That Forever Girl

by Quinn, Meghan

“And then you had the football room, Brig’s was covered in Ford Mustangs, and Reid . . .” A snort escapes me. “Please tell me the kids aren’t allowed in his room.”

  “The posters of women have been taken down; that was the one thing my mom changed. She put up pictures of watering cans instead.”

  Another unladylike snort pops out of me. “Watering cans? Why?”

  “She thought it would be the perfect punishment for driving her crazy all those years. She was really nervous he was going to rub himself raw.”

  “Well, you weren’t that much better.” I look him up and down.

  “You caught me jacking off once during sophomore summer. I was nothing compared to Reid.”

  I shrug my shoulders and stroll through his room, my finger skimming over his comforter. “I don’t know, you were really going to town on yourself.”

  “Because I was so goddamn hung up on you. I needed release.”

  I face him. “Stop.”

  Taking a few steps, he closes the distance between us, leaving only a few feet. “Seriously. Before our first kiss that summer, I was so goddamn infatuated with you . . . and your tits.”

  My eyes nearly reach the ceiling with the roll they give. “You were a horny teenager; you would have been happy with any pair of boobs.”

  His face dead serious, he shakes his head, moving in another few inches. “No way in hell. Like it was yesterday, I distinctly remember the day you showed off your new yellow bikini. You took your shirt off, and I immediately rolled onto my stomach from how hard I got in seconds. You were so goddamn hot in that thing that it was the first time I realized I didn’t want you to be just my best friend.”

  “The yellow bikini?”

  Biting his bottom lip, he takes another step forward, this time reaching out and grasping my hand. He laces our fingers together, and for a moment, I savor the feel of his large hand wrapping around mine.

  “Yeah, it was sexy. And from there, it was a downhill slope for me. I started noticing everything, from your long legs, to the flare in your hips, to the small belly button ring you liked to hide from your dad. I was infatuated with you, and the minute you mentioned never being kissed, I knew I had to be the one who gave you your first kiss. I became obsessed with the idea, and then you shocked the shit out of me and took charge, just like my best friend would.”

  I don’t know what to say. At the time I didn’t sense his desperation for me, but in this moment, not only do I feel his current desperation but I can also see the teenage boy in his eyes, and that look is devastating; it’s what makes the first crack in my wall.

  He tugs me close.

  “That feeling I had for you back then doesn’t even come close to how I feel about you right now.”

  Oh God . . . I don’t know if I can do this.

  “Rogan . . .”

  He places his finger over my lips, quieting me. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know where I am, and I want you to understand something.” He takes my other hand in his and places it against his chest, squeezing it tenderly as his heart beats rapidly underneath our connection. “You don’t owe me anything. And I know that what happened between us destroyed any chance of getting you back, but since I’m never going to ever find what we had with anyone else, I thought I would let you know how I feel.”

  Lungs seizing on me, I try to take deep breaths, but it’s practically impossible.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Harp. I brought you up here because I wanted a chance to talk to you in private. I wanted to tell you that this year, I’m thankful for you coming back into my life, even if it’s just as a friend. I didn’t think I would ever have the chance to talk to you again, let alone see you walk around town with that beautiful smile on your face. Even if nothing ever happens between us, I’m grateful for these little moments we’ve had.”

  Lips pressed together, eyes welling up with tears, I hold back the flood of emotions that wants to spill over. This right here, this is the man I knew and loved so many years ago. He’s the one who captured my heart, the one who held it close and protected it with everything he had.

  And as I stand here, my hand clasped in his, my mind whirls with the possibility of what we could be.

  Leaning forward, I let my feelings take over. I lick my lips and glance up at his. With one lift up to my toes, I could easily press my mouth against his, steal this moment, show him how thankful I am that he’s thriving after everything that happened, after all he’s lost and everything he’s been through.

  Just a little taste. It would mean nothing, right?

  Hell, it would mean everything. It would be the beginning of forgiveness, the start of a second chance. Is that what I want?

  Honestly, at this point, I have no idea what I want; all I know is that my body is leaning in toward his, and a wave of goose bumps spreads over my skin as Rogan tilts his head down.

  The air around us stands still; a whisper of yearning passes between us, swirling around us, creating a sweet, safe cocoon of familiarity.

  It would be so easy to fall back into a relationship with Rogan, the one boy who made me and destroyed me.

  He licks his lips.

  I do the same . . . again.

  He squeezes my hand tighter.

  I rest my free hand on his hip, finding a belt loop to hook my finger through.

  He lowers his face.

  I’m rising up on my toes—just as the door to his room flies open.

  “Dinner’s ready!” Brig shouts, scaring the crap out of the both of us.

  Springing off Rogan, I back up until I hit his bed and topple over, hitting the mattress with a thud.

  “What the fuck, man?” Rogan asks, helping me to my feet.

  Chuckling, Brig just shrugs. “What? Dinner’s ready. Was I interrupting something?”

  “You’re dead. You better start fucking running.”

  Still laughing, Brig backs up and takes off down the hall, his feet pounding the stairs as he loudly announces, “Rogan was making out with Harper.”

  Irritated, Rogan grips the back of his neck, his muscles bunching up. “The dickhead is almost twenty-four, but I swear to God he still acts like a twelve-year-old.”

  I scoot around Rogan and head for the door, mortified. “Probably for the best.”

  “Hey.” Rogan catches up to me quickly. “I meant what I said, Harper.”

  “I know.” I twist my hands at my waist. “And honestly, I don’t know where my head’s at. I’m not sure I can ever give you what you need, despite how much I may want to.”

  With a sad smile, I take off for the stairs, prepping myself for the stares and questions that are going to come my way.

  Dinner has been consumed, the pies decimated, and the dishes cleaned. I would have given Mrs. Knightly a hug and a thank-you and been on my way by now if it weren’t for my dad, who is passed out, open mouthed, beside a snoring Mr. Knightly.

  This is why you never carpool.

  Dinner was awkward thanks to Brig’s announcement. Thankfully, Rogan set everyone straight, stating that we were not making out, just talking, even though we both know if Brig hadn’t interrupted us, we very well might have kissed.

  And that’s what I can’t stop thinking about now. If we had kissed, what would I have done after that? Run away? Kissed him some more? Held his hand at dinner?

  No.

  I can’t.

  My stomach twists with uncertainty. Getting involved with Rogan would be a very bad idea. This is why I’ve sequestered myself in the corner with Jen and Ren, trying to stay as far away from Rogan as possible.

  “Are you enjoying the new job?” Ren asks, taking a sip of tea. Man, this Knightly clan doesn’t let up, do they?

  “I am. I’m surprised at how easy it came. The hardest part is working with some of the property owners and scheduling. But other than that, finding the locations was almost too simple.”

  “That’
s amazing. Is this something you think you want to do full time after this?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe. I like it a lot, but I also don’t know how well I would do being an out-of-towner, coming in and trying to convince locals to open up their houses and businesses to Lovemark. I think I did so well with this one because everyone here trusts me.”

  “That makes sense,” Jen says. “But you are also very sweet and charismatic. I could see you kicking ass outside of Port Snow doing something like this.”

  “Maybe.” I lower my voice a little. “I just feel kind of lost right now, you know? I’m not sure where I belong, what I should be doing. I was going to school for event planning, but I dropped out, became a tour guide, and now I’m scouting locations for Lovemark. I don’t know; nothing really seems like it fits. I like this job a lot, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder, is this really what I want to do? Ugh, I shouldn’t be bothering you guys with this, especially on Thanksgiving. Forget I said anything.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ren says, placing her hand on my knee and scooting closer. “I know exactly what you mean. Before I came to Port Snow, I was looking to start a new chapter and leave the past behind. I was lost, unsure of myself, but so eager to have a fresh start.”

  “That’s exactly where I am right now. But I have no idea what that start is.” My lip trembles, and I hold back the emotions that want to bubble up inside me. Crying at the Knightlys’ on Thanksgiving while two men snore five feet away seems like hitting rock bottom, or at least pretty close to it. “I haven’t had the best couple of months, and now that I’m trying to figure out this whole life thing, I have to do it in the same town as my ex-fiancé. It’s hard to leave the past behind when it practically smacks me in the face every day.”

  Jen shoots me a sympathetic look. “I know we haven’t made it easy on you, constantly pushing you two together, but I can’t help but think you were made for each other.”

  “He hurt me, Jen,” I say quietly.

  “And every single one of us could have slaughtered him for it, but I think you need to understand one thing. He didn’t just lose his leg to that fire; he also lost his confidence, his sense of self. That confidence is only just starting to return, and I think it’s because of you.”

  “But what about my confidence?” I shake my head. “I’m an empty shell, Jen. I have no idea what to do, where to begin.”

  “Start with this new opportunity, explore it, and see where it takes you. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you should give Rogan a chance. You never know what you might learn from each other.”

  I scoff. “What could Rogan learn from me?”

  “He can learn to appreciate the man he’s become,” Ren says. “I haven’t known him very long, but he’s always taciturn, always cutting himself off from people. But the moment you came along, I think my tongue dropped out of my mouth because he actually started acting a little more human and a little less like the town pariah.”

  “You being back here has made him a new person; maybe Rogan can do the same for you. But you have to let him.” Jen takes my hand in hers. “Tell me this, do you feel more at home here, more comfortable in Port Snow, or out traveling the East Coast?”

  That’s easy to answer. “More at home here. For the first time in a long time, something inside me feels right.” And that realization seems like a weight lifting off my chest. Nervously, I add, “But what if he hurts me again?”

  “He won’t. He doesn’t have that kind of destructive streak anymore, and if he did, there are at least a half dozen people who will murder him in his sleep.”

  I chuckle. “You being one of them?”

  Jen nods as Ren raises her hand. “And me. But I think we would all fall behind Griffin.”

  “She’s right. Griffin would be the first in line. But in all seriousness, in order to find yourself, you have to lower the wall and let people in.”

  A loud snore pops out of my dad, startling him and Mr. Knightly awake. Both sitting forward, they turn toward each other, laugh, and then shake hands.

  Sheesh, if only life were that easy.

  Although . . . maybe it is. Maybe I’m overanalyzing. Maybe I just need to experience life as it comes.

  Over in the dining room, I spot Rogan talking to his brothers. A grin pulls at the corner of his lips, his soulful eyes fixed on Brig, who is animatedly impersonating someone. He does seem different—happier, more content.

  Just when I’m about to turn away, he locks eyes with me, and his smile grows even wider. Arm draped over the chair next to him, he casually winks and then turns back to his conversation, not even realizing he shot a wave of butterflies through my stomach with that little gesture.

  Could I really give him a second chance?

  Rogan: Snuck out without saying bye, huh? That’s cold, Harp.

  Harper: I wanted to make sure my dad didn’t pass out on the way to the car. You know how he gets with turkey.

  Rogan: Not a valid enough excuse. You owe me a goodbye.

  Harper: You owe me a lot of things but you don’t see me keeping track.

  Rogan: Well seems like that’s your fault, not mine.

  Harper: I see that you haven’t lost your knack for being a smartass.

  Rogan: No, kept that close to my heart.

  Harper: Sounds about right.

  Rogan: Are you in bed?

  Harper: It’s eleven at night, what do you think?

  Rogan: What are you wearing?

  Harper: Not going to happen, no way, nice try.

  Rogan: Why such a fuddy duddy?

  Harper: Fine, what are you wearing?

  Rogan: Nothing, your turn.

  Harper: Since it’s twenty degrees out and the insulation in this old house isn’t great, I’m curled up in a fuzzy turtleneck, flannel pants, and thick socks.

  Rogan: I’m going to take that as nothing but a thong.

  Harper: You’re impossible.

  Rogan: Are we still on for Monday?

  Harper: What’s Monday?

  Rogan: Did you really forget? You’re supposed to come to the manor. We switched the date, remember? It’s the last property on the list we need to go over and since I just finished renovations, I’m going to be very specific about how the space is used.

  Harper: I know, just testing you.

  Rogan: Trying to make me sweat?

  Harper: Just a little. Did it work?

  Rogan: No, remember, I’m naked.

  Harper: I’m going now . . . GOOD NIGHT, Rogan. <— there, you happy?

  Rogan: Barely satisfied. Would have been better with a hug. See you Monday, Harp.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  HARPER

  Sophomore Year, Syracuse University

  I take a deep breath and count to ten. Let him do it. Let him do it, Harper.

  “Fuck,” he mutters.

  After another failed and frustrating attempt, I step in, taking the tie from him. “Here, let me help.”

  “I can do it,” he snaps, snagging the tie from me. “Just because I lost a part of my fucking leg doesn’t mean I need you to do everything for me.”

  One more deep breath. Don’t let it get to you.

  It’s been like this for the past seven months—Rogan constantly snapping at me, barely able to look me in the eyes, and hiding away from the world.

  You always hear about the people who wish they could go back in time and change their decisions, the steps they took in life. I never believed in that. I always thought, good or bad, every decision you make is a lesson, a path to get you to where you’re going.

  I don’t think that anymore.

  Every damn day of my life, I wish I could go back in time and listen to Rogan, agree that we should stay home. If only I had listened, if I hadn’t pushed him, we wouldn’t be where we are now. I wouldn’t feel like, with every minute that passes, our love is slipping from my grasp.

  And there is nothing I can do about it.

&n
bsp; Taking a step back, I run my eyes over Rogan’s broad back, his shoulder blades tenting his finely tailored black dress shirt tucked into his black dress pants, cinched with a leather belt. Barefoot, he stands in front of the mirror, struggling with his tie. I can’t help but glance down at his prosthetic.

  I’ll never forget the look on Griffin’s face when he told me, when the doctors confirmed the fourth-degree burns were too damaging to his foot and shin and there was nothing they could do but amputate. I cried for hours in Griffin’s arms, because in that moment, I knew that all Rogan’s dreams had come to a crashing halt.

  “Fuck!” he shouts, tossing the tie to the side and running his hand through his hair. He walks over toward the dresser and grips the edge, head bent forward. There is still a little bit of a hitch in his walk, but it’s not nearly as noticeable as a few months ago.

  The athletic department has been kind to him, allowing him to continue his second phase of physical therapy in their facilities, but with each passing day, I can see him growing more bitter. Snapping at me, missing weight training, disappearing for long stretches of time. He’s slipping away, and I don’t know how to stop it.

  “I’m not going to this fucking thing.” He starts to undo his shirt, tearing at the buttons.

  “Rogan.” I walk up to him and place my hand on his back. He shrugs away from my touch. “All the guys are looking forward to seeing you tonight.”

  “Like I give a fuck. I see them around campus all the goddamn time, and do you think they say a damn word to me?” He sneers. “They don’t. So what makes you think they really want to see me tonight? Fuck that, I’m not going.”

  “Just because you couldn’t knot your tie?” The words slip out of me before I can stop them. All my pent-up frustration and anger is getting the best of me. I take a deep breath. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “You sure as fuck did.” He tears his shirt off, revealing his toned chest. To the right of his ribcage, there’s a small, crescent-shaped scar from where the fire caught a part of his shirt when the alcohol spilled over him. It’s the same spot I rub at night when he’s fast asleep, wishing and praying I could heal it, heal him.

  “Rogan, I don’t want to fight right now.” Like every other night. “Let’s just put your shirt back on, forget the tie, and go.”