Forever Bound

by Deanna Roy

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Jenny

  Chapter 2: Chance

  Chapter 3: Jenny

  Chapter 4: Chance

  Chapter 5: Jenny

  Chapter 6: Chance

  Chapter 7: Jenny

  Chapter 8: Chance

  Chapter 9: Jenny

  Chapter 10: Chance

  Chapter 11: Jenny

  Chapter 12: Chance

  Chapter 13: Jenny

  Chapter 14: Chance

  Chapter 15: Jenny

  Chapter 16: Chance

  Chapter 17: Jenny

  Chapter 18: Chance

  Chapter 19: Jenny

  Chapter 20: Chance

  Chapter 21: Jenny

  Chapter 22: Chance

  Chapter 23: Jenny

  Chapter 24: Jenny

  Chapter 25: Chance

  Chapter 26: Jenny

  Chapter 27: Chance

  Chapter 28: Jenny

  Chapter 29: Jenny

  Chapter 30: Chance

  Chapter 31: Jenny

  Chapter 32: Chance

  Chapter 33: Jenny

  Chapter 34: Jenny

  Chapter 35: Jenny

  Chapter 36: Jenny

  Chapter 37: Chance

  Chapter 38: Jenny

  Chapter 39: Chance

  Chapter 40: Jenny

  Chapter 41: Chance

  Chapter 42: Jenny

  Chapter 43: Chance

  Chapter 44: Jenny

  Chapter 45: Chance

  Chapter 46: Chance

  Chapter 47: Jenny

  Chapter 48: Chance

  Chapter 49: Jenny

  Chapter 50: Chance

  Chapter 51: Jenny

  Epilogue

  Also by Deanna Roy on Amazon

  About Deanna Roy

  Dedications to Our Moms

  Forever Bound

  A Novel from the Forever Series

  By Deanna Roy

  www.deannaroy.com

  Join her mailing list for new releases and freebies at

  Deanna’s List

  Summary:

  A hitchhiking musician looking only for freedom and adventure as he sings for tips across the U.S. spends a single night with a spunky pink-dreadlocked girl, only to discover that sometimes, one night can be the beginning of forever.

  Copyright © 2015 by Deanna Roy. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Casey Shay Press

  PO Box 160116

  Austin, TX 78716

  www.caseyshaypress.com

  E-ISBN: 9781938150289

  Also available in paperback: ISBN: 9781938150234

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015910116

  v1

  For my mom

  And to all YOUR moms!

  (Go see the dedications to the moms of the Forever fans!)

  •*´`*•♥•*´`*•

  Chapter 1: Jenny

  This face would be in all the tabloids tomorrow. It had to look good.

  “I need something,” I told my friends Tina and Corabelle. They both sat on my bed giving me moral support as I put on makeup for this crazy important night.

  Corabelle rose and stood behind me, her fingers lifting my soft pink dreadlocks. “You look beautiful,” she said.

  “It’s not enough,” I said.

  Maybe I needed more color. I dug through one of my drawers.

  “Please tell me you’re not going Kardashian on us in front of all those photographers,” Tina said.

  “Uggh, no,” I told her, pulling out a tube of emerald eyeliner. “I have to keep it classy for Frankie.”

  Frankie was my movie director boyfriend. Well, pretend boyfriend. I had been his paid arm candy the past few months to attend premieres and industry parties. But now we were done. He’d fallen in love for real.

  And not with me.

  Not that it mattered. I didn’t love him either. We’d just been having fun. Platonic fun. Normally I didn’t do platonic, but Frankie had been an exception.

  “You’re making yourself crazy,” Corabelle said as she adjusted a few stray locks over my ears. “It will be fine.”

  I watched my friends via the mirror. Corabelle’s face was serious, her hands fiddling with my hair like she was solving a puzzle.

  Tina flopped back on the bed and stared up at the cascades of colored silk draped from the ceiling. “Girl, this room looks like a Care Bear puked a rainbow,” she said.

  I turned to her, realizing I might have overdone the decor. But Frankie had given me his credit card, and said my love of color made him happy. So I went nuts. The wallpaper shifted colors like a pastel waterfall. Even the makeup table with its movie-starlet surround of bulbs was a soft pink.

  “Well, I can’t afford to change it now,” I said, and opened the glitter liner.

  “He’s cutting you off now that he’s ditching you?” Tina asked.

  “I gave up the credit line yesterday,” I said, adding an edge to the wings coming off my eyelids. The deep green liner matched my dress perfectly.

  “These guys show no mercy,” Tina said.

  “Part of the contract,” I said with a shrug.

  Corabelle continued to smooth my pink dreadlocks. She couldn’t get enough of them. “These are really going to make you stand out,” she said.

  “I hope so,” I said. “This is my last chance to get in the industry before I graduate and have to work someplace boring.”

  “The photographers are going to love you,” Corabelle said. “It’s a big movie premiere. It will be a madhouse.”

  She was right about that. And my public breakup with Frankie was going to turn some heads. Make some people dislike me. Sigh. But I couldn’t let anybody know the real deal. I had signed on the dotted line.

  Tina hopped off the bed to stand with Corabelle. The three of us were a sight, me with my pink ’do, Corabelle and her long trailing black curls, and tiny impish Tina with her signature short pigtails.

  “You are totally going to draw all the clicks, especially once they get a whiff of the scandal,” Tina said.

  I pressed my hands to my cheeks. “The paparazzi are merciless. They LIVE for getting your bad side.”

  “You don’t have a bad side,” Corabelle said gently.

  I stared into the mirror, cursing my eyes for being such a dull gray. Half the reason I kept my hair pink was to make up for my boring eyes.

  Tina shook her head. “I can’t believe you got into this mess.”

  “It’s not a mess,” I said. “It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.” I dropped the liner back into the drawer and dug around for some lip gloss.

  “You’re at the end of it, at least,” Tina said, sitting back down.

  I picked up a sparkling tube and shook it. “Now I have to survive the fallout,” I said grimly. Tonight was going to be brutal.

  “You will,” Corabelle said. “And you’ll be free to chase all the teaching assistants and doctors you want.” She smiled over at Tina.

  “I had forgotten about all the hot docs at the hospital,” I said. I hadn’t, but they’d been out of reach since Frankie, so I’d pushed them from my mind.

  “They don’t make good sugar daddies,” Tina said. “They’re workaholics.”

  “Why did you go with dread
locks?” Corabelle asked. She couldn’t stop playing with them.

  I dotted my lips and tilted my head, watching the thick pink extensions sway against my bare shoulders. “It was my last hair appointment on the director’s dime,” I said. “I had to make it good.”

  “I liked Frankie,” Corabelle said. “I hate that it has to end with such drama.”

  I turned around in the chair to face her and Tina. “Thank you both for keeping the secret. Nobody was supposed to know, not even my friends.”

  Tina tweaked her pigtails. “Not my circus. Not my monkeys.”

  I walked over to my dresser to choose some earrings. Almost everything in my jewelry chest was from Frankie. I wished it didn’t have to end so soon.

  But I had to let him go without a fuss, per our agreement when we began our faux relationship. In the time we’d been together, I’d gotten more manicures, hair appointments, and skin treatments than a beauty pageant diva.

  He’d also bought me an incredible amount of gifts. Clothes. Furniture. A diamond-encrusted Rolex that was worth more than my car.

  I’d gone to outrageous parties with famous musicians and movie stars. My name had as many Google hits as a B-list actress even though I was just a lowly undergrad who worked at a coffee shop.

  It had been amazing.

  But unlike in romance novels, my movie director boyfriend hadn’t fallen in love with me. He hadn’t even made a move. Everything was just as he’d laid it out in the contract. Event attendance. Fidelity. Charm. Lovesick expressions for the press. Occasional PDA when the photographers were around. We had an optional clause for a mild scandal as a publicity tool, but Frankie decided not to use it while we were together.

  For our last night as a couple, he was introducing me around. I didn’t really think I had it in me to be an actress, and I liked pizza too much to go for modeling, but a non-talent position in those industries would suit me just fine. Even being on the fringe of the glamour was better than some boring desk job.

  I didn’t have any other idea of what I was going to do with a liberal arts degree come graduation in June.

  Just as I slipped the diamond studs through my earlobes, the doorbell rang. “That’s the limo,” I said. “Is the dress perfect?” I asked, turning in a tight circle.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Corabelle said.

  I smoothed the fabric across my belly. The dress was stretchy and form fitting. You couldn’t even wear a thong with it, or it showed. The top was off the shoulders with a tight band running across the front. So no bra really worked. The strapless ones had all seemed too bulky and the little tape-on lifters didn’t seem to do much for me.

  So I was full commando. If I played strip poker, I’d be a goner in one round.

  “I can’t believe you’re not wearing underwear,” Tina said. “Please tell me you’re not going to pull a Britney.”

  “No way. I’m a class act,” I said with a laugh. “Not because I am. Frankie’s contract insisted on it.”

  Tina snorted. “That must be one heck of a document.”

  “It is. Was.” I tugged the skirt down. It wasn’t super short, hitting just above my knee. I didn’t think it was a risk. Besides, it was so tight that I could barely separate my knees.

  “Call if you need me later,” Corabelle said.

  I nodded, suddenly feeling my throat get tight. “It’ll be hard, giving all this up.”

  “You going to look for a new sugar daddy?” Tina asked. “Bound to be some at the party.”

  “No.” I picked up my tiny evening bag. “I’m fine with whatever happens. I can return to my man-hopping days.”

  Corabelle headed for the door. “You’ll be back in your element.”

  I dropped the lip gloss into my purse. “It’s been a while since I got to bang a stranger.” Or anybody, I thought. Strictly faithful to a platonic boyfriend. It would have been impossible, if the perks hadn’t been so fabulous.

  I’d gone through a lot of batteries.

  Corabelle gave me a quick hug, careful not to disturb my hair or makeup. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

  The three of us walked through my apartment. I felt a wave of melancholy. I liked Frankie. Even though we’d never so much as made out other than in public, I was sad to see him go.

  But also, it was losing this life. I was born for it. I didn’t mind the photographers. I didn’t care about the gossip. I loved the mingling. The way people worked a room, sizing up who they needed to talk to and who needed to talk to them. The whole hierarchy, shifting and changing, rising and falling along with box office returns and bankability.

  The worst part of this whole arrangement was that it had to end.

  Maybe a quickie with some rich, hot actor would make me feel better.

  Yes. Yes, indeed.

  Chapter 2: Chance

  I sure picked the wrong road to hitchhike on today.

  The wind picked up, and I pressed the neck of my T-shirt over my nose. The dust was unrelenting, like somebody was kicking sand in my face.

  My guitar case banged against my thigh as I stumbled, hardly able to see as the desert floor seemed to rise up to the sky. Interstate 15 was only a few feet away, but I could barely make out the asphalt.

  Hell, if the drivers were as blind as me, I could get run over any second.

  I took a few more steps away from the highway. Nobody would pick me up in this mess. They couldn’t even see me.

  My feet kept going out of sheer will. I could make out something ahead, some sort of low billboard. I hadn’t seen a gas station or another building in a couple miles, so I couldn’t really backtrack. Maybe that sign could at least give me a wind break until whatever was going on settled.

  For the first time since I left my hometown of Chattanooga, Tennessee, I questioned my decision to quit my dead-end job and take off across the country playing for tips anywhere that would take me.

  I’d been doing all right, but this was definitely a low point.

  The sign loomed ahead, but the wind was slowing down a little, so I plunged on. I started to worry that maybe I didn’t have enough water to last me however long it might take to catch a ride.

  This was the hardest stretch of the journey. I left Vegas three hours ago and was aiming for LA. Getting to the ocean sounded like a fitting end to these months of living by the seat of my pants. Once I got there, I’d have to figure out what I was doing next.

  I definitely didn’t look forward to that.

  Headlights pierced the dusty gloom. I shifted my guitar case to my right hand and held up my left. I doubted they could even see me, but it was worth a shot.

  The car blew past me, just as I figured, but then the world turned red as brake lights lit up the haze. It was stopping.

  I hotfooted it up to the car, an aging boat-sized Buick with half the paint sandblasted off from driving through the desert.

  This was the trickiest part of hitchhiking, seeing who was picking you up, figuring out their motives, deciding if you were safe.

  The lock popped up and I opened the passenger door and bent down to peer inside.

  My whole body relaxed as a grandmotherly woman gazed over at me, her silver hair tied back. She reminded me of Gram. “Hello, ma’am,” I said.

  “Well, don’t let the whole desert in, boy,” she said in a smooth friendly voice. “Get yourself settled.”

  I opened the back door and shoved my guitar case on the seat. The car was immaculate inside, and I winced a little to see all the sand spilling across the green vinyl.

  “Nothing a hand-vac won’t handle,” the woman said. “Come on. I want to get out of this sandstorm.”

  I jumped back into the front and yanked the door closed. “Much obliged,” I said.

  The woman dropped the gearshift into drive and stomped on the gas. We zoomed forward, and I fumbled for the seat belt.

  She laughed as I shoved the silver buckle into its slot. “Don’t worry about me. Been driving some fifty-five years and neve
r an accident yet.”

  I watched her strong wrinkled hands turn the wheel. She wore a cranberry paisley dress and sturdy brown shoes. But a pink ribbon was tied through her hair, ending in a big bow just above her ear. It held just enough dash to make her seem like a much younger woman.

  “I like your bow,” I said.

  She cupped her hand over it. “No reason not to put on a few little pretties, even at my age.” She gave me a wink. “You never know when a handsome beau is going to turn up.”

  I laughed a little.

  “Where are you headed, young man?”

  “LA,” I said. “Though any distance you can take me, I’d appreciate.”

  “I’m only going as far as San Bernardino,” she said. “But that’ll get you past the desert anyway. You could bus in from there easy.”

  “That’s great, thanks,” I told her and settled back against the seat. The car was roomy and cool, a relief after the dust outside. “These storms happen often?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I see one every few runs to Vegas.” She peered out the window. “That where you’re coming from?”

  “I did a stint there,” I said. “Sang in a little cafe on the west side.”

  “So you’re a singer,” she said. “Planning to change the world in LA? Be a big star?” Her voice held no hint of derision or amusement. Just a plain question.

  “No, ma’am. Just going to play around town a little, figure out what’s next.”

  “So you’ve been doing this a while?”

  “Started off in Tennessee, been thumbing it for five months.”

  “You got family back home?”

  My jaw tensed over that question. “Not really.”

  She nodded, leaning into the steering wheel to stare at the haze. “Sure is a good ’un out there. A boy could get lost in that.”

  “I appreciate you stopping for me.”

  She glanced over at me and smiled. “Gotta help a boy live his dream.”