by CJ Martín
Forever Hearts
CJ Martín
Contents
Forever Hearts
Copyright
Prologue: Riley
1. Riley
2. Riley
3. Jesse
4. Jesse
5. Riley
6. Jesse
7. Riley
8. Jesse
9. Riley
10. Riley
11. Riley
12. Riley
13. Riley
14. Riley
15. Riley
16. Jesse
17. Riley
18. Riley
19. Riley
20. Riley
21. Jesse
22. Riley
23. Riley
24. Jesse
25. Riley
26. Riley
27. Jesse
28. Riley
29. Riley
30. Riley
31. Jesse
32. Riley
33. Riley
34. Riley
35. Riley
36. Riley
37. Jesse
38. Riley
39. Riley
40. Riley
41. Jesse
42. Riley
43. Jesse
44. Riley
45. Riley
46. Jesse
47. Riley
48. Riley
49. Jesse
50. Riley
51. Riley
52. Riley
53. Riley
54. Riley
55. Riley
56. Riley
57. Riley
58. Riley
59. Riley
60. Riley
61. Jesse
62. Riley
63. Jesse
Epilogue: Riley
Confessional
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by CJ Martín:
Also by CJ Martín
Also by CJ Martín
Snowbound
Prologue: Vik
Chapter 1: Elena
Chapter 2: Vik
Forever Hearts
CJ Martín
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by CJ Martín
All Rights Reserved
No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of CJ Martín. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All characters and storyline are property of the author, and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.
ASIN: B074D4R5GH
Cover Design: Hang Le, By Hang Le Designs
Edited By: Bree Scalf, Vivid Words Editing
Proofread By: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC
Formatting By: CJ Martín
This book is dedicated to my own forever heart, my husband, Joe. Thank you for always understanding when I need time and space to write, for listening to me vent about plots and characters, and for having faith in me even when I didn’t have faith in myself.
You are amazing.
I adore you.
You are my forever.
“Two souls are sometimes created together and in love
before they are even born.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Prologue: Riley
Now…
I shower, get dressed, make it all the way to my car, before I realize that I left my cell phone in my apartment. I pat my pockets, check my purse, and glance at the dashboard to see if the Bluetooth symbol is illuminated—it isn’t. I groan audibly as I switch off the ignition and rush back into the cold. It’s mid-March, yet the thermometer has barely reached thirty degrees this week, and with the wind whipping through the air, the “real feel” is in the single digits.
Back inside my apartment I locate my phone on the kitchen counter, still plugged into the charger. As I pick it up, my eyes scan over several notifications, one of which is a text message from Bill.
Bill: Hi, Sweetie. Just got back from the airport with my parents. Reservations are at seven. Are you on your way?
I glance at the clock. It’s five forty-five. I can make it across town with plenty of time to spare—I think. Bill’s perpetually early, as in, if we do not arrive twenty minutes prior to the start of any function—and I do mean any and every function— he panics. He’s chronically early; I’m chronically late. We balance each other out…in theory, anyway.
My thumb swipes the screen, but my fingers are too cold to register the touch, so I drop the phone and blow into my hands in an attempt to warm them up. A minute later, I type a quick message to Bill.
Riley: Omw. Left ten minutes ago.
This is an outright lie; I’m still standing in my kitchen and I would never text and drive. He should know that after nine months of dating, but he simply agrees.
Bill: Ok.
His response is simple. Quick. Efficient. Just like him.
I knock on Bill’s front door thirty minutes later—traffic was heavier and slower than I anticipated. His mother and father are seated on the sofa. It’s not the first time I’m meeting them, but every time they visit I have the feeling I should be walking on eggshells. They’re prim and proper, formal, refined—the exact opposite of me.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lewg.” I smile as I embrace first his father, then his mother, in the world’s most awkward hug. “So good to see you.”
“Lovely to see you, dear.” Mrs. Lewg—Carole, though she’s never told me to call her that—says. “Bill was just telling us he has a special announcement before we leave for dinner.”
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows as I turn toward Bill. My mind quickly scans over our last few conversations. I can’t remember him talking about any major deal specifically, apart from the new property, but that deal closed weeks ago. All right, okay, I may not pay one hundred percent attention when he blabs on and on about investment properties or the price per square foot of Building A versus Building B, but can you blame me? Commercial real estate is freaking boring. Take it from me, I should know; it’s all Bill ever seems to talk about.
“Riley.” Bill makes no effort to move from in front of the mantle where he stands, but he extends his hand and pulls me toward him. “Can you come here for one second? There’s something I want to ask you. Something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”
The smiling face of my roommate pops to mind and her words bounce around my brain. You’ll be engaged before me. But surely that’s not what this is. We haven’t been together that long. I haven’t even given him a key to my apartment yet. He just met my family.
“Riley Ann Jones.” He takes both my hands, and I will myself to close my mouth, which gapes open in the most unflattering way.
Oh, shit. Oh, no. Fuck. Please don’t let him be asking what I think he’s going to—
“This past year…” —nine months, I automatically correct in my head— “has been the happiest year of my life. You’re everything that I want in a life partner: smart, beautiful, kind, honest…”
I swallow. I’m not so honest.
He drops to one knee, looks up at me with caring brown eyes. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
My gaze darts around the room, heart beating wildly in my chest, not from excitement, but from fear.
His mother smiles at me encouragingly, as B
ill cracks open a small, velvet jewelry box. “It was my grandmother’s. It’s been in our family for generations. I asked my mother to bring it in with her.” He waves with his free hand to where his parents sit. “It’s part of the reason why they flew in early.” He smiles again. “So, will you? Will you be my wife?”
Holy fuck. Bill scrunches his nose and I press my lips together, sending another silent prayer heavenward that I didn’t just say fuck in front of his parents. In front of my (potential) future in-laws.
“Kind of waiting on an answer here, Riley.” His voice jokes, but I can see the tension around his eyes.
I squeeze my eyes tight, swallow a deep breath, and nod. “Yes.” My voice is the faintest of whispers. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Wonderful!” his mother exclaims, clapping her hands in front of her chest. Bill pulls himself to his feet and slips the ring onto my left finger. It’s delicate, a solitaire, round-cut stone, light and classy, but it feels like a heavy anchor pulling me down. I’m suffocating. Sinking. Drowning.
Mr. Lewg claps Bill on the back. “Congratulations, son.” They shake hands as though they’re business associates rather than father and son.
Bill locks eyes with me, the megawatt smile that is plastered on every billboard within a thirty-mile radius beams at me. He mouths “I love you,” but all I can do is nod, because there’s only one thought looping through my mind right now, and if I’m not careful, the words will escape and topple the house of cards that I’ve struggled to build this entire year.
Those words are on my mind throughout our indulgent, five-course meal.
They’re there later that night when Bill makes love to me and tells me how happy he is.
And they’re still there long after his breath has slowed and he has fallen asleep. Then, and only then, do I let the devastating truth fall past my lips:
He’s not Jesse.
1
Riley
Then…
Two words: Senior year. A tight coil of nerves, equal parts excitement and dread, sits low in my belly. My emotions run the gamut...happiness because I finally made it; sadness because it will all be over too soon; anticipation to see all my friends after a long three months. And Jesse.
Especially Jesse.
I run down the stairs and make a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a banana for breakfast. “’Morning, honey,” my mom calls from near the sink.
“Good morning,” I parrot, voice light and breathless as I glance at the clock on the microwave. Jesse will be here in two minutes.
“You all ready for your first day?” my dad asks, as he walks into the room with my little sister, still half asleep, nestled in his arms.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I grab my backpack from the bench alongside the front door and hoist it onto my shoulder.
A car horn blares.
“Jesse’s here,” my mom states, even though it’s unnecessary. Who else would be in our driveway at 7:15 a.m. on a Monday morning?
My dad sneaks in a quick hug. “Bye, kiddo.”
“Good luck, honey.” My mom kisses my cheek.
“Bye, Ry-Ry.” Mikayla leaps into my arms. “Have fun at the big kids’ school.”
I squeeze my arms tighter around her. “And you have fun at the little kids’ school.”
I know that it’s practically mandatory to hate your little sister—or at the very least, be annoyed by said sister—but Mikayla is twelve years younger than me, so there isn’t any of the typical sibling rivalry. And when I do have to babysit her (on the rare occasion), I can’t complain, because who doesn’t like to watch Disney movies (although she was stuck on Zootopia for quite a while) and scarf cookie dough ice cream right from the container? Answer: no one.
The sound of the horn pierces the air again, and I rush toward the door. My entire family follows me out as though they’re sending me off to boot camp for six weeks rather than sending me to school for six hours.
“Bye.” I wave as I toss my bag into the backseat of Jesse’s old Honda Civic. “See ya later.”
“Riley.” Jesse leans over the console and wraps me in his huge arms. The happiness of seeing him is only slightly overshadowed by the fact that my parents and six-year-old sister are watching us. “I’ve missed you.”
I pull back and smooth my hands through my hair. “Couldn’t have missed me that much.” His brows wrinkle in confusion, so I continue. “You got in two days ago?” My voice rises at the end, and he nods in confirmation. “And I’m just seeing you now?” I smile to let him know I’m teasing, although I am a little hurt that I didn’t warrant more than a quick text message indicating he was home. Hell, we’ve been best friends, nearly inseparable, since we were five, and the fact that he was gone for the entire summer visiting his dad meant that we had a lot to catch up on.
He dips his head and scratches the back of his neck. “You know how my mom is. She took the whole weekend off work, and then we went to my grandmother’s house to visit.”
“In West County?” I question, surprised because his grandmother lives almost two hours away from us.
“Yep.” He nods, and then smiles his beautiful smile. The one that is special, only for me. “Don’t worry. I’m all yours now.”
“I sure hope you mean that, because you missed a lot over the summer.”
He puts the car in reverse, and I wave to my family one last time. “What’s your schedule? What period do you have lunch?”
Even though I have my schedule memorized, I still put it up on my phone to double check. “Fifth.”
“Sweet.” He glances my way. “Me, too.”
We pull into the school parking lot not even ten minutes later, and there are people… everywhere. For a moment I’m shocked by how much hasn’t changed.
Teachers and principals like to babble on at the beginning of a new school year with (corny) inspirational messages such as: New year! New you! You can succeed. Make good choices. Blah. Blah. Blah. But nothing ever changes. Not really.
My eyes scan the parking lot. Rachael Trunk, Tori Weether, Heather Plum, and Melissa Riche still roll up in Rachel’s flashy red Jetta. And Phillip McNorg and Bryan Traitor are still drop-dead gorgeous and two of Adams High’s most popular boys. Veronica Tish and Will Feeble are still Star Wars obsessed, with their dark black jeans and matching white Storm Troopers t-shirts. Same cliques, different day.
I rub my sweaty palms on my own denim-clad legs and heave a deep breath. Thirteen years of school. Thirteen first days. You would think I’d be a pro by now…but I’m not. I’m freaking nervous as hell.
Truth: I’m not what you would consider popular. Not by any means. While the reverse is also true—I’m not unpopular—I’m more of a drifter. I earn good grades—it’s not that I’m exceptionally smart, it’s just that I actually try in my classes. A good chunk of my friends are what could be classified as nerds. But I also became good friends with several people from my yearbook class, and they’d be grouped with the artists.
And then there’s Jesse. He’s my saving grace because he is popular. He’s friends with Phillip McNorg and Bryan Traitor. He’s considered the third (and quite possibly the most) popular boy at Adams High. They’re all starters on the school’s varsity basketball team. And just to be clear, basketball is a huge deal, as in, the entire school attends varsity basketball games. There’s a whole student pep squad dubbed “The Pack” that cheers exclusively for Phillip, Bryan, and Jesse, otherwise known as PB & J. The Adams Vikings won the state championship three years in a row. This year will make number four.
“You okay?” Jesse’s hand reaches over the center console and grazes my arm.
I glance at him and nod my head. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?” he questions one more time, and this time I smile to mask my nerves. “You ready to do this?”
My fingers grip the door handle and I answer the same way I did to my dad not even a half hour before. “As I’ll ever be.”
2
Riley
/>
I still remember the blue T-rex t-shirt Jesse was wearing the first day we met. I was heavy into my princess phase (okay, okay, I still think Disney princesses are cool, but that’s beside the point). I was playing in my green turtle sandbox, attempting to replicate Cinderella’s castle. My tools were subpar, at best; I had a half-broken plastic bucket, a rake, and one slim shovel that bent every time I tried digging with it. Of course, I didn’t realize any of this at the time, but I digress.
Jesse walked up my blacktop driveway, dark hair slightly frizzy, vibrant blue eyes striking against his caramel skin.
