We Said Forever

by James, Marie

  “Are you taking your medicine?”

  I clench my teeth until I swear they’re about to crack. “I don’t need the medicine.”

  “The doctor said—”

  “I know my body. I don’t care what the doctor said.”

  “Have you been eating?”

  I sigh, not caring if the sound rings loud in her ear. “I eat.”

  “Have you left the apartment this week?”

  I scrub my hand over my face. “What’s with the twenty questions? I’m not coming home. I like it here. I’m not leaving.”

  “Well,” she says with more indignation in her voice than before.

  I sit up on the bed and listen with sharpened focus for the first time since she called. Not one good thing ever comes from my mother using that word.

  Well, pads are better than tampons. Insert embarrassing middle school volleyball game here.

  Well, trucks are better than cars. They don’t have a back seat. Almost lost my virginity in the bed of a truck.

  Well, I sold that desk because you don’t use it anymore. All of my money from working the previous summer was stashed in a hidden compartment in one of the drawers.

  “A young lady is coming in an hour to look at the apartment. I suggest you make it presentable.”

  I roll my eyes so far back, I can almost see my own ass. Like this damn place isn’t spotless already…

  “Damn it, Mom! I don’t want a roommate.”

  “It’s time. She’ll be there shortly.” With that, she hangs up the phone.

  I fall back onto the bed with a huff and toss my phone to the side. My last roommate was my best friend from high school. We started college together, full of hopes and dreams last fall, then I dropped out shortly after spring semester began and she continued her journey. She’s now in a sorority on campus, and I haven’t seen her in months. I could say I miss her, but we’ve changed so much over the last year, I guess I miss who we used to be.

  Refusing to sit idle any longer, I get up with a renewed determination and a devious plan. Fifteen minutes later, the apartment is a wreck. Dirty clothes everywhere, the mini-blind cords pulled so they hang askew, food wrappers from the trash on the floor and counter, and dishes piled up in and around the sink—clean dishes, but enough for a good visual alarm. I’m not crazy enough to dirty a bunch of dishes.

  I sit on the couch and can’t help the calculating smirk settling on my lips when the doorbell rings. My antisocial mask in place, I pull the door open.

  “Olivia?” The pretty brunette standing in the doorway takes in my appearance and has the class not to wrinkle her nose. My hair is all over the place and my clothes are practically torn to shreds. “I’m Emerson Daniels. I spoke with your mother about the room available.”

  “Ollie,” I offer, ignoring her outstretched hand.

  I almost feel bad for what I’ve done to the apartment—almost. Looking at her bright smile brings more sadness. In a different lifetime, I could’ve been friends with this girl. She has an air about her, sophisticated yet down to earth.

  Stepping away from the door, I sweep out my arm, indicating for her to come inside, and point down the hall. “Last door on the left.”

  I ignore her as she tours the apartment on her own. My fingers itch to open my laptop, but I space out, watching a penguin documentary on Netflix instead.

  “Is there a laundry room?” she asks, walking back into the room. I pop up on the couch, startled by her reappearance, and search for the time. The apartment is only so big, how long had she been checking it out? What had she been checking out for so long?

  She picks a towel up between her forefinger and thumb and places it on the end of the couch near my feet before settling in to the armchair.

  I put that towel there to deter anyone from sitting and getting comfortable. I almost smirk at her—almost.

  A soft smile tilts her lips up and I overanalyze the response, wondering just what in the hell my mother told this girl. “Laundry room?” she asks again.

  “Stacked washer and dryer just off the kitchen.”

  She acknowledges me with a quick nod, but doesn’t get up to verify. I turn my attention back to the television, praying she takes a hint.

  “This is a great apartment,” she says, talking more to herself than me as she gazes around the living room.

  I know it is. I also know trying to trash it up was a futile attempt at giving it less appeal. There’s only so much damage that can be done on short notice.

  “Only two blocks from campus,” she murmurs, and I wish she’d take her contemplation out to her car. “How far is it to the baseball complex?”

  I cut my eyes to her, but refuse to give the appearance of her owning my undivided attention. The last thing I need is a cleat chasing roommate.

  “All the way on the opposite side of campus,” I say, even though it won’t make a difference. She doesn’t seem deterred.

  “Okay then,” she says with a quick slap to her knees before standing. “We’ll make it work. Can’t beat furnished with a laundry room.”

  “Great,” I mutter without getting off the couch.

  “I’ll contact your mother and make sure the contract is signed and emailed back. Move in next week,” she says, clapping her hands. “I’m so thankful we found this place. I think he’ll be pleased.”

  The door closes behind her with a thud and my eyes narrow in annoyance. All the work I put into destroying my apartment was futile.

  If she shows up with her boyfriend and the expectation he’s either moving in or spending all his time here, she’s got another thing coming. A roommate is bad enough. One who has a man glued to her isn’t even an option, unless she stays mostly at his place. That would totally be acceptable.

  I spend the next hour de-trashing the apartment. I wish I could leave it nasty as a way to try to deter her one last time when she arrives next week, but I couldn’t live in the filth for a couple hours, much less several days. My mother calls it OCD, but it’s just due diligence.

  An email alert draws my attention as I settle on the couch with a dry box of cereal. Opening my laptop, I check for the unread mail. Just as I suspected, it’s a copy of the signed contract from a Bryson Daniels. Well, at least rent will be on time if her father is taking care of the lease.

  Chapter 2

  Bryson

  Just my damn luck. I lean forward and tilt my head, angling it closer to the windshield, trying to find a break in the pelting rain. The sky opened up five minutes ago and hasn’t relented since. This is what I get for complaining about the heat when I had to pull over an hour ago to change my flat tire, which I’m sure was karma for driving past the crazy-eyed hitchhiker ten miles outside of my hometown. I was finally leaving La Grande and Eastern Oregon University behind me, the last thing I needed was to get shanked in my truck by a man with more desire to get away than I had.

  Taking a fortifying breath, I push my way out of the truck and manage to grab my duffle bag, but everything else will have to wait. The apartment I’m moving into is furnished, so everything I brought with me is in the backseat, at my mother’s insistence. Apparently, she actually bothered to look at the forecast before I left.

  Making a mad dash to the covered awning over the apartment door, I manage to step in a puddle large enough to soak both of my damn shoes. I’m frustrated as hell by the time I knock on the door. As if traveling over five hours from home isn’t stressful enough, let’s add sopping shoes and planning to live with a dude before meeting them to the tension of the day.

  I knock again when the first rap goes unanswered.

  Finally, the door pulls open and the most adorable blonde looks up at me. Petite and almost fairy-like, she only comes up to my shoulder. My frustration washes away as my award-winning smile floats across my face. That’s not false advertising either—I was named “best smile” in high school, and it’s caught more women than I care to mention.

  Her eyes narrow at the sight of me and my face f
alls. She must be Ollie’s girlfriend. The last thing I need is to get kicked out of the only apartment we were able to find on such short notice. Plus, poaching really isn’t my thing.

  “Hey, I’m Bryson.” I drop my duffle bag to the ground and stretch my arm out for a shake, but she ignores it. Tough crowd. “You Ollie’s girlfriend?” Her eyes narrow further. “Sister?” I ask, hope filling my tone.

  “I’m Ollie,” she says, venom in her voice. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Bryson,” I answer. “Daniels? I guess we’re roommates.”

  “Like hell,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a step back. “I thought Bryson was that girl’s dad.”

  “It is. He just happens to be my dad also. I’m a junior. Look,” I say, trying not to let my renewed frustration rear its ugly head, “it’s no big deal. You have a room. I need a room. Two plus two equals I’m your new roommate. I’m paid in full through the end of the school year.”

  I grab the strap of my duffle and walk farther into the apartment. Brushing past her, I ignore the look of confused disgust on her face and take in the small, yet very tidy apartment. The snap of the door closing either means she’s accepted my arrival, or she’s planning to kill me and doesn’t want any witnesses. I can’t discern the look in her eyes, but since I see no weapons, I’m hoping it’s the former.

  “My room?” I hold up my arm, indicating my heavy ass bag.

  “Stay here,” she demands as she swipes her phone off the living room table and stalks down the hallway.

  I follow, unable to take my eyes off her. Even in sweats, this woman is deadly. She disappears behind a door, and I take it upon myself to wander down the hall, ducking my head inside rooms until I find mine—not a difficult task with only a couple options to choose from. The room is simple. Dresser, bed, night tables—more than I’ll really need. A place to crash and not having to drag baskets full of dirty clothes across town were my only two requirements, and Emerson assured me there was a washing machine inside the apartment. Seems like the perfect setup.

  “No,” I hear Ollie hiss through the wall, “I’m not saying that, Mother.”

  Two things. One, what kind of name is Ollie? I need to find out, because I’ll be damned if I call that woman Ollie. Two, why are the walls so damn thin? So much for getting any action. Here, at least.

  “Well, he’s not ugly, that’s for sure.” I can’t help but smile. “No. I said no. He doesn’t seem like a serial killer.”

  I find myself leaning closer to the wall to hear the rest of her conversation, ignoring the slim ounce of guilt trying to sneak its way up at invading her privacy.

  “You’re not one bit sneaky. I know exactly what you’re doing—and it’s not going to work.”

  Having heard enough, I drop my duffle bag on the bed and head out of the room in search of the washer and dryer. I have a meeting first thing tomorrow, and being the procrastinator I am, I didn’t wash my clothes before packing everything up.

  I find the small laundry room and look in awe at the pristine labels on the shelves beside the stacked washer and dryer. Turning around, I take in the rest of the kitchen. I only thought the apartment was tidy when I first walked in, but this place is beyond spotless. I was concerned before, but now I’m not sure this is even going to work.

  I pull my phone from my pocket and call my sister.

  “You told me I’d fit in here. You said my roommate is just as filthy as I am. You also failed to mention she’s a fucking girl!” I say as soon as she picks up, before she can utter a “hello”.

  She’s silent for a long moment, and I actually wonder if she’s taking me seriously for the first time in our lives. A second later, raucous laughter comes through the line before a clatter echoes in my ear, bursting that dream. I can picture her dropping the phone on the floor and holding her hands to her chest in the same way she’s done all her life

  I wait, my eyes fixed on the ceiling as I tilt my head back. It’s the only thing I can do. Emerson does what she wants, at her speed, and won’t be rushed.

  “First,” she begins with a snort, “that apartment was disgusting. Well, not as bad as your old one, but it was up there.”

  “This place is surgical room clean. Everything is fucking labeled.” I turn in circles, scanning every inch of the kitchen, and tug open the refrigerator door. “Even her damn food is all neat with the product labels facing the front.” I cringe at the obsessive order of this place.

  My sister giggles again. “I knew she made that apartment dirty on purpose. The towels in the bathroom were perfect and the tub was sparkling clean.”

  I look around the corner to make sure her bedroom door is closed before whispering, “You don’t even know, Emerson. This place is so clean, I think she may murder me if I leave clothes on the floor.”

  “So quit being such a slob and don’t leave clothes on the floor.”

  I huff. Like that will ever happen.

  “She’s pretty, right?” she asks with the same misplaced hopefulness she always gets when she’s talking to me about women. I groan in frustration. My sister is always in my business.

  “Don’t start that shit. This girl is about to throw me out. I’ll be homeless. Once she gets off the phone with her mom, I’m out of here.”

  And it’s not like I can just go home, I mentally add, since saying it out loud is pointless. I fought to get out of La Grande for two years and finally put my foot down this summer. My mother insisted I stay close to home the first couple years to “acclimate” to college life, and I did, since she and dad were footing the bill my scholarship didn’t cover, but not anymore. There’s no way I can get anywhere in baseball stuck at Eastern—hell, they haven’t had a first round draft pick since Ron Scott skated into the minors in 1970. This is my shot, and running back isn’t an option.

  “You’re so damn dramatic. How I ended up with such a sissy for a brother, I’ll never know. Sharing a womb with such an awesome girl must have increased your estrogen or something.”

  I scrub my free hand over my face at my twin’s broken record on the subject.

  This isn’t the first time Emerson has mentioned being the power twin.

  “Besides,” she continues, “her mother knows exactly who’s moving in to the room. I was very upfront with her. She knew you wouldn’t be able to make it up there to check the place out. She told me that was fine as long as someone looked before signing the lease. Now, whether or not she relayed that information to Olivia is on her.”

  Olivia.

  It’s a perfect name for the tiny blonde hiding in her room—so much better than Ollie.

  “She had no clue I was the one staying here. She didn’t say as much, but I think she was under the impression you were going to be her roommate. You didn’t mention it?” I leave the small kitchen and head into the living room, which is sparsely furnished and almost surgically sterile.

  This situation doesn’t surprise me. Emerson pulls wild shit like this all the time.

  “I don’t remember not mentioning you. I never said I was moving in, though. Nonetheless, you’re there. Her mom knows who you are, and she’s fine with you living there. Her mother made it very clear Olivia wasn’t going to be happy about anyone moving in, but she did say she wouldn’t be openly rude about it. So, don’t worry. Get unpacked and make sure you make it to the field house for the meeting tomorrow.” Always mothering me. Four minutes older and running my life.

  “How do you know about my meeting tomorrow? You’re worse than Mom.”

  “I linked up your email calendar with mine. I don’t want you missing any important stuff while you’re on your own for the first time.” Meddling ass.

  Before I can berate her for sticking her nose in my business once again, I hear the door down the hall open. “Hey, sis, gotta go. She’s coming out of the room and I don’t want to seem rude.”

  “Since when? You’re always ru—”

  I hang up before she finishes her sentence, prop
myself against the counter, and wait for the gorgeous blonde to make her entrance.

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  Cerberus MC

  Kincaid Book 1

  I am Emmalyn Mikaelson.

  My husband, in a rage, hit me in front of the wrong person. Diego, or Kincaid to most, beat the hell out of him for it. I left with Diego anyway. Even though he could turn on me just like my husband did, I knew I had a better chance of survival with Diego. That was until I realized Kincaid could hurt me so much worse than my husband ever could. Physical pain pales in comparison to troubles of the heart.

  I am Diego “Kincaid” Anderson.

  She was a waitress at a bar in a bad situation. I brought her to my clubhouse because I knew her husband would kill her if I didn’t. Now she has my protection and that of the Cerberus MC. I never expected her to become something more to me. I was in more trouble than I’ve ever been in before, and that’s saying a lot considering I served eight years in the Marine Corps with Special Forces.

  Kid: Cerberus MC Book 2

  Khloe When Khloe Devaro’s best friend and fiancé is lost to the war in Iraq, she’s beyond distraught. Her intentions of joining him in the afterlife are thwarted by a Cerberus Motorcycle club member. Too young to do anything on her own, the only alternative she has now is to take Kid up on his offer to stay at the MC Clubhouse. As if that’s not a disaster waiting to happen, but anything is better than returning to the foster home she’s been forced to live in the last three years.

  "Kid" Dustin “Kid” Andrews spent four years as a Marine; training, fighting, and learning how to survive the most horrendous of conditions. He never imagined that holding a BBQ fundraiser for a local fallen soldier would end up as the catalyst that turns his world upside down. Resisting his attraction for a girl he’s not even certain is of legal age was easy, until he’s forced to intervene when her intentions become clear. All his training is wasted as far as he’s concerned, since none of that will help him when it comes to Khloe.