Forever With You

by Beverley Kendall

  Right. I can’t let myself dwell on that much less the implications.

  I return my gaze to his face only to be met with rage-filled eyes. My breath warbles and my good intentions falter when hit with a pang of momentary fear. I’d known that if this day ever came it would be rough. Not sure I thought it would be this rough.

  My dad was livid when he caught on to what had been going on with me and Graham. But his anger had mostly been directed at “the degenerate” who’d corrupted his “baby girl”. I’d been the victim of an older man’s pedophilic tendencies.

  Graham knows the opposite to be true. Hence the loathing.

  The brunette turns her gaze on me before moving on to inspect April. Her blue eyes are a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

  Graham has barely taken his narrowed gaze off me, tracking my approach with laser intensity.

  “Graham.” His name falls from my lips on an unsteady exhale.

  Eyes still fixed on me, he leans down and whispers in her ear. Something in the intimacy of the act disturbs me. I try to pinpoint the emotion.

  Jealousy?

  I turn that over in my mind.

  No, I conclude. I don’t feel that way about him anymore. It’s more likely envy. I haven’t had a boyfriend since I transferred to Warwick University in upstate New York a year and a half ago.

  When they exchange a kiss, I find myself looking away and meet April’s questioning stare. I’d almost forgotten she was here. My gaze returns to the couple.

  “I’ll meet you at the car,” Graham’s girlfriend says, caressing his jaw.

  I watch him as he watches her walk away and out the mall entrance doors.

  The moment the door closes behind her, Graham turns on me, his jaw tight and his dark-blue eyes spitting fury. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  I blink and my eyes go wide. Oddly it’s not his shocking use of the f-word that takes me by surprise but the thickness of the British accent in which it’s delivered, all traces of his American accent gone.

  Before I can come up with a coherent response, he abruptly shifts his attention to April. “I’m going to assume you’re a friend of hers.”

  I used to be Em or Emily, now I’m simply her.

  Suddenly April’s crowding me, placing a restraining hand on my arm. And who can blame her? I’d be more than a little freaked out if a guy I didn’t know came at me like that.

  Whatever he reads on her face is all the answer he needs because he gives a sharp nod and says, “Good. Then do your friend a favor and make sure she stays the hell away from me.” He directs a warning look my way.

  The boulder-sized lump that formed in my throat makes swallowing impossible. I suppose it’s enough I’m able to breathe.

  With that warning shot, he turns and stalks away, out the mall doors and into the balmy June day.

  “Holy crap!” April’s elevated voice barely registers through the fog of my brain. “You want to tell me what the hell you did to Graham?”

  It isn’t long before I lose sight of him in the sea of parked cars.

  “Em? Who is he?”

  April’s question pulls my attention back to her. I do my best to focus but it isn’t easy. “No one. Just a guy I used to know.”

  No one. For the absurdity of that lie, I’m surprised a bolt of lightning doesn’t strike me down on the spot.

  “What? Is he an old boyfriend? Did you dump him or something?”

  I got him arrested. “April, can we not talk about this?” I plead.

  Her brow furrows, concern clouding her green eyes. “Em, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on. He’s a guy from my past. We didn’t date that long.” Just the best eight weeks of my young life. And I haven’t met anyone like him since.

  Her raised perfectly manicured brow tells me she’s not buying it. “Dated? Are we talking the horizontal mambo jambo or the get to know you kind?”

  April’s my best friend; I should be able to tell her, but I can’t. I need her friendship. I don’t want her to know he has every reason to hate me.

  “It’s a long story.” And one I’ve never shared with anyone.

  “Then give me the abridged version.”

  Despite the understanding in her eyes, I can’t bring myself to admit the truth to her. Even if the risk is small, it’s not worth our friendship.

  “I take it things ended badly.”

  A maniacal laugh rises in my throat but I manage to tamp it down. That would be the understatement of the century. “Yeah, you can say that. Which is why I really don’t want to talk about it—if you don’t mind.”

  April moves another step closer and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Can’t you tell me what happened?” she asks, her voice gentle and coaxing.

  A sad self-deprecating laugh escapes me along with an unintended stream of consciousness. “You want to know what went wrong? We had sex. That’s why he hates me.”

  Her eyes get round and her eyebrows bolt toward her hairline.

  God, Emily, can you be more of an idiot?

  Ugh. I shake my head, suddenly weary. “Never mind. Honestly, April, I don’t want to talk about it.” And I don’t. I’m spent. Defeated. After all these years, Graham still hates me. So I’ll have to live with the mess I made of his life…and the guilt that continues to plague mine.

  April touches me lightly on the shoulder. “Okay, I’ll drop it.”

  For now. It’s those two words that remain unspoken between us.

  I remember the walk to the jail cell. It had felt like the longest walk of my life. After seeing Emily, though—being blindsided by her—the walk to the car feels almost as long. Each step just as heavy and my heart is beating just as fast.

  She’s not supposed to be here. The last article I’d read about her said she’d quit modeling and after graduating from high school, had gone to Berkeley. Which is one of the reasons I hadn’t thought twice about coming back to New York after my father died. Not that I wouldn’t have had I known she was back in the state.

  Maybe she’s not back. She could simply be home for the summer. When I’d left, she’d been living in Oyster Bay, which is closer to the city, but maybe her parents moved up this way. Or she could be visiting a friend. Who the fuck knows and who the fuck cares? I don’t. Not running into her again is all that matters.

  Sweat trickles from my temple to my ear. After spending the last three and a half years in England, my body is still adjusting to the warmer temperatures.

  Once my girlfriend’s red two-door Lexus with the vanity plates comes into view, my pace slows. I’m not sure why.

  Yes, I do. I’m dreading the grilling I’m going to get. The questions about Emily. Questions I don’t want to answer. But Emily’s appearance has made that conversation all but unavoidable.

  As I approach, Liane peers out at me through the passenger window. I round the rear of the car to the driver side. She’s silent and watchful as I open the door and climb in behind the wheel.

  I welcome the cool draft of the air conditioning and the quiet purr of the engine. Although it’s her car, when we go out together, she prefers that I drive. Me? I wouldn’t trust anyone else driving my car if I owned a 2015 Lexus RC, especially someone who’s still getting accustomed to driving on the right side of the road. Lee complains she drives enough for her job in pharmaceutical sales. But her trust isn’t unconditional. She won’t let me drive it unless she’s riding shotgun.

  I give her a brief smile as I click my seatbelt in place. Then I turn up the radio and hear Adele’s mournful voice. “Hello, it’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet…”

  I immediately switch stations. I hate that song. And not because it hits way too close to home. No, I hate it because it’s fucking depressing. Have you listened to the lyrics? Every time the bloody thing plays, I’m one hundred percent sure suicides go up.

  “Hey, I love that song,” Liane protests, switching the station back, clearly determ
ined to subject me to Adele and her misery.

  I don’t object. What would be the point? I can only thank God she lowers the volume.

  Tuning out the song, I back the car out of the parking spot without acknowledging the expectant look on my girlfriend’s face.

  She makes a big show of clearing her throat, her gaze burning a hole in the side of my face. I shoot her a side glance. Her cocked brow and crossed arms silently ask, Well, what do you have to say for yourself?

  “What?” My question comes out more clipped than I intend. I’m not trying to be an arse. Blame it on how unsettled I am over my encounter with my—with Emily.

  Liane’s expression hardens into one of cool suspicion. “You want to tell me what that was all about?” she asks, her tone snippy.

  I make a left out of the parking lot and onto the access road that runs parallel to the highway. “It was nothing. Just a girl I used to know.”

  Several seconds pass in tension-filled silence.

  “That’s it?” she asks once it becomes clear anything else I say on the subject is going to have to be wrested from me with heavy-duty pliers. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “There’s not much else to say,” I tell her with a one-shoulder shrug.

  She angles her body toward mine, the movement exposing more tanned thigh through the side opening of her wrap dress. “How about you tell me who those girls were and why you couldn’t say whatever you had to say to them in front of me?”

  Good point. Actually, the only point.

  “I only know one of them.”

  Another sidelong glance at Lee tells me she’s at the end of her rope with the pace and vein of my responses. But what am I supposed to say? I’m not going to tell her the whole ugly story of me and Emily. Fuck no.

  “Okay, so let me get this straight. Two girls I’ve never set eyes on before walk up to you in the mall and you ask me to leave so you can talk to them—okay, one of them,” she amends when I open my mouth to correct her. “I—being the supportive girlfriend that I am—don’t make a scene because I trust you and you told me you’ll explain it later. And now all you can say is she’s no one?”

  Bingo! Now can we move on? Of course, I don’t say that out loud. I’m not an idiot despite the way it may look. I know the calm in her voice is deceptive.

  “That’s because I barely said two words to her.”

  “Which one are you talking about?” she asks, now with more than a trace of impatience in her voice.

  “The white one.” The tall, green-eyed girl with Emily was biracial. And given her height and looks—stunningly gorgeous—I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s one of her modeling friends.

  “Is she an ex-girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “No?” She doesn’t sound convinced. Maybe that’s because lying doesn’t come as natural to me as it does a certain angel-faced brunette I used to know. Correction, I actually never knew her at all.

  I glance at Liane from the corner of my eye. “She wanted to go out with me but I wasn’t interested.” I’m lying to my girlfriend, and yes, that’s a shitty thing to do. But it’s either that or tell her the truth, and the truth is a double-edged sword and I’m not going to risk getting cut by either end.

  Liane falls silent, her expression troubled. As much as I hope her questions will stop at that, I know I’m only fooling myself.

  “So you never went out with her?” There’s a pause. “Never?” she reiterates as if she suspects I’m lying and if she continues to press, she’ll eventually wring the truth out of me.

  If I wasn’t lying to her, I’d be a bit disconcerted by her lack of faith.

  “We had coffee once.” Technically not a lie but not the whole truth.

  “And what happened?”

  “Nothing.” How different my life would have turned out if it had ended right there, the first cup of coffee. But no, I’d been hooked after that. Gorgeous, funny, sweet and easy to talk to? It was like finding a diamond in a tray of cubic zirconia.

  “Then what was that about back at the mall?” she asks. “You looked…mad.”

  Keeping my eyes on the road ahead, I try to explain myself and choose my words carefully. “Not mad, just aggravated. I wanted to make it clear to her that I don’t want to renew our acquaintance, but I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of you.”

  “Wait, you were concerned about her feelings?”

  Clearly, I didn’t choose my words carefully enough. I shoot her a glance. She’s staring at me, eyes squinted, her lips tight. Not good.

  “That came out wrong. I meant I didn’t want her to cause a scene.” After the charges had been dropped and I’d been let out of jail, Emily had bombarded me with phone calls, voicemails and text messages. She’d even slipped in a few handwritten letters. I’d had to change my mobile number because of her. The bombardment had only ended when I’d moved back to England. The way I saw it, if she had the nerve to approach me back there—with Liane standing right next to me—how was I supposed to know what else she’s capable of?

  “Did she?”

  It takes me a second to understand what she’s asking. “I didn’t really give her a chance. I told her I had nothing to say to her and that we had nothing to talk about.”

  I can feel the heat of her gaze and see the firm set of her mouth in my peripheral vision.

  “Then what’s with the hostility? Even now you’re acting like you hate her. Is she a stalker or something? Because it sounds to me like the only thing she did wrong was have a crush on you.”

  In other words, I’m overreacting. Got it. I school my features and unclench my hands from around the leather steering wheel cover.

  Seeing Emily threw me for a loop. I didn’t realize how angry I still was until I saw her. “I hope to hell not,” I say with a laugh, flashing her a smile I hope lightens the mood.

  “Then I don’t understand—”

  “Look, she was just a bit intense. Calling me, texting me—” Without context, it does make it look as if Emily was a stalker, but I’m fine with that since she turned out to be a lying, selfish bitch. And I’m sure four years hasn’t changed that.

  “So you liked her enough to give her your phone number?”

  Shit. I’m so busy watching my side flank, I forgot the land mines directly in front of me.

  “I told you we had coffee that one time.”

  “Was this before you went back to England?”

  “Yeah.” Now can we get off this subject?

  Her eyebrow quirks. “Really? That was over four years ago. How old is she?”

  “My age, I think. I’m not exactly sure.” I’m surprised I didn’t choke on that lie. I have the year and month of her birth burned into my brain. Too bad I learned that shit too late.

  Liane makes a humming sound, her expression contemplative. “Really? She looks younger.”

  We’re wading into dangerous waters now. “Probably one of the reasons I wasn’t interested in her. I preferred older women even back then,” I say with a suggestive lift of my eyebrows. Am I stretching the truth? Yes. Had I gone out with older woman in the past? Exclusively since I’d dropped out of college and gone back to London. Before then? Not that I can remember. All things my girlfriend doesn’t need to know.

  Liane’s mouth breaks into a smile, her blue eyes lighting with feminine satisfaction. “And I thought you asked me out because you have great taste,” she teases, her voice husky.

  “That’s a given.”

  “Who knew younger men could be so—” Pausing, she runs a pink-polished nail along my shoulder down to my bare elbow. “—mature.”

  I chuckle. She means good in bed but she likes to pretend she’s more evolved than that. Not saying we don’t get along just as well out of it. We do. She’s great. She’s everything I want and need right now. And I’ll never complain about her being insatiable. We’re perfectly matched that way.

  “Not all of us,” I reply dryly, thinking of my childhood mate, Sim
on, back in London. His growth stunted years ago. The more naive the girl, the better he likes them. Because they’re usually the ones impressed with his swagger. I never told him about Emily but I warned him to watch out for the young ones. Ask for ID if you have to.

  “You know you’re special,” she purrs, her hand moving down to my upper thigh.

  Would she think I’m special if she knew the truth? No, she’d think I’m a sick perv.

  That answer is sobering enough to kill my libido—shut it all down despite her hand being inches from my dick. I force a laugh and pretend my interest hasn’t waned by lightly cautioning, “Hey, do you want me to crash this car?”

  Laughing seductively, she gives my leg a meaningful squeeze before returning her hand to her lap. “Okay, I’ll be good. But make sure to bookmark my place. We’re going to pick up where I left off as soon as we get back to your place.”

  The change in her mood is a welcome relief. At least we’re off the topic of Emily.

  Now if only she could remain in my rubbish heap of regrettable mistakes.

  Chapter 2

  My mom used to call me her social butterfly. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Now every time we speak, she pushes me to go out more, make more friends.

  I have friends. Maybe not as many as I did when I was younger, but I have them. My mom won’t come right out and say it but she means boyfriends. She thinks I should be dating more.

  I date.

  A little.

  When the mood strikes. When I’m actually attracted to the guy and the feeling is mutual. It’s not my fault the mood doesn’t strike all that often. I can’t help that I’m not attracted to most of the guys who’re interested in me. That would be too easy and easy is something I don’t deserve.

  April thinks it’s because I’m shy. Boy, don’t I wish that were it. It’s certainly a better excuse than the real reason for my reserve.

  You’re nothing but a lying, selfish bitch. Now fucking lose my number!

  That’s what Graham had said to me the only time he’d picked up one of my calls. It hadn’t stopped me from calling him though. I’d kept at it until I’d gotten the this number is no longer in service message. A week later, he’d left the country.