This Is Forever

by Natasha Madison

  “Wow, your bed is huge. Who do you share your bed with?” Dylan asks, and I close my eyes.

  “Just me,” he says softly, and Dylan looks at him. I want to say so much, but I don’t. “Now, let’s go check out the best room in the house.”

  Dylan follows him out of the room with me right behind as he walks toward the other end of the apartment. “This is a spare bedroom,” Justin says and opens the door to show me a king-size bed with a light gray headboard. Two light gray chairs and a round table are arranged at the side of the room with a long mirror dresser against the wall.

  “This is a girl’s room,” Dylan says with disdain, and then Justin nods his head.

  “It’s where my mom and sisters stay when they visit,” he says. “Now come and see the man room,” he says, and Dylan’s eyes light up.

  We walk down a long hallway, and the walls are lined full of pictures. There are pictures of Justin on the ice celebrating and then another of him with what looks like his whole family around the Stanley Cup. Three huge sweaty guys in jerseys with Matthew standing in the back wearing a suit with a huge smile on his face. Then a couple of a huge family in front of a Christmas tree. One when he got drafted, and he looks like a little boy. “This is the man’s room,” he says. Opening the door, he turns on the light, and Dylan gasps.

  The whole back wall is a television. A white chest sits under it with all the game consoles you can think of. Three bean bags are on the floor in front of it but then behind the bean bags is the most massive U-shaped couch I have ever seen in my life. With over twenty throw cushions, I was wrong before. This is where you want to sit and take a nap. “Does this TV play movies?” Dylan asks, and Justin nods. “I want to do movie night in here.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Justin says, and I’m at a loss for words.

  “What do you want to watch?” Justin asks Dylan.

  “I don’t know,” Dylan says, and Justin hands him the remote.

  “Here, find something while your mom and I go talk about dinner,” he says, and Dylan grabs the remote and goes to sit on one of the bean bags.

  “Don’t touch anything,” I whisper, and he ignores me while he watches the huge television. I follow Justin out to the family room.

  “It’s time to have a talk,” he says. Looking at me, he takes his baseball hat off and tosses it onto the big wooden table. “Are you going to sit?” he asks, and I just shake my head. Right before he starts to talk, the doorbell rings.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Justin

  She stands in the middle of the room not moving. Ever since we walked into the room, she hasn’t touched anything, and when Dylan was going to touch the window, I thought she was going to throw up. I toss my hat on the middle of the table, hoping for her to see I don’t care about all this stuff.

  “Don’t move,” I say to her when the doorbell rings.

  “I’m not going to move,” she mumbles under her breath. I go to the door and open it to find Raul, one of the security guys.

  “Hey,” he says, handing me a brown box. “This just came for you.”

  “Thank you,” I say, closing the door and walking back into the living room. So help me God, I don’t even think she was breathing while I was gone. Putting the box on the island, I walk over to her and grab her hand, bringing her to the couch with me.

  I sit down, and she lightly sits down next to me, her ass almost off the edge of the couch. “You know I live here, right?”

  “I know,” she says, looking down at her fingers and then up again. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, it is. Except I make a mess, too, and the cleaning lady comes in and makes it clean,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “You have to also know that my nieces and nephews sometime come and visit.” She just looks at me. “They are kids, and they touch things. Sometimes, more than once, they have broken little knickknacks here and there.” I take a deep breath. “I also didn’t care as long as they weren’t hurt. I live here, but it’s not a museum. I don’t want you to walk on eggshells when you’re here.” I smile at her. “Hopefully, you’ll want to be here a lot.”

  “It’s just that …” she starts, and I hold up my hand.

  “They’re just things,” I say. “Things that are pretty but can be replaced. But you here, sitting on that couch eating chips …” I smile, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I would buy ten couches just to see that.”

  “Is the food almost done?” Dylan asks, coming into the room. “I’m starving.”

  I laugh when Caroline smiles. “Take off your shoes, curl up on the couch, and turn on the TV.” I kiss her lips. “I’m going to cook.”

  “I want to help you,” she says to me. “We can do it together.”

  “That sounds even better than just me cooking,” I say, taking her hand in mine and going to the kitchen.

  Dylan climbs on a stool. “Is this a present?” he asks, picking it up and shaking the box.

  “Yeah,” I say. “It’s your mom’s.”

  His eyes open wide as Caroline stops walking and looks at him. “Mom, you have a present. Can I open it?”

  “It’s not mine,” she says, but Dylan is already ripping the tape open and reaching in and pulling out the small white box.

  “It’s a phone,” he says, handing it to Caroline who stares at the box.

  “You bought me a phone?” She looks at me. “I have a phone.”

  “Yeah, but yours is always not working,” Dylan says, and she just turns to him.

  “That’s enough,” she says, and he just shrugs.

  “I’m not taking this phone,” she says, handing it back to me.

  “Fine,” I say, putting it down. “I’ll give it to Dylan then.”

  “You will not,” she huffs out. “I don’t want the phone.”

  “Okay,” I say, making her think she’s winning this, but if I have to plant it on her without her knowing every single day, then that is what I’m going to do. “I was thinking steak and some salad.”

  “Oh, yeah, steak,” Dylan says, throwing his hands in the air.

  “You’ve never had steak,” Caroline tells him. “Go watch television so I can talk to Justin for a minute.”

  He gets off the stool and looks at me as if I’m in trouble. She waits for him to walk out of the room before turning to me.

  “I don’t need you buying me stuff,” she says. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, leaning against the counter. “When did I ever say you can’t take care of yourself?”

  “This,” she says, picking up the phone. “This isn’t the first time my phone service has been cut off.”

  “Well, it’s going to be the last because it’s not safe for you and Dylan to be without a phone.”

  “And that …” she says, pointing at me. “You can’t keep doing that either. I’m a good mom.” She points at herself.

  “No,” I say, and her hand falls as tears well in her eyes, “you aren’t a good mom.”

  “What?” she whispers.

  “You’re a great mom,” I say. “The best mom.” I walk to her. “But you’re also my woman, and I’m going to take care of you.”

  “Your woman?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I know.” I smile. “I admit that Matthew used to walk around all the time claiming Karrie as his woman, and I never understood it. I mean, my father loves my mother with everything he has. He literally won’t eat if she’s not at the table beside him.” She looks at me. “Let me help you. You have all these balls in the air, and it’s okay if you let me catch them.”

  “I’ve been doing this all by myself for the past eight years,” she says. “I just …” She looks down, and I put my hand under her chin and lift her face so I can see her eyes. “I just don’t know how to let anyone in.”

  “How about we start with baby steps?” I suggest. “Take the phone, and when the other one gets turned back on, you can give it back to me.”

  “That won’t be for anot
her two weeks,” she says, and I suddenly fill with rage. She was planning to go two weeks without a phone. There could be so many situations that come up, and she wouldn’t have any lifeline.

  “Then it’s two weeks,” I say. “It doesn’t make you a weaker person if you accept help. You know that.”

  “I do,” she says, letting out a deep sigh. “It’s just that I don’t want to depend on anyone. I want to do this on my own.”

  “And you have been, but if there is a helping hand”—I lean in and kiss her lips—“accept it. I won’t bite.” I smirk now. “I mean, unless you want me to.”

  Her cheeks turn a bright pink, and her eyes turn just a touch darker. “Are you guys done now?” Dylan asks, and we both laugh quietly. “I’m starving. Can I have a snack?”

  “No,” Caroline says. “No snack.”

  “Fine, but how long until dinner?” he asks as if he didn’t just have ice cream thirty minutes ago.

  “About thirty minutes,” I say, walking to the fridge and taking out the steak that my cleaning lady bought.

  “If you cook, I have to clean,” Caroline says, finally taking off her purse and placing it gently on one of the stools. “Those are the rules. It’s universal.”

  “How about we both cook, and then we both clean up?” I ask, and she just looks at me. “It gives me more time to spend with you, and if your hands are in the water, I can kiss you, and you can’t push me away.”

  “I’ve been letting you kiss me,” she says, laughing. “What do you want to make with the steak?”

  “Normally, I would make baked potatoes,” I say, and her eyes light up. “We can pop them in the microwave for ten minutes,” I say, and she nods. “Is this you saying you want baked potatoes?”

  “This is me saying that I don’t mind, and it’s totally up to you.” She smirks at me. “I’m a guest.”

  I roll my eyes. “Touché,” I say. Grabbing the steaks, I open the butcher paper, then walk to the stove and open a drawer where I keep the spices.

  “What can I do to help?” she asks, coming into the kitchen.

  “I’m marinating the steak, and then I was going to do the potatoes,” I say. “Do you want to start the salad?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Can I go in the fridge?” She looks at me.

  “From this moment on, you can go in the fridge, the pantry, or the bathroom. You can go take a nap in my bedroom. Please do whatever you want to do. I want you to feel at home.” I want to shake her, but more than anything, I want her to smile more. I want her to laugh more. I want her to do all these things, and I want to be the reason she does.

  “I mean, I don’t think I’m going to nap in your bedroom, but that couch in the man cave has potential,” she jokes, walking to the fridge and then opening it. She opens the drawers and takes out what she wants for the salad. “I’d ask you where the bowls are, but I’m going to guess, and you can say hot or cold.” I laugh at her and shrug, watching her open the cupboards and talking to herself. “If I was a salad bowl, where would I be?” She opens four before she finds it. “Found it.”

  She walks beside me and looks at me. “What?”

  “I need a knife and a cutting board,” she says, and I point at the drawer and then move my hand to under the stove. “Thank you,” she says.

  “Let’s get to know each other,” I suggest, and she looks at me. “Favorite food?”

  “I like mostly everything,” she says, and I just look at her.

  “If there was one food you had to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess Italian, you?”

  “That’s not a food; it’s a food group.” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes. “Toss up between burgers and steak,” I say. “I mean, more toward steak but …” She smiles at me. “What?”

  “If there was one food …” She starts to mimic me, and I shake my head.

  “That mouth is going to get you in trouble,” I say, and her eyes fly to mine. “Favorite drink.”

  “Coffee,” she answers without hesitation. “Actually, before I had Dylan, I hated the taste, then when he went through his eight months of crying for twenty-three hours a day, coffee was my lifeline.”

  “Just regular?” I ask.

  “If there is milk, that is even better, but I can drink it black,” she says. “Sometimes, I used to splurge and buy the flavored creamer.” She cuts up the salad. “You?”

  “Water,” I say, and she looks up. “What? I like water.” She shakes her head. “Favorite holiday.”

  “Usually, I would pick Christmas,” she says, “but as he gets older, and the gifts get harder and harder to buy, I’m going to go with Halloween.” My heart sinks, but I don’t show her nor do I make eye contact with her. “You?”

  “Christmas,” I answer. “Hands down for me, it’s Christmas and not for the gifts. My family couldn’t care less what was under the tree. The thing that I love is being with my family. I don’t even know how many there are of us anymore, but just hanging out with them and being with them for four days.” I look at her, and she just looks at me. “It’s just everything.”

  “What do you guys usually do?” she asks.

  “We usually have it at my parents’ house since it’s a touch bigger than everyone else’s,” I say. “My mother usually does the cooking, or they cater, but more often than not, it’s my mom who cooks. On Christmas Eve, we just get together. Everyone comes over, and we watch movies, or the kids play games, but it’s just us. We usually all stay at my parents’. Well, we did before. Now with so many kids and since they all live a block away, they usually just go home and come back at the ass crack of dawn.” I laugh. “We open the gifts in our pjs, and then we make a huge breakfast.”

  “That sounds like exactly what Christmas should be about,” she says. I don’t add in that she is going to experience it for herself this year because I’m afraid she’ll close up again.

  “Favorite color?” I ask, and this time, she answers without thinking twice.

  “Pink or purple. What about you?”

  “I would say blue.” I don’t add that guys don’t usually have a favorite color. “Favorite movie.”

  “Gosh,” she says, cutting and adding to the bowl of salad. “The last movie I saw was Beauty and the Beast.” She laughs. “I mean, we watched it on my phone, so you can imagine the size of it.” She looks at me. “You?”

  “Anything but Frozen,” I say. “Like literally anything but that movie.”

  “Should I ask why?” She laughs.

  “My niece went through a phase. And by phase, I mean every single time it finished, she watched it again. At first, it was okay, but by day two, I wanted to snap the Wi-Fi wire.”

  “So no Frozen for movie night?” She smiles at me, and I walk over to her, leaning down and kissing her, and she kisses me back this time.

  “I’m going to start the grill, and then I’m going to make the potatoes,” I say, and she nods. This time, she leans up and kisses me first. I want to run around with my hands over my head and cheer out victory, but I don’t. After I walk outside to start the grill, the door opens, and Dylan comes out.

  “Is it almost ready?” he asks, and I have to laugh at him.

  “In about fifteen minutes,” I say and go inside. The salad is now done, and she’s waiting for me. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to start the potatoes,” she says, “but I don’t know how to work your microwave.” She points at my microwave. “That has way too many options. Mine has a dial that you turn to the amount of time you want.” I walk over and show her how it works.

  “Do you want to eat inside or outside?” I ask, and she shrugs. “Sweetheart, just pick.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me,” she says, looking at me. “Either one is fine.”

  “Dylan.” I call his name, and he comes running in. “Inside or outside?” I ask, and he chooses outside.

  “What do we need to set the table outside?”
she asks, and now it’s my turn to shrug. “Do you have place mats? A pitcher so I can bring some water out?”

  I show her where everything is, and she sets the table while I check the steaks. When I walk out with a plate, I look over at the table and stop. She has set it with place mats and napkins. She has brought out the glasses and a pitcher of ice water that will slowly melt before we sit at the table. “It’s ready,” I say, bringing the steaks to the table, and Dylan comes out, sitting on one of the chairs. “Sit. I’ll go get the rest,” I say, and she, of course, doesn’t listen to me. She follows me inside, and when we get into the kitchen, I turn around and grab her face in my hands. “Thank you,” I say right before I lean in for a kiss. “For having dinner with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Caroline

  His voice is so soft that if he wasn’t so close, I wouldn’t have heard it. “Thank you for having dinner with me,” he whispers right before his lips crash down on mine, and I open my mouth for him. I wrap my arms around his neck, for the first time admitting that I want this kiss more than anything. I also admit I really like this guy. I also push away the thoughts of what is going to be left of me when he moves on.

  His hands move from my face to my neck and then to my waist, pulling me to him. His tongue dances with mine softly at first, and then the kiss deepens, and I feel him against my stomach. I moan, and it’s swallowed by his kiss, making his hands slip down to my hips, and he pushes me into the wall. My hands move up into his hair, the hair I itch to touch all the time. “Fuck,” he hisses, moving from my lips to my neck, and I move my head to the side to give him better access.