More Than Forever
Page 1
Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT
NOTE TO READERS
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
MORE THAN ENOUGH
COMBATIVE
THE ROAD
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
More Than Forever
Copyright © 2014 Jay McLean
Published by Jay McLean
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Published: Jay McLean July 2014
Cover Design: by Ari at Cover it! Designs: http://www.coveritdesigns.net
NOTE TO READERS
Please note than More Than Forever (More #4) is part #4 in the More Series and should not be read prior to reading More Than This (More #1), More Than Her (More #2) and More Than Him (More #3).
More Than This
*Mikayla*
In one night my fairytale ended. Or it may have begun. This is my story of friendship and love, heartbreak and desire, and the strength to show weakness.
*Jake*
One night I met a girl. A sad and broken girl, but one more beautiful than any other. She laughed through her sadness, while I loved through her heartbreak.
*This is our story of a maybe ever after.*
He was right. It made no difference whether it was six months or six years.
I couldn’t undo what had been done. I couldn’t change the future.
I couldn’t even predict it.
It was one night.
One night when everything changed.
It was so much more than just the betrayal.
It was the Tragedy.
The Deaths.
The Murders.
But it was also that feeling.
The feeling of falling.
***
More Than Her
"For every action there is an equal or opposite reaction."
For every choice you make there are rewards, or there are consequences.
It was my choice to walk away the first time.
And my choice to chase her the second.
But sometimes you don't get a choice,
and all you get are the consequences.
"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,
while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
Unless that someone is Logan Matthews.
Because loving him didn't give me the strength to walk away.
It didn't give me the courage to fight for him.
And when it was over, all it gave me was a broken heart.
***
More Than Him
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us." - Marianne Williamson
We live in a world of darkness and shadows,
where monsters hide and aim to ruin.
And they did.
They ruined us and turned our dreams into nightmares.
But now we're back.
And we're fighting.
Not just for us, or for each other, but for our light.
DEDICATION
To my readers and believers. Always.
PROLOGUE
-CAMERON-
Mom says that there's absolutely no pain worse than labor. For sixteen hours, so she says, she went through absolute hell. She jokes that sometimes she wonders if it was worth it. I call bullshit. I say that nothing, absolutely nothing, can feel worse than being hit in the junk with a baseball bat.
Lincoln's eyes are huge as he grimaces. "I'm so sorry, Cam."
I'm folded over myself, too preoccupied with the ache below my stomach. Sometimes, there's a delay with the pain. But not this time. This time it was instant. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. He looks like he wants to cry and I want to assure him that it's all good—but I can't. Liam, Lincoln's twin brother, is laughing. The little punk. I'll be sure to make him do extra shit next practice. "Cam, are you okay?"
I try to straighten, but it just makes the pain worse. "Yeah, bud. I just gotta let it settle."
"I swear I didn't see you behind me." There's panic clear in his voice and for a second I want to tell myself to suck it up and quit being a little bitch, but I can't do that either. The pain's too overwhelming.
Liam's still laughing his ass off.
My eyes narrow at him, and Lincoln must notice because he turns to his brother and pushes him hard enough that he falls to the ground. That makes Liam stop. He gets up and dusts the dirt off his uniform. "We should go, Linc, we're the last ones here."
Lincoln looks around. So do I. Liam's right, everyone's gone.
"I'm just gonna help Cam pack up," Lincoln replies, picking up the team equipment bag and chucking in the helmets and bats sitting by my feet. He looks up at me again, and I can see how truly sorry he is.
Standing to full height, I do my best to ignore the pain. "It's okay, Linc. Seriously, it's passed now." It hasn't, but he doesn't need to know that. He finishes packing anyway, and hands me the bag; it's bigger than he is.
I take it from his hands and look around again. "Your mom or dad late to pick you up?"
"Nah," Liam says, the laughter and amusement now gone. "Lucy's here."
"Lucy?"
"Our sister," Lincoln explains.
They both turn to the bleachers. I follow their gaze.
A lone gir
l sits on the bottom bench. Something flat, black and rectangular is in her hand, kind of like a tablet I guess. Her eyes are focused on it, while her foot rocks a stroller back and forth.
It strikes me as strange because the girl looks familiar. She's in my class. She's a sophomore and she has a baby? Stuff like that doesn't happen in our town and if it did, I'd know.
Everyone would know.
"Lucy!" Liam shouts.
She doesn't look up.
"Lucy!" Lincoln this time.
Still, her eyes don't lift, but her foot continues to rock the stroller.
"Luce!" Liam yells again.
Nothing.
My eyes narrow before looking down at the boys. "Is your sister... uh... hearing impaired?"
They both let out simultaneous snorts. "No," Lincoln answers, pulling his cap further down his head and looking up at me. His eyes roll as he says, "She's just reading."
***
She shows up to every game for the next six weeks. Every week she looks sadder, like the life is slowly being sucked out of her.
And you know how I know all this? Because while she's so pre-occupied reading... I'm so pre-occupied reading her.
-LUCY-
Lachlan cried the entire walk home, which meant that I had to carry him with one hand and push the stroller with the other, all while trying to make sure that Lincoln and Liam didn't run out onto the road. Which would be fine, but I accidentally packed red Kool-Aid instead of their sports drinks so they went a little crazy. I'll remember for next time to keep them separated in the fridge.
Lachlan's still crying when Dad comes downstairs and walks into the kitchen. He offers to take him from my hands but I can see in his eyes how tired he is. I tell him that I'm fine, and motion for him to take a seat.
He hasn't been out of their bedroom much lately, which is a sign that things are getting worse. The doctors said that it was normal—that things would get worse before they got better. I wonder for a moment if doctors have a book of cliché sayings they use to try to justify one's health.
A bitter laugh tries to escape but I keep it down while I watch Dad take a seat at the dining table, his hands already covering his face before he's fully seated.
The microwave beeps and I pull out Lachlan's bottle and feed it to him. Silence fills my ears. I try to remember the last time I heard nothing. In a house full of nine people, silence is rare. My mind wonders on that thought for a short moment before Dad's sigh breaks through. "It's gettin' worse, Luce." His deep voice has lost the fight to fake it. "The doctor came for a house call. It's not lookin' good." He uncovers his face and looks up at me now, his eyes red rimmed from either lack of sleep or held back tears, but most likely both.
"How long?" It's two words. Two words that affect my entire life.
"Three months."
Three months.
I stop breathing.
Lachlan cries and starts spurting his formula through his coughs.
Dad stands and takes him from me.
I walk out of the room, and to the bathroom.
And I throw up.
Three months.
When I'm done, I run the tap and wash my mouth out, then stare at myself in the mirror. Gripping the edge of the sink, I suck in a huge breath and let it out. I do it a few more times until color comes back into my face. "Suck it up, Lucy," I whisper. "You're fifteen. Quit acting like a child."
A few minutes pass and I finally find the strength to open the door and walk out.
Dad's waiting with his arms folded over his chest. No Lachlan. "He fell asleep in my arms, I put him down for his nap," he answers my unasked question. "You okay, kid?"
That same bitter laugh from earlier tries to escape. And again, I keep it down. Because even though he referred to me as one, I'm not a kid. Far from it.
"I'm fine," I lie. "The heat from being out at the field just got to me. I'm fine," I repeat.
His head tilts to the side and his eyes narrow, assessing me.
"I'm fine," I lie for the third time. I walk past him and take the stairs to the only room I can stand to be in right now. She's awake, but she's so out of it she may as well not be. I curse myself for hoping she would die already. For hoping that it would take the pain away. Not just for her, but for all of us.
Waiting for someone to die has to be the world's cruellest joke.
"Lucy," she croaks out. "How are you?"
I fake a smile. "Fine."
Four fines. Four lies.
She matches my fake smile with her own and pats the bed next to her. I kick off my shoes, lie down and pull my spare e-reader from under the pillow.
She lets out a shaky breath at the same time I switch it on. I don't even know why I bothered picking it up. I know the story she wants me to read to her. I know it word for word. I've read it to her every day since the day the doctors told her she had cancer. I inhale deeply. "The four March sisters sat in the living room..."
*
My mom fell in love with reading after she read Little Women. I fell in love with reading after she read it to me. She said she wanted me to grow up with a house full of sisters. I ended up with six little brothers.
When Mom and Dad tell us their story it's short, but it's sweet. They met college graduation day, somehow never meeting before that. Two weeks later, they were official. Two months later, they were married.
Fate. It's all about fate, Lucy. That's what she always told me.
And I believe that.
They gave us all names beginning with L. Because L—it stands for love. And love is something we should be reminded of every day.
I swallow the knot already formed in my throat and turn my head to face her. She's fallen asleep. She's probably been like that for over an hour and I hadn't realized. I kiss her on the forehead and say what I normally say right before I leave her room. "I love you. Goodbye." Always the goodbye. Because I never know if it'll be the last words I say to her.
Quietly, not wanting to be noticed, I walk to my room and into my bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I lean against it and slide down until my bottom hits the floor.
I cry so hard that I throw up again.
And I don't even care that I do.
Because while Mom is two doors down from me dying, throwing up is the only thing that makes me feel alive.
CHAPTER ONE
-LUCY-
At least the wait is over.
That's the thought that runs through my head during the entire funeral. She's gone, and all I can think about is the relief that I don't have to wake up every day and wonder when.
Dad's family is here and they help me take care of the boys. We wipe their tears, hold them when they cry, assure them all that it'll be okay—even when we have no idea that it will be.
No one takes care of me.
No one.
Not even Dad. He can't even take care of himself.
-CAMERON-
If heartbreak had a face, hers would be it.
I watched her during the funeral, just like I watch her now, walking around her house greeting everyone with a fake smile. I know it's fake because her mom's gone, her dad's a mess, and she has six brothers to take care of. Right now, there is no silver lining. No light at the end of the tunnel. No joy in the face of tragedy. Which is why I find it strange that she hasn't shed a single tear. Not one.
Her baby brother throws up all over her and she doesn't even flinch. She simply hands over the baby to a woman and leaves the room. Minutes go by while I wait for her to return, but she doesn't. And a rush of panic washes through me. I don't know why it affects me so much. Why she affects me so much. But I have to find her. I have to make sure that she's okay.
Her back is turned as she stands in the laundry room, her shoulders shaking up and down. Then she suddenly straightens, as if she knows that someone's watching. Her hands rise to her face before she slowly turns around.
There's a calmness in her eyes that doesn't seem justified... like a calm before
the storm. And then it happens—the storm.
Her face changes and I know the dam is about to break. My heart picks up speed, my palms sweat, and my ears ring—all because I can't stand to watch this happening to her. And even though I can see how hard she tries to hold it in—a single sob escapes her.
I take the steps to get to her. "Lucy," I whisper.
She throws her arms around my neck and pulls me down to her, crying into my chest. She cries so hard that it feels like it's the first time she's ever done it. Maybe it is.
I silently hold her until she's done. There's something about the way she feels in my arms. Like maybe that calmness in her eyes from earlier could be justified.
Maybe I could be her calm.
I want to be her calm.
When she's done she takes a step back, wiping her face as she does. Then she smiles, that same fake smile she's given to everyone else. She nods once and brushes past me.
"Lucy," I whisper again, this time to myself.
I try my hardest to read her as she walks away.
***
I wish I had spoken to her. I wish I had the right words. Even now as I stand at her front door, sweating like a pig from the bike ride after school—I still can't think of anything to say. It's been a few days since the funeral. Today was the first day that she was back at school. Not that I was paying attention or wondering where she was, because I wasn't.
I knock three times, but no one answers. I can hear kids yelling and screaming. One might even be crying. I knock again and the door opens. One of the younger kids looks up at me, his eyebrows bunched, but he doesn't say a word. "Where's Lucy?" I ask him. He opens the door wider and points to the kitchen, then runs away.
If I were a murderer, they'd all be dead.
*
She's standing at the island counter with food everywhere, but that's not what I notice. It's the endless tears falling freely.
She looks up when I walk in, the same expression on her face that her little brother had when he opened the door. "Who are you?"
I ignore the irritation at her not remembering me. Or recognizing me. Or the fact that she barely acknowledges me before wiping her face and continuing whatever she's doing.
The kids come into the kitchen, running circles around the island. They're loud. And annoying. She drops what's in her hands and lays her palms flat on the counter. Her eyes shut tight while she inhales a huge breath.