by Shandi Boyes
By ‘this,’ she means Colby McGregor, who’s standing outside my office building, pretending he doesn’t have the admired eye of many. He’s done the same thing a dozen times the past three weeks, citing my failure to respond to any of his many emails and calls as the reason for his stalker stance. He doesn’t approach me. He simply lets me know he’s still around and has no intention of going anywhere any time soon.
“I’m marrying another man. This isn’t appropriate.”
Athena’s auburn red brows furrow. “It isn’t?” When I nod as if I’m believing the endless lies I’ve been spilling the past month, she snarls at me. “When did a marriage certificate arrive with a retraction of friends?”
“He’s not my friend. He never was.”
She huffs. “Jesus, this is worse than I thought. What has he been drumming in that head of yours?” The gag that arrives with her ‘he’ references whom she’s speaking about without needing his name thrown into the mix. “You owe him nothing, Jamie. Not a single friggin’ thing.”
“I owe him more than I owe him.” I thrust my hand at Colby during my last ‘him.’ “He wasn’t there for me, Athena. He didn’t wipe away my tears or promise that everything would be okay. He told me she’d die, and she did.” Tears nearly spurt out of my eyes when images of my mother’s coffin being lowered into the ground pop into my head. “He didn’t kill her, but he didn’t need to say what he did. He didn’t have to be so cruel.”
“Okay. It’s okay.” She soothingly rubs my arm, mortified by the amount of moisture in my eyes. “But no more tears. Please. I can’t see you like this, J. It’s breaking my heart.”
“Then get me out of here,” I beg through a sob.
Nodding, she pivots me around, so we face the entrance of Metrics Insurance. “Come on, Hugh mentioned something about bringing in leftover lasagna for lunch. If you’re willing to risk a firing squad for a slice, I’m more than happy to steal it for us. It will beat a grilled pickle sandwich any day of the week.”
She guides me into the foyer of our building with barely a second to spare. The first tear doesn’t splash onto my cheek until we’re in the safety of the elevator. I thought losing my mother would be the most devastating event I’d ever undertake, but the pain that flashed through Colby’s eyes when I walked away from him is cutting it a close second.
Whoever said they feel peace in the rain obviously hasn’t stood in a storm with nothing but a flimsy umbrella for shelter. My hair is dry, but I’m drenched from the waist down. Like I could be any more annoyed, Brad is late—again. Our rehearsal dinner has started without us. I’m starved since Athena hogged our shared lunch like a prisoner of war and it was her only meal of the day, and my dad is circling the block in my car, seeking a vacant spot.
“Fine! You have it,” I yell at the wind when it whips my umbrella out of my hand and sends it tumbling down the street. “It’s not as if my hair couldn’t do with a wash.”
My tantrum takes a backseat when a familiar-looking Polish lady hobbles down the footpath. Mrs. Palencia is as saturated as me, but for some inane reason, she’s smiling like she’s standing on a beach in Hawaii.
“Mrs. Palencia, are you okay?” I rush to her side to remove the large boombox she’s carrying. It’s more updated than the one she has in her dance studio but looks just as heavy.
“Oh, thank you, dear.” Once I have her sheltered under the awning of the restaurant hosting my rehearsal dinner, she gestures for me to put down her portable stereo. I do, albeit hesitantly.
“What are you doing here? Are you working?”
She shimmies out of the cloak that protected her ballroom dress from the rain before raising her eyes to mine. “Dance will always be my first love, but it wouldn’t exist without romance.”
I peer at her in shock when she smacks her cane onto the ground two times before bending down to switch on her boombox. My heart falls from my ribcage when ‘The Git Up’ by Blanco Brown roars out of the speakers. It isn’t the memories it conjures up that has me stuttering, it’s the way the empty street suddenly fills with bodies. The flash mob includes many faces I recognize. Royce and Linda, the rockabilly dancers Colby and I wanted to wipe the floor with. Tyrone and Athena. Even Blow-Up Barbie and Terry are here. But none are more influential than Colby and my dad. They’re in the middle of the pack, dancing according to Blanco’s instructions. They hoedown in the rain without a care in the world, hopefully believing the tears gushing down my cheeks are from the rain.
I shake my head when my dad gestures for me to join them halfway through the song. I’d give anything to pretend the pain and humiliation of the past month never happened, but I can’t. I’m not the fun, carefree Jamie I was at the cabin—I’m nobody.
“I can’t.” I drift my eyes to Mrs. Palencia. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
When I pivot on my heels, Colby shouts my name over the music blaring out of the speakers. I keep sprinting, only stopping when he discloses, “I have both the APOE-e4 risk gene and Presenilin 2. I was tested after a scan found amyloid plaque buildup on my brain.” As I spin around to face him on extremely shaky legs, he continues confessing, “My mom was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s when she was fifty-six. She died four years later. Although the disease is not fully understood, some scientists believe hereditary risks are higher between mothers and their sons—hence my request to be tested.”
“What are you saying? You have Alzheimer’s?”
He peers at my dad for the briefest second before shaking his head. “No, not yet, but the odds aren’t in my favor.”
“Amyloid plaque is usually only found on brain scans of patients with Alzheimer’s.”
He smirks, unsurprised by my knowledge. I read every article I could on the disease when my mom was diagnosed. “I know. That’s why I act the way I do and keep everyone at arm’s length—”
“And why you said what you said?” I interrupt. “Because you think that’s what will happen to you? You think you’ll die from Alzheimer’s.”
He steps closer to me like a torrent of rain isn’t pelting down on us. “It isn’t a probability, Prim. It will happen to me.”
“That’s not true.” Heartache is heard in my tone. I think it’s more from his nickname than his confession. “They’re making advancements in the disease every day.”
He looks prepared to fight back, but someone behind my shoulder stops him. I know who it is without needing to spin around. Colby’s clenched fists are advising enough, not to mention the chill racing down my spine. Brad kept his word the past four weeks. He’s been there for me more than he’s ever been, but my skin still crawls whenever he attempts to touch me. I say ‘attempt’ because excluding the occasional peck on the cheek, we’ve not been intimate in months, much less the past four weeks.
“Is everything okay?” Brad slides his hand not clutching an umbrella around my waist just as the snap of paparazzi cameras announce Colby’s flash mob gained him more than admiring fans. “Why are you crying?” He snaps his eyes to Colby, his growl loud enough to assure the hungry media they’re about to be handed a scandalous story. “What did you do to her? Did you rough her up as you did me?”
Colby loses the chance to reply when the paparazzi’s questions overtake Brad’s. Regrettably, most of theirs center around his Alzheimer’s confession than Brad’s claim Colby had him rough handled.
Brad tugs me back when Colby steps closer to me. It tightens his jaw, but it doesn’t shelf his reply. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, or acted how I did, but I was trying to protect you. Only after speaking with your dad and Tyrone did I realize that was wrong of me. I should have been honest and let you decide if I were worth the risk.” Colby steps even closer to me, making it seem as if we’re the only two crazy people standing in the middle of a storm. “That’s what I’m going to do, Prim. I’m going to step back and let you make your own decision.” His eyes dance between mine and they’re the mischievous pair I was used to seeing before my world was
upended. “But not before I do this.”
Like we’re not being flanked by my fiancé, my dad, our friends, and members of the media thirsty for a story, he kisses the living hell out of me. I’m not talking a peck kiss I could pretend is perfectly acceptable for friends or a modest one you’d do in front of your grannie even after you’ve wed. I’m talking electricity-shooting-to-my-toes, fireworks-in-the-sky, I’m-melting-into-a-gooey-puddle kiss.
Colby kisses me with everything he has before lowering his lips to the shell of my ear. “How stupid was I to think a disease could ever make me forget that?” I feel his lips raise against my ear. It sends an excited zap racing down my spine. “Almost as stupid as developing feelings for a woman who’s never been mine. I thought I could live without you, Prim. That I could live a full life without you in it. I was wrong.” After inching back, he drags his finger down the point my nose doesn’t have. “I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll never stop waiting.”
With that, he steps back, shakes my dad’s and Tyrone’s hands, then walks away. I’m bundled into the side entrance of the restaurant we’re standing next to just as quickly. Not even a snippet of the confusion in my brain has been lifted.
Brad is so fuming mad, his spit sizzles my cheeks when he roars, “Who does he think he is? He had no right to kiss you like he did. I was standing right there!” He paces back and forth, ignoring the maître d’s attempt to hand him a towel, so he can dry himself. “And as if you’d pick someone like him over me. He might have a name that opens doors, but that won’t do him much good when his brain is an over-fried vegetable.”
I snap my eyes to his, shocked as hell. “An over-fried vegetable? Is that what you thought about my mom?”
Brad rolls his eyes like I’m being dramatic. “You know what I mean. Look at your dad. He’s beyond broken. He’s barely spoken a word in the past four weeks.” He thrusts his hand to my father standing solid in the corner.
My dad’s more a lover than a fighter, but he looks seconds from blowing his top.
“He’s grieving because he lost the love of his life. A love that was so strong, not even Alzheimer’s could take it away from him.”
“But it did take her away from him, Jamie. She’s dead. His wife is dead.” He talks to me as if I’m stupid and have no clue what’s been happening the past four weeks.
“Yet, if given the chance to go back and never meet her, I guarantee you, he wouldn’t change a thing.” My dad nods without a second thought, backing up my claims. “That’s true love, Brad. That’s what loving someone for better or worse, for richer or poorer, and through sickness and health is about. You love them until death parts you, not women too stupid to see you’re not worth the suit you’re wearing.”
When Brad tries to once again deny the media’s claims he was seen dining with another woman last week, I shove my palm into his face before straying my eyes to my dad. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
My dad smiles the grin he always wore when my mom asked for his hand in marriage. “Yes, you do.”
I hug him fiercely before sprinting for the door Brad forced me through only seconds ago.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I slide halfway out before cranking my neck back to Brad. “I’m going to get a love that will be so strong, even if he eventually forgets me, I’ll never forget how much I love him. That alone will be worth the heartache of losing him to Alzheimer’s.”
“I’ll not allow you to do this to me, Jamie. I will not have you embarrass me again—” His words are stopped with a hand. It isn’t mine. It’s my father’s fist. He punched him right in the eye, sending him stumbling backward until he crashes into the maître d’s podium with a thud.
“Daddy…”
He smirks at the shock in my tone. I knew he had it in him to stand up to Brad, I’ve witnessed it many times the past four weeks, but I had no clue it would be showcased in such a brilliant way.
“Go. I’ll take out the trash while you’re gone, then celebrate your metamorphous with our guests.” He nudges his head to the hub of the restaurant. The joy on the faces of the guests who were set to watch me marry Brad this weekend matches my dad’s to a T. I wasn’t lying when I said no one likes Brad—not even me.
“I’ll be back… in a day or three.”
Pretending my dad’s face didn’t just whiten, I dart into the street. It’s still raining, but it hasn’t dampened foot traffic in the slightest. The number of people in one space should lower my body’s receptiveness of Colby. It doesn’t. Not at all. That might have more to do with the fact Colby has his back braced against the outer wall of the restaurant. His knee is cocked up, and he’s wearing the most arrogant smirk I’ve ever seen. He is one hundred percent the cocky man I know and am growing to love.
“What took you so long, Prim? I’ve been waiting forever.”
Epilogue
Colby
Two years later…
“Nu-huh. Don’t let his growl fool you. He’s really a giant teddy.”
Jamie doesn’t keep going to town on my cock like a four-button clinger would. She grazes her teeth along the vein feeding it before crawling up my body. I’d be tempted to kill Tyrone for the interruption if I weren’t aware of its importance.
The happiness that spread across every inch of me when Jamie darted out of the restaurant doors three minutes later than I would have liked gets a renewal of energy when her head pops out of the sheets. Her curls are extra crazy today, the clutch I had on her hair when she gave me the best blowjob I’ve ever been given responsible for its wildness. I swear, every time we fool around, I’m convinced it’s the best sex we’ve ever had. Then, sometimes not even an hour later, Jamie proves me wrong. It’s amazing how much you can enjoy something when you’re not acting. I’m still a cocky bastard, but that’s only because I’m smug that I nabbed the best girl on the market.
“What did you do to Tyrone this time? He sounds pissed.”
When Jamie balances her chin on my sweat-slicked chest, I snag her glasses off the bedside table so she can see the honesty in my eyes when I say, “This time, it wasn’t me. You’re the one who has his panties in a twist.”
“Me? What did I do?”
I send a quick prayer to God before sliding across the sticky sheets, leaving Jamie and her sexy body under them. I’m certain he heard my prayer when Jamie’s eyes bulge out of her head. She loves eyeballing my cock as much as she loves being filled by it. Not even two years of constant, daily fucking has weakened the intensity of her stare. I’m only half-mast, yet she still stares, aware I not only have a cock half an inch bigger than my brother’s, I know how to use it as well.
“My eyes are up here.” I swing my dick like it’s Tarzan’s vine, ensuring her eyes won’t lock with mine anytime soon.
After twenty seconds of teasing, I slide a pair of jeans up my thighs. I’m fucking wrecked, our three-hour-long make-out session this morning responsible for the tightness in both my thighs and my chest.
Once my cock is tucked away, Jamie falls back onto the mattress with a huff. “You suck.”
She’s right. I do suck—her clit into my mouth multiples times this morning.
I’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of our morning in bed, but Tyrone’s bang on my loft door assures me I’m out of time.
“I’m pretty sure you were the one sucking.”
I bend down to draw her protruded lip into my mouth before giving it a playful tug. After releasing it with a pop, I nudge my head to the stairwell now blocked by a reinforced door. Tyrone’s one and only chance of seeing Jamie naked was when I cut off her clothes after she fell into the icy rapids. He won’t get a second one.
“Come on. I need your help with something.”
“You need my help?” Her high tone is super cute. “The Colby McGregor can’t do something by himself. No way.”
“Ha-ha, smartass. I could do this alone, but that would be like our first weekend at the cabin. Solo adventure
s are fun, but I’d rather recreate them while you’re watching. I thought last week was proof of that.”
My jeans tighten at the front when her cheeks inflame. “Tell Tyrone to leave. Give him another IOU or anything required to get your ass back in this bed.”
I’m a cocky bastard, but the need in her voice nearly knocks me on my ass. It could only be hotter if she were climaxing while saying it. “I would if I could, but you know what Tyrone is like—”
“Smart. Intelligent. Somewhat stupid since he continues putting up with your crap?”
Laughing, I scoop down low to lift her into my arms. Two and a half years ago, I was driving in the fast lane, determined to ride it to what I was assured would be a bleak and bitter ending alone. Now, I feel like the luckiest bastard in the world. Jamie is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She’s smart, beautiful, and comes with a guarantee even if I succumb to the disease that stole both our mothers, I’ll never forget her. Every kiss, every moan, and every ‘I love you’ are locked in my heart. Alzheimer’s can’t touch my heart. Excluding Jamie, it’s untouchable. And since she unlocked it, she’s its gatekeeper. Only she has the key.
“Ten minutes, then meet me downstairs.” I set her down at the bathroom entrance before giving her naked backside a friendly pat. “And don’t you dare touch those curls. Those curls are mine. My fingers created them, so my fingers own them.”
I’m undeterred by the roll of her eyes. She loves my machoism, and her fantastic tits expose this. Jamie has a tight, firm body that gets more sweltering the longer I stare at it, but her nipples are always the first to give in to temptation. Like now. They’re budded and strained, begging to be touched. I wish our plans for today took longer to organize than they did, but since they didn’t, I’ll place my needs on the backburner for another hour. Eternity will pass before my desires will ever overrule my moral compass.
