That Forever Girl

by Quinn, Meghan

  I’m causing her to remember . . . remember him. And that’s the last thing I want. I want to be the man who’s there for her, the man who takes care of her, and the man who shields her from the outside world. I can’t do that if I’m acting like a fiery brute. If I’m acting like him.

  And that’s when I realize it . . . an epiphany in the middle of this mess.

  I’m halfway down the pathway to losing my cool, falling down the same tunnel I’ve traveled far too many times. Instead of sitting back and listening to her, I’m reacting, I’m blaming, I’m creating an environment that isn’t healthy for anyone.

  And for the first time in my life, I’m realizing it before anything escalates to an unsalvageable mess.

  I’ve grown the fuck up.

  The old me would have lost his cool, shot off with anger, and become self-destructive in the worst way. But instead, I realize my reaction; I catch it before I get out of control and break our love all over again.

  I don’t ever want to see that look on her face again, the look of total heartbreak and fear. That’s the mask she’s wearing right now, wincing and curling up on herself, waiting for the blow, for me to push her away, to blame myself for everything and run, because . . . she deserves more.

  And she does, she deserves so much more, but not from someone else. She deserves more from me, the man she’s fallen for, the man who she’s proud of. It’s time I step up and be the undying love she’s asked me to be.

  Because that’s what she needs: a loving, caring man, someone who will hold her hand during the bad times and cheer for her during the good.

  It isn’t until your mind has matured . . .

  On a deep breath, I carefully travel back to the couch, where I take her in my arms, cradling her head to my chest. Relief loosens her tense muscles as she sinks into me, using me as a shield against all her worries and fears. She cries on my shoulder, shuddering with each sob as I gently stroke her back, tamping down the anger boiling at the base of my spine and channeling that energy into loving my girl instead, showing her despite the horrific past she had to endure that she’s safe now. Safe with me.

  Forever.

  “You are so brave, Harper. So fucking brave for pulling yourself out of that situation. I’m proud of you. So damn proud.”

  Another sob cracks past her beautiful lips as she buries her head deeper into my shirt.

  “I let it go on too long.”

  “Don’t do that,” I say, gripping the back of her head. “Don’t blame yourself for a situation that was emotionally out of your control.”

  “But—”

  “Doesn’t matter how long it took you to step away. All that matters is that you chose to leave; you still made the change, a decision that must have been incredibly hard to make.” I kiss the side of her head, mentally swearing to find out who this dickhole Brandon is and bring him to justice. “Did you at least press charges?”

  She nods against my shoulder. “Yes, I did.”

  “Good girl. In that situation, that’s the best thing you could have done. I’m sure he’ll be brought to trial, and when he is, I’ll be there by your side, waiting to make sure he doesn’t get away with what he did. He will pay for this. No one hurts my girl.”

  Lifting her head, she studies me for a second. “I thought . . . I thought that maybe you would take this a lot harder. Maybe even leave me . . . like you did last time.”

  I don’t blame her for thinking that, because that was my initial reaction the moment she told me about Brandon.

  “Harper.” I lift her head and stroke her cheek with my thumb. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere. Whatever trials and tribulations we face, we’re facing them together.” I press my lips together, searching for the right words. “Do I feel murderous about what happened to you? Yeah, of course, but I’ll work through that. But this isn’t about me. What matters is that I’m here for you and that you’re okay.” I search her face. “You’re okay, right?”

  She nods, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’m okay now. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my days where I remember. Where I remember everything he ever said to me, the way he touched me, the evil look in his eyes. Those memories are branded in me but hopefully will disappear with time. It’s going to take time.” She lowers her head, but I lift her chin with my finger.

  “I have all the time in the world, Harper. And when you’re ready, I want to make sure we bring justice to Brandon, make him pay for everything he put you through. I’ll hire the best lawyers. This man isn’t getting away with anything.”

  “You would do that?”

  My features soften. “I would do anything for you, Harper.”

  She falls into my embrace, squeezing me tighter. “I love you, Rogan, so much.” She sniffles and pulls away, wiping a stray tear as a shy smile passes over her face. “I was actually talking to my dad this morning about you.”

  “Yeah?” I wipe away another tear. “What were you saying? All good things, I hope.”

  She nods. “All great things, and how everything feels so right.”

  “It does,” I say, letting the anger melt away and focusing on just my girl. “Everything feels like it’s in place.”

  “And even though I don’t have a set path for my career, I still feel at peace right here, in your arms. Do you know what he said?”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me it’s because I’ve always known who I am in spirit. I was just searching for my home . . . and you’re my home, Rogan, my person, and no matter what, I’ll always belong to you.”

  Fuck. She couldn’t have said it any better.

  She’ll always belong to me.

  My forever girl.

  “And I will always belong to you, Harper.” I lean in to press my lips against hers, but she stops me.

  “That’s why I turned down the Lovemark job.”

  I pause, confused. “What Lovemark job?”

  “They offered me one today, to be a permanent scout for them. I would fly all over the country, searching out filming locations. It’s a dream job.”

  “But you turned it down? Why? It really is the dream job. You’ve excelled working with them on this recent project. You know small towns so well. You understand locations and settings. You could direct someone up and down the East Coast with your eyes closed. This is the perfect opportunity, Harper. And if it’s me you’re worried about, don’t worry. I will be by your side no matter what.”

  Her hand glides up my cheek. “I love you so much, Rogan.” She presses a chaste kiss across my waiting lips. “In all honesty, it might have been fun a few years ago when I needed the distraction, and yes, I’ve had fun working on this movie, but it’s not really what I want in life. I told them I would be their official New England liaison, but otherwise, I belong here in Port Snow with family and friends . . . with you.”

  “But what are you going to do?”

  “I’ve done some strong self-examining since I’ve been here, and I realized I’ve been cautious with my decision-making, never really committing to anything since college, and it’s because I don’t want to make another mistake.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That night, Rogan, the one of the accident, I forced you to go—”

  “Don’t even think about taking the blame for what happened. I was wrong for blaming you, for taking my anger out on you.”

  She presses her hand against my chest. “Just hear me out.” She rubs the spot over my rapidly beating heart. “I was content with the life we had. We made decisions together, I supported you, you supported me—we were truly an us. But I did follow in your footsteps, and I was okay with that; I still am, because you’re my home. That night, though, I thought I needed to push you past your limits. I felt the need to help you escape. It was a decision I made on my own, forcing you to go to that party—a decision that shaped my entire life. Ever since then, I’ve never truly committed to one place to live, one job, one man. But that has ch
anged now.”

  I might not agree with her, but I can understand her reasoning. “Keep going.”

  A smile passes over her lips. “This is where you come in, Mr. Knightly.”

  “Oh yeah?” I tuck her hair behind her ear.

  “Mm-hmm. I heard you’re going to be throwing events at the manor . . . do you happen to need an event planner?”

  Hell, why didn’t I think of it myself? Harper would be perfect for the job. Not only does she have experience from college, but she loves the manor; it would be the perfect place for her to build a career.

  “The job is yours if you want it.”

  “Really?” Her eyes light up.

  “I couldn’t think of a better person for the job. It’s all yours, Harp. I can set up an office for you in the den.”

  “Rogan!” She clamps her hands on my cheeks. “I . . . wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but . . . are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my God, I don’t know what to say! Gah, really?”

  “Really.”

  She bounces up and down with excitement. “Does this mean you’ll finally introduce me to the manor mistress?”

  I grin. “All in good time.”

  She groans but presses her forehead against mine. “You’ve made me the happiest girl in the world, not just with this job, but with everything. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m finally going to live the life I’ve always dreamed of . . . with you.”

  “As long as you’re my forever girl. That’s all I care about.”

  Closing the last few inches between us, I press my lips against hers and get lost there.

  Seven whole years apart . . . they were painful, but I don’t think we could ever have gotten to where we are today without them. I know I wouldn’t have had the drive to make a better life, and Harper may never have realized where she belongs: right next to me, our hearts beating as one.

  Seven years . . . it was all worth it. She’s worth it.

  My forever girl.

  EPILOGUE

  HARPER

  I nervously pace back and forth over the freshly stained porch, my hands twisting together as I wait for Rogan to pull into the long driveway with the manor mistress.

  It’s been a month.

  A freaking month!

  He waited a month to introduce me, claiming he wanted to focus on us first, get through the holidays—which we spent together in our house—and then focus on the mystery we tried to solve as teenagers. I think he just likes to torture me. Last week, I threatened withholding sex if he didn’t introduce me in the next week. It’s why I’m standing on the porch of the manor, impatiently waiting. This is the moment I’ve been begging for, the culmination of my high school years, all hovering over this one woman, someone I never thought I would get to meet.

  But Rogan made it happen.

  He never fails me; even when he pushed me away seven years ago, he never failed me, keeping me close to his heart through these houses, through our memories.

  I twist the ring on my finger, loving the feel of it once again, as if it never left. Rogan proposed to me on New Year’s Eve, saying he wanted to start the year off right, and that meant marrying me. It took me no time at all to say yes. It might seem like bad luck to some people, but he gave me the same ring he took away from me so many years ago. He said he couldn’t ever get rid of it, because in the back of his mind, at the bottom of his heart, he always hoped that maybe, just maybe, we would get back together.

  And I’m so glad he kept it. It holds a history that’s complex and sometimes painful . . . and entirely ours.

  His signature black Range Rover works its way down the long driveway. My breath catches in my chest as I try to peer past the tinted windows to catch a glimpse.

  Damn it. I can’t see a thing.

  It didn’t take very long for Rogan to ask me to move in with him, and how could I resist? The only thing I felt bad about was leaving my dad alone again. But he’s enjoyed coming over every other week for dinner, taking in the house he once thought he would buy for my mom.

  To say he cried the first time he saw it was an understatement, and that moment with my dad just made me fall head over heels in love with Rogan all over again.

  And the manor? I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t step through these doors and bask in the pure beauty of the place. Many years ago, we found this house broken down, unnurtured, and in need of some love. It went through its ups and downs, had its pitfalls, but in the end, it was brought back to life, just like my relationship with Rogan. He saw beauty in what he had, and yes, he might have stopped loving us for a brief moment, but it was a speed bump, because just like the house, he nurtured us back to life.

  Filming wrapped up pretty quickly after I turned down the job, which gave me time to pick up some events with Gina’s help. They were cobbled together, but I know once I get a chance to take a deep breath, all the events will be smooth sailing, and I’ll grow into a job that makes me happier than I thought possible.

  The wind blows through my hair, sending a chill down my spine as Rogan, my man, with his broad shoulders, wool jacket, and black-rimmed glasses, rounds the car and smiles at me before reaching for the passenger door.

  Ugh, I can’t see anything past him, which he realizes, judging from the giant grin on his face.

  I move closer as he opens the door. A small, loafer-covered foot meets the ground first as Rogan takes a frail hand in his. He steps to the side, and I blink a few times, recognition hitting me square in the chest. “Harper, I think you know Mrs. Davenport?”

  A little old lady with the brightest white hair you’ve ever seen steps forward; I swear my jaw hits the floor.

  Mrs. Davenport is the manor mistress? She’s the woman Rogan visits every Friday? The original Forever Girl?

  I’m blown away. Never in a million years would I have guessed that the town gossip, the leader of the elders, the little old lady with the penchant for driving locals crazy with her antics, would be the manor mistress.

  “From the look on her face, it seems like she wasn’t expecting me,” Mrs. Davenport says in her shaky voice, taking the steps up to the manor in small strides, her eyes full of wonder as she takes everything in.

  I don’t say a word; instead, I let her cherish this moment, knowing how special it is to her.

  This is the first time she’s seeing the manor since Rogan renovated the entire property. After all the letters she sent, all the hopes and dreams she wished for this house have finally become a reality. I can only imagine what she must be feeling.

  Rogan holds the door open for the both of us, and I let Mrs. Davenport walk in first as Rogan takes the spot at my side and links our hands together, a huge smile playing across his gorgeous lips.

  With a shaky cane, Mrs. Davenport makes her way through the entryway and into the ballroom, where she presses her hand against her chest. Awestruck: it’s the only way I can describe it. Completely awestruck.

  “It’s . . . everything I ever imagined,” she whispers, finding a seat next to the fireplace.

  I don’t sit down right away; instead, we stand off to the side, letting her enjoy her moment in the house she never got to live in.

  Finally, after wiping a stray tear, she motions to the couch across from the chair. “Sit, dear, we don’t want to have you standing all day with your mouth hanging open like a dead fish.”

  I snap my mouth shut and take a seat. I guess I was a little awestruck myself.

  “I suppose you’re wondering what the story is, aren’t you?” she casually says, as if we didn’t just rock her world. Rogan sits next to me and places his hand on my thigh, squeezing tightly.

  “I mean . . . yeah.”

  She chuckles. “Rogan told me all about your teenage adventures in the manor and the letters you found. Iggy always did enjoy collecting things and hiding them from that wretch of a woman Emma.”

  “How . . . why?” My mind spins.

  M
rs. Davenport reaches for my hand and gives it a pat. “Oh, dearie, it was all about status back then. Iggy was in love with me but needed the funds from Emma’s father to help his own father’s business succeed. It was simple; he might have loved me, but love back then wasn’t enough. Instead, he saved his father, bought the manor we always dreamed of having, and lived there with Emma, miserable and alone. The only joy he got came from the letters I sent him. We spoke of him divorcing her and living in the manor together, but he never made it far enough.” She shakes her head. “The day he died, my soul did too.”

  I know the feeling. I glance up at Rogan, who squeezes my thigh again. I take that moment to thread my fingers through his.

  “After he passed, his lawyer told me Iggy left the manor to me. It was a kind gesture, but one I couldn’t handle, so I let it sit there, never allowing my name to be attached. I didn’t want to sully my reputation. But when Rogan started sniffing around, I wanted to see what reason he could have for buying the house.” She looks off toward the wall behind us, her eyes glistening. “You should have seen it, dear, the pictures upon pictures he had of you two. The letters, the stories. He told me he wanted the house so he could restore it and protect the place where he fell in love. I knew the house might not have been destined for Iggy and me, but it sure as hell was destined for you two.”

  My heart swells.

  “And you gave it to Rogan, just like that?” I still can’t believe he didn’t have to pay for it.

  Mrs. Davenport looks me straight in the eyes. “It’s not always about the money, dear, but the story behind it. Rogan was madly in love—still is—and he would have paid anything to make that property his. That right there told me the house would be in good hands.” She leans back in her chair, taking in the ballroom once again. “Broken love can be mended, but it takes work, understanding, and appreciation for each other’s journey.”

  I glance at Rogan, a loving smile on his face as he takes me in. He mouths, I love you, and I do the same.

  Mrs. Davenport is right. Hope should never be lost when it comes to broken love. After all, broken things offer new beginnings, and sometimes that’s all love needs . . . a new beginning.