Holding Onto Forever (The Beaumont Series: Next Generation Book 1)

by Heidi McLaughlin

  He sets me down in the truck and rushes around to the other side. “Do you remember the last time you were in here?” he asks as he pulls away from the curb.

  Yes, I think but don’t say it out loud.

  Noah turns down the radio, so it’s just us with our breathing, sighing, and the outside traffic to clog my brain with noise. He pulls up to the stoplight and someone yells his name. This is small town life at its best right here.

  “My dad knows, Peyton.”

  “Knows what?”

  “About us. Prom night.”

  I chose to stare out the window instead of him. I guess I didn’t realize losing my virginity would be a hot topic for the Westbury men.

  “When you were in the coma, I was talking to you. I was trying to bring up happy memories, at least those I consider happy, and prom night was one of them.”

  As he drives forward, I continue to stare out the window.

  “My dad overheard me talking to you about it. He was pissed until I told him.”

  I don’t want to know, but I ask anyway. “Told him what?”

  “That I was in love with you and thought we’d be together after that night, but I screwed up by taking you to the cliffs. You see, I thought looking out over the ravine would be romantic, but then you started talking about college and how excited you were to finally be free. I started wondering how free you would be if we were together. Would you feel comfortable going out? How would I feel? My mind went in a hundred different directions so I kept my mouth shut and my feelings to myself.”

  As much as I’ve tried to keep the tears away, I can’t. Noah pulls into the parking lot by the football stadium and puts his truck into park. I know I should move, but I can’t.

  “Come to find out, taking a girl to the cliffs means different things for different people. Dad says you probably thought I was going to tell you that the night before shouldn’t have happened, which is why you were going on about school and everything else.”

  I close my eyes as memories of prom, the night of and the day after flood my thoughts. I came onto him. I asked him to get us a room because I wanted him to be my first. I was finally eighteen and legal. No more silly thoughts or wasted hopes and dreams. Noah and I could be together. In my mind, it worked. He could live in Chicago until the season started, coming home on Sunday evenings and flying back for practice. But it wasn’t meant to be.

  Noah doesn’t say anything as he gets out of the truck. He walks around the front and opens my door, resting his hand on my leg. “Peyton, that night meant everything to me.”

  “Me too.” The words are out of my mouth and there’s no taking them back.

  He nods and steps away. I want him to come back and tell me how he feels, but I can’t take much more heartbreak. Our moment, as brief as it was, has passed. I think about telling him about Dessie and the text message she sent me when they first started dating, but I bite my tongue. I’m not spiteful even though I want to be.

  By the time he wakes up for his wedding, I’ll be gone. I can’t stay here and be a part of the ceremony of a man I love desperately, as he pledges his love to someone else. It’ll kill me. Nursing my broken heart in the comfort of my own home is what’s best for me. Telling my parents though, that’ll be hard. They won’t understand why I have the sudden urge to return to California.

  30

  Noah

  I never intended to stop by the Powell-James home until I heard Katelyn say Peyton was by herself. Driving over there was like second-nature. I knew each turn like the back of my hand, and each house I drove by, I could recall which teammate lived there along with his position.

  Beaumont means something to me. It’s home, and it’s taken me days to figure this out. It’s where I’m comfortable. Where I plan to retire or move to after I’m booted off the Pioneers for my lackluster performance on which I’m blaming Peyton in a roundabout way, even though it’s not her fault.

  She messes with my mind. Let’s me dream about a time when we could’ve been together. Thinking about her and I together gives me a hope I’m not feeling right now. I’m getting married to a woman who’s pregnant, or says she is, that I’m not in love with and I didn’t even ask to marry me. If this isn’t some jacked up version of life, I don’t know what is. I can’t even lie and say I never thought of Peyton and I together, walking down the aisle with our families looking on, because I have and more so recently. I know there’s some saying about setting her free and she’ll come back. I did that already, the morning after prom. She almost left me and just when I thought I could be free and be with her, someone showed me I’m not.

  Peyton is sitting on her little cart thing at midfield. She’s facing the broadcast booth, likely wondering if she’ll ever call a game. It’s her dream, and one I’d love to see fulfilled. Although there isn’t a single doubt in my mind when she calls my game, she’ll rip me apart. Thing is, I wouldn’t expect anything less.

  It takes me almost a half hour to get everything set up and the machine plugged in. Normally, I’d like to have a few of the high school players hanging out to shag balls, and Nick offered to make a few calls, but once I set my mind on seeing Peyton, I knew this had to be just the two of us.

  I’m a glutton for punishment, spending time like this with her, telling her about prom night and my feelings. But I had to let her know our time together meant something to me, that I wasn’t some cad who took advantage of her but truly cared about her. And care is probably the wrong word to use. I love her, but there isn’t anything I can do about it right now.

  “I don’t remember Nick having this when I was in school?” Peyton says of the center machine.

  “I bought it for him last year. Well, the Booster Club did after I made the donation. We use one in Portland and it’s come in handy.”

  “How does it work?” She pulls herself over, using only her left leg.

  “Aren’t you supposed to use your right leg as well with that?” I ask, pointing to her chair.

  She shrugs and avoids my question. “So the machine.”

  “So your leg,” I counter. “Tell you what, for every ball I get through the net, we walk ten yards together.”

  Peyton looks at me with dubious eyes. “My therapy is going fine.”

  “Prove it.” I raise my eyebrows at her, sending her a challenge she’ll never be able to back down from.

  “Fine, and if I walk fifty yards, you run the snake.”

  I nod. “You’re on.” We shake on our newly minted deal. “Anyway. I place the ball on the tray, tap the pad and it releases.”

  “Sounds easy.”

  “Eh, the pad tends to resist so I have to really push on it, but the process is effective.” As soon as I set the ball down, Peyton backs up. I look to see where she’s at and maybe to see if she’s staring at me, but her eyes are focused either on the machine or my feet. I take position behind the mechanical center and call out my cadence. Ahead of me is a net with multiple targets, each one representing a different route. I bump the pad and take my steps back, almost stumbling over my own feet.

  “When did your footwork become sloppy?”

  “When I left you in Chicago not knowing if I’d ever see you again.” I’m blunt and to the point.

  “Well I’m alive and well so it’s time to come up with another excuse.”

  “Touché.”

  “Why don’t you work on some footwork drills first?” Peyton suggests. She’s right though. I hand her a whistle and get on the line, facing her. She blows into the whistle. I grapevine. She blows. I sprint. She blows. I shuffle. I use the hash marks for a makeshift ladder, twisting and turning my hips to make my feet move faster. For an hour we do this until I’m exhausted.

  “Are you done blowing that whistle?” I ask, drinking down my bottle of water.

  Peyton shrugs. “It was fun watching you sweat.”

  I nod and wink at her. “Right, back to the machine.” This time my footwork is cleaner, but still not enough.

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nbsp; “You’re overthinking. It’s tap: one, two three. Look: four, five, six. Throw: seven, eight, nine.”

  I count off as she advised and find a decent rhythm. Balls are starting to hit their targets and my feet aren’t crumbling beneath me. When the bucket is empty I tell her it’s time to start walking.

  Peyton sighs heavily, but stands, turns around and grips her handlebar almost effortlessly. I stay behind her in the event she starts to fall, but realize after ten yards she’s doing really well.

  “Has Xander said when you’ll no longer need the walker?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. I can use a cane, sometimes. It’s mostly when I’m walking from my room to the bathroom. Quinn bought me this because he thought he was being funny, but I actually like it because it affords me the ability to leave the house, although I’m not much for hanging out in public lately.”

  “Me neither.”

  “No? I thought for sure with the town getting ready for your wedding, you’d be loving every minute of it.”

  I step in front of her, halting her progression down the field. “What if I tell you I don’t want to get married?”

  “Then don’t,” she says as if calling off the wedding would be the easiest thing to do.

  “Give me a reason, Peyton.”

  She shakes her head slowly. “I can’t. I won’t. She’s pregnant. She wins.”

  “Was it a competition? Am I missing something?”

  Peyton sighs and shifts so she can sit down. “It wasn’t for me because I was waiting. I thought, someday you’ll see me and realize… well, I don’t know what because the morning after prom I was set to tell you how I felt, but yeah you took me to the cliffs and the last thing I wanted to hear was how you thought being with me was a mistake, so I went on about school even though I was so afraid to start and to be alone. I had this grand plan in my mind, which went swirling down the drain.

  “Then you met Dessie. She wasn’t your first girlfriend, but I had a feeling that anything I had hoped for was gone and I accepted it. I’m young, and you’re playing professional football. The chips were stacked against us. But Dessie…”

  I get down on my knees so we’re eye level. “What is it, Peyton?”

  She looks off into the distance and shakes her head. My fingers touch the softness of her face, pulling her chin toward me. “Tell me,” I plead.

  “She doesn’t like me and never has, which wouldn’t be a concern, but she gloats. She sends me messages. They’re not kind. I should’ve blocked her number, but I never did.”

  “What kind of messages?”

  “Trivial stuff, Noah. Pictures of you guys together, with you sleeping next to each other. Stupid comments about my age. How I’d never have you. After a tough game, she’d send me a picture of you and her together. I knew about your engagement because she told me. Like I said, I should’ve blocked her, but I didn’t. The messages were sporadic, at best.”

  I stand up and step away from Peyton, running my hand through my hair. I never gave Dessie Peyton’s number, which means she went through my phone to get it.

  “Peyton, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  She shrugs and offers me a thin-lipped smile. “I think I’m ready to go home.”

  I nod and head toward the fifty-yard line and start cleaning up. When I look down the field, Peyton is trying to pick up as many footballs as she can. I watch her as if she’s some type of enigma. Everything within me is screaming to pick Peyton, but I can’t leave my child. I can’t stomach the idea of my son or daughter going from house to house on weekends and holidays, living off some schedule, instead of being a kid who gets to enjoy life. I know others do it and do so successfully, but I don’t see Dessie and I being amicable.

  What I do see is Peyton, the woman I’m in love with, stepping aside. What does that say about me? She’s the one that’ll make me happy and I’m letting her go – right into the hands of another man. I’m not stupid. Kyle Zimmerman is waiting in the wings for her. He’d be a fool not to.

  After the equipment is all put away, I load Peyton back into the truck. The drive back to her house is done in silence. Anything I have to say is going to sound stupid. I screwed up. I should’ve been more selfish when she was eighteen, maybe then things would be different.

  At her house, I make sure she’s situated before leaving. With my hand on the doorknob, I turn and look at her. “Are you in love with me?” I ask her.

  “I am, but it’ll fade with time.”

  “Tell me not to marry her, Peyton.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t, Noah.”

  I nod and let myself out. The cab of my truck smells like her. I keep my windows rolled up so I can breathe her in and remember this one day because I have a feeling it’ll be years until we have another one like it.

  When I get back to my parents’, I head into my bedroom and find Dessie’s purse on the bed. I sit next to it, with my hand itching to go through her phone. I shouldn’t, it’s an invasion of privacy, but she must have done it to me, it’s the only way she could get Peyton’s number.

  My hand reaches in and pulls it out. I type in the four-digit code used to get into my apartment building. When it doesn’t work, I try another series of numbers finally figuring out she’s used our upcoming wedding date as her passcode.

  Her screen comes to life with folders of apps, and the background picture of her and I after one of my games. I press the text app and bring up the window. Searching for Peyton’s name, I read the series of messages she’s sent her. Peyton never responded. They seem harmless at first glance, but they’re anything but.

  A message comes in and against my better judgment, I open it. It’s from her best friend, Isa. Immediately my throat tightens and my hand shakes so bad I have to squeeze the phone harder. I scroll up and start reading from the day I left to go to Chicago.

  Noah left. The bitch was in a “car accident” of course he went running.

  Isa: Maybe she’ll die and you’ll be free

  I hope. Peyton this. Peyton that. I’m so over it.

  Isa: She’s always going to be a problem. He’s got some perverse attachment to her.

  The best friend line is overplayed. And dammit I want my ring

  Isa: Has he mentioned it?

  I’m tired of waiting. Seriously a year and a half. I don’t know what else to do.

  Isa: Trap him

  How?

  Isa: You said he has daddy issues. Get prego.

  Ha. Sex is nonexistent. He’s tired. Traveling. Sore. You name it. Excuses.

  He broke up with me. Told me he’s in love with Peyton. She’s a vegetable. He left me.

  Isa: I told you what to do.

  He won’t buy it.

  Isa: Tell him you’re “months” along. He’ll rush into marriage to save his precious little image.

  Isa: Did he buy it?

  Hook. Line. Sinker.

  Isa: When’s the wedding? Invite? MoH?

  In his hometown (gag) I have to be nice to his mother (shoot me) Bonus – dad’s hot. Maybe I can do him, get knocked up and no one would know?

  Isa: Dad *is* hot. I Googled. 3-some?

  I get the seed!

  As much as I want to stop reading, I can’t. My stomach is in my throat. Tears of anger cloud my vision. She’s destroying my life and for what? Because she doesn’t like Peyton?

  I’M PREGNANT

  Isa: Noah? The DILF?

  Nope. Doesn’t matter. I’m pregnant. And he’s none the wiser.

  I swallow hard at the notion she’s cheated on me. I chose her and the baby over my own happiness and she’s been lying this entire time. She wasn’t pregnant in Chicago.

  Isa: What are you going to do when Noah finds out you’re only eight weeks along and haven’t slept together in months?

  Idk. Haven’t thought about it. Once we’re married, half his money is mine. I’ll deal with it later. Gotta go play nice with the mother-in-law from hell and his bratty sister. Peace.


  “What are you doing?”

  I look up to find Dessie standing in the doorway. Her face is stoic. No emotion. I clear my throat and half smile at her. “I was reading.”

  “On my phone?”

  I nod and glance at the device in my hand. I don’t know what to do with it, but somewhere deep in the recess of my brain, I’m being told to keep it. I stand and walk toward her, towering over her. “I’m going to keep this and uh… I really think you should go.”

  “We’re getting married in two days.”

  Shaking my head, I bite the inside of my cheek. “No, I don’t think we’ll be doing that, Dessie. I really don’t want to make a scene, especially in front of my ‘bratty sister’ so please get your things and leave. When I get back to Portland, you can get the rest of your stuff. By the time I get downstairs after you’ve done that, security will know not to let you in.” I step out of my room and head toward the stairs.

  “You left me no choice, Noah.”

  I pause and turn to look at her. “You lied to get me away from someone I’m in love with and because that wasn’t enough, you cheated on me. I don’t want to look at you right now. I don’t want you in my house. I don’t want you near my family, especially my father. I don’t want you in my town, near my friends or the people I care about. My mom and Aubrey were right to suspect you, but I didn’t want to believe them. I gave you the benefit of the doubt and you proved me wrong. Get out, Dessie.”

  I don’t give her a chance to say anything else. Her sobs are enough to tell me how she’s feeling. Thing is, I don’t know if she’s angry she got caught or truly heartbroken. I suppose there’s a bit of both emotions mixed in there. I order her a car service and wait at the bottom of the stairs for her to leave. Once the front door slams, I lose it.