Only For Forever: An Enemies to Lovers, Small Town Romance (Men of Rocky Mountain)

by Alexis Winter

  “Gimme that menu. Time to order one of everything and eat my feelings.”

  By the time the room service order arrives, we’re all three in our robes, sitting on the balcony of our suite overlooking the strip. It looks like we really did order one of everything on the menu. There are trays piled high with nachos, pizzas, fries, burgers, hot fudge sundaes, cocktails, and two bottles of champagne.

  We’ve made a picnic on our balcony by placing a few towels on the ground along with the extra pillows from our beds. I’ve had two Sex on the Beach cocktails and I’m pouring myself a flute of champagne when I get the sudden urge to come clean to August.

  “I slept with Grant,” I blurt out, and her head whips around to me.

  “What? When?”

  Suddenly I realize how this sounds. She’s probably assuming it was when they were dating or engaged.

  “A few months ago, and then again a few weeks after that.” I feel like the pound of nachos I inhaled is about to come right up. I look over at Steph, who has a deer-in-the-headlights look.

  “Is that why you got all panicky a little bit ago when I asked you when the last time you had sex was?”

  I nod my head slowly and she laughs.

  “Oh my God, Leigh, I don’t care.” She’s smiling a genuine smile and relief instantly washes over me.

  “You sure it’s not just the alcohol talking?” I say, lifting my flute.

  “Nooo, I promise you I meant what I said, like, a year ago when Grant told me he liked you and then tried to play it off like he found you annoying or whatever. If he makes you happy, go for it, girl!”

  I shake my head as tears begin to tumble down my cheeks.

  “Oh no, don’t cry. It’s okay,” she says, pulling me in for a hug.

  “I’m sorry . . . this is embarrassing,” I say, laughing through my snotty tears. She rubs my back.

  “Are you guys dating? That’s exciting, Leigh, I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide that from me. It’s awful that you were carrying that burden.”

  I wipe the tears away and let out a huff. “Well, needless to say, we aren’t together. He’s kind of a huge ass and I want to punch him in his perfect fucking face.”

  August laughs. “Sounds like Grant. What’d he do this time?”

  I spend the next 20 tearful minutes filling August in on the series of events between Grant and me, including the miscarriage. This results in another round of tears and hugs with all of us.

  “My opinion—not that you asked for it, and not that it has any validity—but I feel like you two shouldn’t give up on each other. I know you both pretty well, and trust me, that dude was smitten with you early on. He’s a doctor and he really does have that cocky God complex nailed down. You’re such a driven and independent woman who doesn’t need him, and I think he’s threatened by that. It’s toxic for sure, but therapy is a freaking wonder, let me tell you. It got Remi and me though all our stupid bullshit.”

  I let her words simmer, mulling them around in my head, and it gives me hope, because I don’t want to give up on a chance with Grant. Hell, we barely even got started before it all fell apart.

  “There is something about that man that drives me absolutely crazy in a good and bad way.” I laugh.

  August turns to Steph. “So, ma’am, you and Ryder maybe?” She giggles and wriggles her eyebrows up and down. I see Steph’s shy smile appear as she shrugs one shoulder.

  “I dunno, he’s super nice and literally the hottest man I think has ever existed,” we all laugh and agree, “but I’ve got . . . a lot of baggage and I don’t know how to navigate that. I just don’t think it’d be fair to bring him into all of it.”

  I reach over and grab her hand. “You deserve happiness, Steph, whatever you’ve got going on.”

  She nods. “I’m married.”

  I look at August and our mouths drop open. You could hear a pin drop from a mile away right now.

  “That’s not what I was expecting,” I say and August agrees.

  “It’s complicated. We got married when I was 17 and he was 22.” She stares down into her glass as she talks.

  “He’s abusive. He broke my jaw once, and my clavicle, knocked two teeth loose, broke my eye socket, and dislocated my shoulder and wrist twice.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just squeeze her hand tighter.

  “His cousin is the sheriff back in my hometown in Wyoming, so he always covered for him, and it just felt hopeless. So I saved up everything I made from working at the gas station and ran. I went to Virginia Dale first, which is where I met Celeste Slade, who’s amazing. She helped me out, and then I came to Grand Lake.”

  “You move around a lot so he won’t find you?” I ask, and she nods her head yes.

  “It’s exhausting and terrifying, but I can’t risk getting Ryder involved. Odds are I won’t be in Grand Lake this time next year.”

  We all sit in silence. I don’t have to ask to know why she can’t file for divorce: she’s scared he’ll probably put her in the hospital or worse. It kills me to think that she’s going to be running forever. I don’t want to lose her as a friend and I’m terrified to think of what might happen when her ex finally catches up with her.

  We all three lean back against the mound of pillows piled behind us, cuddled together under the Vegas sky.

  “Bet none of you thought this was how we’d spend our girls’ weekend,” I finally say, and we all three burst out laughing.

  16

  Grant

  “Can I ask you something?” I swirl the scotch around in my tumbler, debating if it’s the liquor talking or if I really do need advice.

  “Favor or advice?” Ryder looks to me over his left shoulder.

  “Advice . . . I think.”

  Ryder turns to face me. “Happy to listen. Shit at advice.” He laughs.

  I glance up at the bartender, reminding myself that it’s not Steph working tonight, so I don’t have to worry she’ll overhear us talking about Leigh and me. I run my hands gruffly over my face. I need a fucking shave. I haven’t touched a razor since that night I picked Leigh up at the bar.

  “Lemme guess: woman troubles?” he mumbles into the opening of his beer before taking a long pull.

  “Ha, that obvious?”

  “Normally, you’re more buttoned-up and quick-witted and you don’t shut the hell up.” He shakes his head.

  “Anyway, things with Leigh have gotten . . . complicated.”

  He doesn’t respond and just looks my way—waiting for me to continue.

  I tell him about how we went on a date, slept together, and she ended up pregnant. I second-guess if I should have told him, and start to wonder if Leigh would be hurt that I’m sharing such an intimate secret with a relative stranger.

  “So what’s the dilemma? You either want to work things out with her or you don’t.”

  I pretend to smack my forehead, “Well, shit, Ryder, I didn’t realize that. Problem solved. Thanks, buddy!” I smack him on the back and he laughs.

  “It’s more complicated than that. We hung out for a few weeks because we were both trying to deal with the miscarriage and needed each other. She, uh, she told me she loved one me one night.” I hang my head, not finishing the sentence.

  “Don’t tell me,” he says, glancing over at me with a look of are you kidding me? on his face. I just nod my head yes and bring the tumbler of scotch to my lips, savoring the burn like it’s a punishment for my stupidity.

  “You’re an idiot.” His laugh bellows loudly.

  “Yeah, I’ve managed to get that far in my realizations. I told her I didn’t want a serious relationship right now after things with my last one fell apart—things with August Belmore,” I say, looking at him as he nods in recognition.

  “I’ve heard stuff around town about that, and from her a little. Seems like you guys have no hard feelings between you though, right?”

  “Yeah, things between us were tense for a bit, but I’m really happy for her
and I realize she wasn’t right for me. I thought I loved her—maybe I even did at the time with the capacity I had—but it wasn’t . . .” I shake my head, because I never know how to finish that sentence. I can’t quite put it into words.

  “That once-in-a-lifetime, knock-you-on-your-ass type of love that keeps you up at night and has you tripping over your own feet?” He raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Exactly. You, uh, you experience that?”

  He lifts his beer to his lips and nods his head.

  “Yup. Lost it too.” Silence settles between us momentarily. “So what’s the dilemma here, Grant? You clearly like Leigh, you’re attracted to her, and you two have great chemistry, so is it just that you haven’t gotten over August?” I can see the confusion on his face and I understand why.

  “No, I’m completely over August and you’re right—the chemistry between Leigh and me is . . .” I let out a dramatic exhale, “off the charts. I’m scared. That make me a pussy?”

  Ryder chuckles. “Nah, man, that means you’re doing it right. I’m telling you, when you’re scared to hurt her, scared to break her heart, scared to disappoint her or not be the man she believes you are . . . that’s when you know that shit’s real.” He rests his elbows on the bar top, shaking his head as if he’s reminiscing.

  Is that true? Is being scared a good thing?

  “You feel that with August?” he asks.

  I think about it for a minute. “No.” Guilt is seizing me. Should I have?

  “Don’t feel bad that you didn’t. I can see the guilt creeping in.”

  “You ever scare yourself with what you want?” I look at him and his brow furrows. “I think the fact that I didn’t get scared when Leigh told me she’d been pregnant scared me . . . if that makes sense. I’ve tried to imagine the scenario where she didn’t lose the baby and she was pregnant right now with my child and it—it excites me. I want that with her, but she’s still so young. She’ll be 26 soon, but she’s building this second studio and growing her business and I’d feel extreme guilt if I fucked that up.”

  “You ever think that she wants it too? Women are fucking insane, man—resilient, driven, they barely need us,” he laughs. “Don’t think for one second that she can’t run a business, have a baby, and kick ass harder than you or I ever could.”

  I feel more guilt creep in that I did doubt that.

  “You can’t take away her choices and make decisions on her behalf just to alleviate some made-up guilt you have.” He looks at me sincerely and I kind of want to punch him right now.

  “Jesus, how the hell did you get so damn insightful?” I down the last of the scotch and place the glass on the bar.

  “Been through some shit, man.”

  “So what you’re saying is, I should just lay it all out there to her? Tell her I want a baby with her—the fucking sun, moon, and stars and all that?” I can’t believe I’m a 38-year-old man who can’t seem to get my shit together.

  “Pump the brakes. You need to take some time to think through everything, apart from what you wanted in that moment when it was all fresh . . . and make no mistake, it’s still fresh. Just focus on being a friend to her right now. Show her that it’s not hopeless between you two. Basically demonstrate that you’re not just an impulsive asshole who just wants to keep her because you’re scared to lose her.”

  I stare at him for a few seconds. “And don’t ask me how to do that,” he adds on.

  “So you going to tell me?” I ask.

  “Tell you what?”

  “Who fucked you over. The one who got away?” I smile at how he’s trying to play it off, but my smile quickly fades when I see his expression go from questioning to pained. “Shit, sorry man, we don’t have to—”

  “She was my wife. She was pregnant, actually. Died in a car crash.”

  “Ah, fuck, man.” I shake my head and he assures me it’s fine.

  “It’s in the past. Anyway, I hope I was able to help, even if it was just to listen. Women are a complicated, amazing, and sometimes so goddamn infuriating species.”

  I reach into my pocket, my thumb running over the screen of my phone, and I question if I should send a text to Leigh. I have no idea what I’d tell her. I know I should take my time to think through things—to give her the space she needs—but the thought of losing her without telling her how I feel tears at my chest.

  “You mind giving me a ride home? I think I overindulged,” I say, tapping my glass.

  I thank Ryder for the ride home and make my way into my house. I grab the bottle of Macallan off the wet bar along with a tumbler and open the sliding glass door to sit on the deck beneath the stars.

  I think through what it is I really want in life. It isn’t fair for me to jump into another serious relationship without actually thinking about what that kind of commitment means.

  I long for the kind of marriage my parents had—the honesty and respect, the passion they tried to hide from me behind closed doors—but it was evident all over their faces when they looked at each other.

  I lean back in the Adirondack chair, the crisp mountain air filling my lungs. I close my eyes, imagining my hand wrapped around Leigh’s. I imagine holding her, looking in her eyes, and seeing my entire future. I see myself growing old with her. I see myself running my hands down her arms and around her front, cradling her swollen belly that’s growing our baby.

  The images are visceral and my body responds to thoughts of her naked—pregnant with my seed. The caveman in me wants to rip off my shirt and pound on my chest to let the world know that she’s mine.

  Against my better judgment, I reach into my pocket again, pulling my phone out and typing a message to Leigh.

  Me: Leigh, I know that I don’t deserve for you to respond or even read this, but I’m not giving up on us. I know I hurt you, but I never meant to. I never meant that I didn’t want you. I just need time to sort my feelings and get my head right before I can be the man you want . . . the man you need. Please don’t give up on us, or me. Xo, Grant.

  I hit SEND and shove the phone back in my pocket.

  17

  Leigh

  I stare at the message from Grant, my heart about to thud out of my chest. I’ve read and reread it about 10 times since it came through last night, but I haven’t responded. I plan to. I’m not going to leave him on read forever, but I can’t wrap my head around it right now.

  “Leigh, where do you want this?”

  I spin around to see Sawyer and Ryder holding the custom bench I ordered, complete with small cubbies on the bottom. I point to the front of the room.

  “Just beneath that window.”

  Since I came back from Vegas, things have been moving at a relatively quick pace. I ended up going with Sawyer for half of the custom furniture and cabinets for the studio, and my guy back in Boulder is doing the other half so we can hit our deadlines.

  The place is bustling. Sawyer and Ryder are bringing in a few of the major pieces, and the rest of the furniture and cabinets will be done by the end of next week.

  “Leigh, you’ve got a delivery!” I hear August shout from outside.

  Remi is also here, putting in a few recessed dimmable lights in the two studios as well as some vanity lights in the bathrooms.

  I step outside. “Leigh Brooks?” the delivery driver asks.

  “That’s me,” I smile as he hands me an electronic pad to sign. He jumps into the back of the truck and grabs several large boxes.

  “What is all this stuff?” August asks as he drags the boxes inside.

  “The equipment. Mostly the mats, weights, balls, etcetera, but I think it’s also the Pilates carriages. I’ve got a few of the larger Cadillac versions coming in another week or two. They were backordered, so I’m praying they’re here in time.” I hold up my crossed fingers.

  “Still on track to open next month?”

  I nod, anxiety tightening my throat as I think about all the things I still have to get done.

  “Bet
ter be, because I already sent out the soft-launch invitations.” The plan is to have a small mixer to show the place off and get the word out about our actual grand opening a week later. We’ll have some raffles and pre-launch special pricing.

  A few hours later, the guys and August have left and I begin to unpack the supplies that came in today. I think about the text from Grant. I know I owe him a response, but right now, I have mixed emotions.

  I’ll admit, my heart did a little backflip when I first read the message. To know that he didn’t just want to walk away from us was reassuring and exciting, but I’d be lying if I said my ego didn’t take a hit with his rejection. I don’t want to throw away a chance at true happiness just because he couldn’t see what was in front of him right away, but what if at the end of this soul-searching, he decides I’m not what he wants after all?

  My heart sinks. I pull out my phone and open the message again—typing out a few different responses then deleting them. I finally settle on a vague response that doesn’t say a whole lot of anything.

  Me: Thanks for the message. Sorry I didn’t respond right away. I wanted to think through my feelings before sending anything. That being said, I don’t know how I feel right now. I want you to be happy, Grant, even if that means you move on without me. I wish you all the best in following your heart. —Leigh

  “I can’t believe you did it.” Steph drapes her arm around my shoulders as we glance around the completed studio. “You ready for tomorrow night?”

  I wrap my arm around her waist. “I really am. Couldn’t have done all this without you, though.”

  “Food’s here!” she says walking over to open the door to retrieve our Chinese takeout.

  We’ve rolled out a few yoga mats to sit on for our floor picnic. We dish some food onto our plates and dig in.

  “So what’s the plan, Steph? Does Glen know you’re planning to quit the bar and manage the studio?” I take a big bite of my veggie lo mein.