’re friends with him?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
We speak at the same time.
“Ah, come on, Harp, admit it—we’re friends.” I raise my eyebrows.
She palms my face. “You’re delusional.”
And with that she takes off toward the kitchen, but not before I snag her wrist and pull her back, Eve’s gaze never leaving us. “Where are you going? I have something for you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Sure do.” From my pocket, I pull out a braided bracelet I paid my niece to make for me. “It’s a friendship bracelet.” I hold up Harper’s arm and secure it around her wrist and then show off my wrist as well. “See, we both have them.”
“Oh, Rogan.” Eve shakes her head. “This is so beneath you.”
I ignore her. “It’s official. Best friends forever.”
Harper is silent for a beat, taking me in, a twist to her lips, a squint to her eyes. Uh-oh, I know that look. It’s not good. She’s cooking up something.
“We’re friends?” she asks.
“I mean, the bracelets kind of confirm that.”
“Ah, right, and friends talk to each other about everything, right?”
“Basically.” What’s she getting at? Whatever it is, I prepare myself.
“Okay.” She trades a look with Eve, who looks just as confused as I feel. “So you don’t mind giving me dating advice.”
Oh, fuck no. She’s not playing fair. I’d rather hurl myself into the frigid harbor. But of course I don’t say that. I play her game, even if it’s torture.
“Of course. What kind of advice do you need?” I ask, ignoring the horrible taste I have in my mouth.
“Well, you know. Carson and I were catching up the other day, and I was thinking about asking him out. What are your thoughts?”
Was she really talking to Carson? He is so not her fucking type. Preppy and too nice. I’ll have to have a little conversation with the history teacher over at the school.
“Carson’s a great guy. Specializes in boring his dates with fun factoids about deceased presidents. But I did hear he always picks up the tab and orders dessert. That’s a good guy in my book.” I tack on a smile, which I can tell irritates her immediately.
“Dessert is nice,” Eve adds.
A wicked idea pops into my head, and I try not to smirk. “And since we’re on the topic of dating . . . do you know who I ran into at Cumberland Farms the other day? Denise Whitaker. She asked me—”
Getting in my face, finger pointed at me, Harper hisses, “If you go out with Double-Ds Denise, so help me God, I will
castrate you.”
And that’s the exact reaction I was looking for. This might be easier than I was expecting; if she didn’t have feelings for me, there’s no way in hell she would have had that kind of reaction to Denise.
“What’s wrong with Denise?” I ask, even though I know exactly why Denise is a big no.
“Are you kidding me? She tried to screw you every time she saw you. No way in hell are you going out with her. She just wants your dick.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I smirk.
Harper holds up her wrist and tugs on her friendship bracelet. “If you want this godforsaken thing to stay on, then yeah, it’s a bad thing.” She spins on her heel and stalks to the kitchen.
Wincing, I turn to find Eve eyeing me suspiciously. “I don’t think I like what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?” I ask, anything but innocent.
“I don’t know, but watch yourself, Knightly. I’m on to you.”
Brig: Friendship bracelet? Nice touch, bro.
Reid: Screw the friendship bracelet, I can’t believe you had a write-up in the newspaper.
Griffin: I was just about to text that. Ren was giggling all morning. Dude, what’s going on?
Brig: We convinced him to fight for Harper.
Griffin: Who’s we?
Reid: Me and Brig.
Griffin: Are you insane, Rogue?
Rogan: They were the only two available at the time . . . and they imposed on my solitary confinement.
Brig: ^^^ AKA, sitting in his car . . . again.
Reid: It’s weird that you do that. We can see you, man.
Rogan: I never said I thought I was invisible.
Reid: Still weird.
Griffin: A little weird.
Rogan: Fuck off, Griff. You do it all the time.
Brig: ^^^ He has you there, old man.
Reid: He did it last Sunday and played the drums on the steering wheel.
That Forever Girl Page 18
