A Forever Kind of Love (Kimani Romance)

by Rochon, Farrah

  Corey tightened his hands on the steering wheel, trying like hell to calm himself down before he did something he’d regret.

  Mya put a hand on his forearm. “Hear him out,” she said.

  Corey nodded. Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and started toward Andre, with Mya following a few feet behind him.

  “Thanks for coming, Coach,” Andre mumbled as Corey approached.

  “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t decided if I’m going to take you home or leave your ass out here. What the hell were you thinking, Andre?”

  The boy didn’t say anything, just looked down at the ground.

  Corey leaned in close and aimed a finger at the boy’s chest.

  “The problem is you just don’t realize how good you’ve had it. I should have kicked you off the team after you and those other knuckleheads trashed Donaldson’s house, but I let it slide. Then I catch you stealing beer, and I let that slide. But I told you to stop following behind that cousin of yours. Now, tell me why in the hell I should give you any more chances?”

  Andre remained stubbornly silent, and Corey saw red, especially when he thought about what he could be doing right now with Mya back in their hotel suite.

  “Answer me!” he roared. “Why are you still hanging out with T.J. when I told you to stay away from him?”

  “Because nobody else cares,” Andre shouted. His hands fisted at his sides as he stared defiantly at Corey. “T.J. is the only one who gives a crap about me. My mama doesn’t want me going to see her in jail. I try to talk to Aunt Kendra, but she acts like she can’t even see me. None of them care about me.”

  Corey’s anger instantly abated the minute the tears started to flow down Andre’s cheeks.

  “Dammit,” he whispered as he grabbed the boy by the shoulder and brought him into his embrace.

  “T.J. is the...only one...I’ve got,” Andre blubbered.

  “No, he’s not,” Corey said, patting Andre’s back. He pulled him away in order to look him in the eyes. He had to get through to the boy before Andre found himself in the same situation his mother was in.

  “I know it’s hard not having your mom around, but you need to realize that T.J. doesn’t care about you as much as you may think he does. He’s using you, Andre. What happened today should show you that. And your Aunt Kendra.” Corey shook his head. “Look, I’ve known her since we were kids, and she’s always been selfish. To tell you the truth, I was surprised when I learned that she’d agreed to take you in.”

  He captured Andre’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “But you do have people who care about you,” Corey emphasized. “It keeps me up at night, trying to figure out how to get through to you and show you that I care about you. I care about all of you on the team. You’re like the sons I never had, and my main goal as a coach is to see that you all succeed. Not just on the baseball diamond, but in life. Do you understand, Andre?”

  The boy nodded and sniffed, his body jerking with barely reined-in sobs.

  Corey brought him in for another hug. He looked over Andre’s head and spotted Mya. Her face, like Andre’s, was saturated with tears. Before he could ask if she was okay, she spun around and raced toward the other side of the building.

  * * *

  Mya ran like the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels. She collapsed against the side of the rusty corrugated building, using her arm to muffle cries that quickly turned to sobs.

  For years she’d wondered what type of father Corey would have been to her baby if she had not miscarried. It was unrealistic to compare the seventeen-year-old high school senior who had gotten her pregnant to the man she’d just seen comforting Andre. But witnessing his compassion and the tough, yet understanding, way he’d handled the troubled teen touched the very depths of her soul.

  Seconds later, Corey came around the building and stooped next to her. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Mya choked out, and pointed at her throat. “Something went down the wrong way,” she lied.

  “Do you need some water? I may have a bottle in the car.” His voice still brimmed with compassion, this time for her. It only helped in pushing Mya even closer to the edge. The tidal wave of emotion was so unexpected she could barely contain it.

  For years she’d done all she could not to dwell on the baby she’d lost. Every so often she would see a young mother pushing a stroller and feel overwhelmed with sadness. She would quickly remind herself that she’d dodged a bullet with that long-ago miscarriage and the sadness would be replaced with gratefulness.

  But for the first time, Mya allowed herself to imagine what might have been. She closed her eyes and pictured that baby with Corey’s eyes and her curly hair. She saw Corey sitting up in bed, reading fairy tales at bedtime, the way her grandfather used to read to her.

  A sense of wanting, like nothing she’d ever experienced before, crashed into her. She wanted what she’d lost. The baby. The life with Corey. She wanted it all.

  Corey smoothed his hand down her back. “Mya, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” The concern in his voice prompted another bout of sobs, but she quelled them, pulling in several deep breaths.

  “I’m fine. Really.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Sorry about that.”

  Corey gazed at her with a wary frown. “Give me a minute,” he said before taking off. He returned moments later carrying a half-full bottle of water. “It’s a little warm,” he said, handing the bottle to her.

  “Thank you.” She took a sip of water and nodded toward Andre. “Is he okay?”

  Corey propped his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Not really. I’m going to need to talk to Aunt Kendra.”

  “I’ll bet you’re looking forward to that,” Mya choked out with a laugh, but Corey didn’t share her humor. He was staring at her again with that intense gaze that seemed to look straight into her soul. “I’m fine,” she told him. “Please stop looking at me like that. We’re here for Andre. Let’s make sure he’s okay.”

  “Don’t think for a minute that I’m just going to let this drop, Mya. You know me better than that.”

  She did. Which was why she was going to try her hardest to stave off his questions until after the anniversary celebration, when she would no longer be here to answer them.

  Because despite how much she wanted it, Mya knew it was too late for a life with Corey. Their worlds were too different, their history together too much to overcome.

  But there was one thing in their past that could not remain there. She’d kept it buried too long. And after what she’d witnessed today, she had no choice.

  Before she went back to New York, Mya knew she had to tell Corey about the baby.

  * * *

  Corey adjusted his back in an attempt to dislodge the tree bark that was digging into his flesh. He stared at the sexy curve of Mya’s spine as she stood hunched over, a fishing rod clutched in her hands. Her concentration was zeroed in on the murky pond. Corey bit back a laugh. She’d tried her hardest to become a city girl, but small-town living was ingrained in her. This was where she belonged. In this town. With him.

  She would refute it; Corey knew her well enough to predict her reaction. But there was no denying what was going on here. Last Saturday had been about more than just falling into bed again, it had been about falling back in love.

  Though, if he were being honest, Corey could admit that he’d never stopped loving her, despite the years they had been apart. Their love had been young, but it had been real. And in fifteen years Corey had never succeeded in finding a woman who could hold a candle to Mya. He’d tried, but no one had even come close.

  He was done searching. He had Mya back. He wasn’t letting her go.

  “Why haven’t you ever married?” Corey asked her. She looked at him, her eyes wide as she stared a
t him in mute shock.

  He tilted his head to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

  She returned her attention to the water and recast her fishing rod into the pond. “I’m guessing ‘I just never got around to it’ won’t fly with you, will it?” she asked.

  “No,” Corey answered. He pushed up from his relaxed position and sat next to her at the pond’s edge. Slipping his arms around her waist, he rested his chin on her shoulder, inhaling her unique scent that the swampy water could not mask. “After all these years, Mya, why didn’t you ever get married?”

  He felt the deep sigh that rumbled through her body.

  “You were hard to replace,” she finally answered. Her softly spoken admission was so profound Corey could hardly breathe. “To be honest, I never even came close,” Mya continued. “I thought this one guy, Derrick, could possibly turn into something meaningful. We were together for nearly two years, but the connection just wasn’t there, you know?”

  He knew exactly what she was talking about. His longest relationship had lasted just over a year.

  Corey reached forward and pulled the fishing rod from her fingers. He tossed it to the ground before gripping Mya’s wrists and turning her to face him. He brought his hands up to her shoulders and massaged them.

  “What else?” he asked. He would get her to admit she still loved him.

  “What?” She sighed. “What more do you want me to say, Corey? That no man has ever lived up to you? I just admitted that.” She shook her head, expelling a mirthless laugh as she lifted her eyes to his. “It was always so easy with you. We never had to work at finding things to say to each other. We were always so comfortable together. That’s what was missing with the others. I’ve only had that with you.”

  As he stared into her lovely face, Corey knew he was done. Completely, undeniably done. He’d never find another woman better suited for him than the one before him. They’d lost fifteen years, but they wouldn’t lose any more. They were meant to be together. It was as simple as that.

  “Stay,” he said.

  Mya’s head jerked back. “What?”

  “Don’t go back to New York.”

  She stared at him, her mouth gaped open. “I have to,” she said. “My life is in New York. My work is there. My apartment. Everything. It’s my home.”

  “This is your home.” Corey tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Deny it all you want, but this place is in your blood. You care about what happens to Gauthier. If you didn’t, you would have left the minute your grandmother got out of the hospital. It’s your home, Mya. It’s time for you to come back to it.”

  She shook her head. “No,” she choked out. “When I left Gauthier it was for good, Corey. I’m going to visit more often—I’ve already decided that. But my life is no longer here.”

  She wrangled out of his hold and picked up her fishing rod. Turning back to the pond, she cast her line into the water, her back rigid, her head defiantly upright. Corey reached out for her, but pulled his hand back before making contact.

  There were so many things he could argue, so much more he wanted to say, but he sensed her resolve. She was as stubborn as she was beautiful, but if she thought this was the end of this conversation, she was out of her mind.

  He wasn’t done with Mya. Not by a long shot.

  Chapter 12

  The salty aroma of fried chicken wafting through the air caused Mya’s stomach to automatically react, growling like a tiger despite the fact that she’d eaten some of her grandmother’s panfried shortcake with warm syrup just two hours ago—a late afternoon snack. It should be a sin to eat like this. Oh, wait, it was. Gluttony definitely described her eating habits over the past three and a half weeks.

  “Mya, can you check on the corn bread while you’re in there?” her grandmother called.

  Mya returned the pitcher of sweet tea to the refrigerator and, donning an oven mitt, pulled the oven’s top rack out. The golden-brown corn bread set her mouth to water, and Mya mentally tacked on another mile to her evening run.

  “It’s done,” she shouted toward the dining room where her grandmother had spent the past three days making green-and-white “Celebrate Gauthier” lapel ribbons for this coming weekend’s celebration. Mya stopped just inside the doorway. The table was littered with hot glue sticks, ribbon scraps and God knew what else.

  “I’m heading down to Main Street to see how things are coming along,” she told her grandmother. “The electrician I hired to get the waterwheel back up and running should be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “I sure hope he can get it working by Saturday.”

  “So do I,” Mya said. “It wouldn’t be Heritage Park without the wheel. I’ll pick up some non-fat frozen yogurt to go with the peach pie on my way back.” Her grandmother grimaced, but Mya completely ignored it. Grandma was lucky both Mya and Aunt Mo had made concessions on most of the food she was preparing for tonight’s dinner. The civic association was meeting one last time to finalize everything for Saturday. It had been Mya’s idea to have a dinner as a thank-you for all their hard work.

  She grabbed Aunt Mo’s keys and left through the kitchen door. As she made her way down Pecan Drive she pulled her cell phone from her purse. She needed to touch base with the carnival company that was providing the cotton candy machine on Saturday.

  Before she could dial, her cell phone started to vibrate. Mya recognized the 212 area code, but not the New York number.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “Mya?”

  “Ricki?” she asked, identifying her colleague’s voice. She’d worked with Ricki Stanzi on a number of shows.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I’m happy I finally got you. I’ve tried a couple of times.”

  “Sorry about that. Cell phone coverage here is spotty at times. What’s up?”

  “Are you sitting down?” Ricki asked.

  Mya rolled her eyes at the woman’s dramatics. “Technically,” she answered.

  “The new buzz going around the circuit is that Hitsville secured the funding it needed. It looks like it’s a go.”

  Mya stomped harder on the break at the stop sign than was necessary. “How sure are you?” she asked.

  “About ninety percent. You know how these things work,” Ricki said. “Investors have been known to pull out at the last minute, but it sounds as if the group taking on Hitsville is pretty solid.”

  “You know how much I’d love to work on that show,” Mya said. Hitsville was based on the early days of Motown Records. As soon as she’d heard about it, Mya had started thinking up costuming ideas from that era. “Is there any talk about when they plan to start preproduction?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll keep my ears open. You need to get yourself back here,” Ricki said. “You don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

  No, she didn’t. Mya already had a solid reputation in the theater community, known as one of the go-to costume designers. Her Tony Award nomination had boosted her career significantly, but if she could pull off the ideas she had for Hitsville, her career would skyrocket.

  She could not pass up the chance to work on this show. This is what she lived for, what she’d spent the past decade building and nurturing.

  It was time for her to head back home.

  As Mya drove along Main Street, a heavy cloud settled over her heart. She looked from side to side, pride tightening her chest at the thought of the role she’d played in helping to spruce up the street. But sorrow and regret lodged in Mya’s throat.

  This was home, too. She’d spent fifteen years pushing Gauthier out of her life, and in just a few weeks the town had wormed its way back into her heart. At odd moments, when she’d let her guard down, she’d pictured life here, tucked away in this sleepy little town. She could see it all too well. Enjoying Sunday dinner at her grandmot
her’s, cheering on Corey’s baseball team in the stands at the high school games, cuddling up to him every night in that huge bed.

  God, she wanted that. But she couldn’t do it.

  New York was easier. She had a successful career and the freedom to travel and see the world.

  Staying in Gauthier would be the opposite of easy. It would be catastrophic. These past few weeks had been a mirage—an illusion of what life could have been if she didn’t know better. But she did know better. Reality was only steps away from her, working behind the counter of the Gauthier Pharmacy and Feed Store. She’d escaped the snares of this town once. She wasn’t going to put herself in a position to get caught again, no matter how much joy she’d experienced these past few weeks with Corey.

  He was the biggest threat of all. Just as he’d done fifteen years ago, Corey Anderson had her considering giving up her dreams—giving up the life she’d built for herself. She would not allow anyone to do that.

  “Just get through Saturday and get back to New York,” Mya told herself.

  It was time for her to get back to her old life.

  By the time she arrived back at her grandmother’s, the yard was crowded with cars. The meeting wasn’t officially supposed to start for another half hour, but when the majority of the committee was made up of retirees who no longer lived by a watch, start times didn’t mean all that much.

  As she alighted from the car, Mya spotted Corey’s SUV coming down the street. He pulled up alongside the fence and got out.

  It had been three days since she’d seen him. She’d dodged his calls and managed to miss him the two times he’d stopped in at Grandma’s.

  “Hi,” she said as he walked up to her.

  The intense look on his face told her that he saw straight through her innocent greeting.

  “We graduated from high school years ago, Mya. I’m not playing games as if we’re still teenagers.” Corey stepped forward and took each of her hands in his. His stare brooked no room for pretense.

  “I love you,” he said. “I’ve loved you most of my life and I want to build a life with you. And I know you love me, too, Mya. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work, but you have to be willing, too. The ball is in your court.”