For Keeps. For Always.

by Haley Jenner

“Stop what, Brooks? Stop thinking about all the ways I helped in shattering the heart of a seventeen-year-old girl? Stop thinking about how I acted exactly like the two people who made my childhood a living hell? Stop what?”

  “Punishing yourself,” he answers quietly.

  “It’s the least I deserve.”

  We sit in silence.

  “Evelyn’s heart isn’t shattered. Her pride, sure. Maybe she’s even hurt by everything. But that’s on me, not you.”

  “It’s on both of us.”

  “You’re not like them, Henley. Not even a little bit.”

  I shrug, knowing he can’t see me. “I’m disgusted with myself, Brooks,” I confess. “Every time I think about that morning, I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack. I can’t erase it from my mind, no matter how hard I try. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I’m ready to vomit at any given opportunity.”

  He barks out a laugh, the sound lacking any humor but filled with an immense amount of pain. “Funny, every time I think about that morning, I think about how right it felt waking up next to you. How good it felt to kiss you into consciousness. I never want to erase it from my mind. Not ever. I want to remember how in love with you I felt sharing something we only get to experience once in our lifetime. I felt alive, Henley, and you feel ready to die.”

  My jaw aches with how hard I clench my teeth.

  “You don’t feel bad?”

  “Of course, I feel shitty for hurting Evelyn. But I told you that she and I were nothing serious. We hung out a few times, and we made out a few more times than that. Evelyn knew I didn’t want to give her more. Yeah, I should’ve ended whatever the fuck was going on between us, but I was more concerned with burying my grandmother. And then you were here, and nothing else mattered to me. I can’t apologize for that.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t. I remain quiet.

  He waits, the expectation in his breathing enough to make me clench my fists.

  “Addy said you’re ignoring her too,” he finally speaks.

  I sigh.

  “Why?”

  “She’s friends with Evelyn, Brooks.”

  “And?”

  “One, I don’t want to put her in an awkward position. Second, I don’t want her to tell me I’m a shitty person. I know that all by myself.”

  “Why punish yourself for something no one else is judging you for?” he argues. “You did nothing wrong by Addy.”

  “Maybe.”

  He growls. “Not maybe. It’s the fucking truth.”

  “I just need some time.”

  “Time?” he echoes dully. “For what?”

  “To forgive myself. To accept that it was a mistake and that I don’t need to be defined by it.”

  “How much time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s not fair,” he whispers.

  “It’s what I need. I need to go, Brooks—”

  “Just give me a minute. If you’re going to cut me out, just give me one more minute before I lose you.”

  I give him his minute.

  Sixty seconds where we sit on the phone in silence, listening to one another breathe.

  Then I hang up.

  And cry.

  16

  BROOKS

  AGE 19 (TWO YEARS LATER)

  It’s fucking cold.

  Freezing fucking cold.

  Glasgow in December. Obviously one of my more genius ideas. Set right behind smoking and leaving my gloves behind at the hotel.

  I rub at my hands once again to warm them up with my cigarette trapped between my lips. My thumb aches in the cold as I bend it to flick at my lighter, the warm flame dancing along the hollow cover of my hand as I light the stick.

  Sucking in a thick billow of nicotine, I groan in relief. The bitter burn of the cigarette sets a fire inside my body, warming me from the inside out.

  Shoving my lighter in my pocket, I keep my hand tucked inside, not willing to sacrifice both hands to the frigid air. I shift on my feet, keeping the blood pumping through my veins, hoping like hell it doesn’t freeze over in the negative temperatures I’m idiotic enough to brave for a fucking smoke. I didn’t even need it that bad, hindsight and all. Five minutes ago, I thought I’d die without it. Now, not so much.

  I’ve spent the past three hours living my best sardine impression, stuffed inside a local whiskey bar with every other asshole stupid enough to venture out for the promise of good scotch. Sweat mingling up my nose, turning the copious amounts of drink in my stomach.

  I’ve been on my feet all day, exploring Glasgow with my camera stuck to my face.

  It’s a beautiful city with buildings dating all the way back to the twelfth century. The stone in the structures still standing; worn but holding onto their wearied charm. They’re ominous and dark and classic and everything I love to photograph. History there to be discovered right before your eyes.

  It helps that this beauty in the architecture is surrounded by the greenest grass I’ve ever laid eyes on. Even in the cold, I forced my feet from my shoes to feel the grass between my toes.

  “One more drink,” a girl farther down the street slurs, her thick Scottish brogue making her hard to understand.

  I lift my head to watch her and a friend’s silhouette approach, their focus solely on the bar I recently vacated.

  “One teeny tiny whiskey and then we can go home.”

  “Promise?” a soft American voice answers.

  “Sure,” the Scot lies, and I duck my head to hide my smile.

  “Guid evenin!” The voice carries toward me, and I lift my head to wave my hello, but my hand freezes midway.

  I always imagined we’d come face-to-face again. It seemed destined. Life didn’t offer you the promise of a forever friendship, possibly more, only to rip it away without a trace. Or so I’d hoped.

  I had hoped to be prepared. For us to reconnect under planned circumstances. I didn’t expect it on the other side of the world. And definitely not tonight.

  “Henley?”

  She looks as startled as I feel, her eyes wide, her beautiful mouth slightly agape.

  “Brooks?” she breathes.

  “Och.” Her friend sighs. “Figures. See you inside.”

  We barely notice her friend disappear as a tornado of shock and awe surrounds us. The entire world dissipates, leaving only me and my best friend standing on a jagged rock of expectation.

  The street seems colder. The bitter air brushes across our faces, making the tip of Henley’s nose and the apples of her cheeks red.

  I can see her breath puff out from her pink lips. Billows of air that mingle with the smoke from my cigarette, now forgotten in my hand.

  “Hi,” I say.

  She takes a moment to reply. Her eyes remain unblinking as they lock onto mine.

  “Hi,” she finally echoes, the word cracking from the dryness in her throat.

  Shoving her gloved hands in the pockets of her puffy jacket, she rocks back on her heels, jolting herself back to life.

  “Glasgow, hey? What are the odds?”

  She tilts her head to the side. “When did you arrive?”

  “Last week,” I tell her. “With Mom and Dad. We spent Christmas here.”

  “Oh. That’s nice.” I hate the slice of envy in her words. The simplicity of my Christmas a fairy tale to her.

  “You?” I ask when she doesn’t volunteer the information.

  “I arrived about a month ago.”

  “Green grass.” I smile.

  She laughs lightly, her reddened cheeks balling on her face, lifting like apples, scrunching her eyes in delight. “The greenest I’ve seen so far.”

  “I take my shoes off every chance I get.”

  “You do?” She steps closer, the smile on her pretty face giving way to fascination.

  “I do.” I smile. “Even though I’m pretty certain I’m about to catch frostbite.”

  That laugh again.

  “Tending bar?�
�� I ask her, needing her to keep talking. Afraid the moment she stops, she’ll walk away from me, and it’ll be years before I can see her again. If I’m lucky enough to see her again. Maybe the universe isn’t that kind. Maybe it’s a one-shot deal. Grab it or lose it.

  She points at the whiskey bar.

  I stare at the small pub, antiquated and captivating in its old-world grace. Perfectly Henley.

  “You stopped answering my calls.” I can’t stop the accusation in my tone, the pain of those months rearing their unwelcome heads.

  “You stopped calling,” she combats.

  She’s right. I did. After trying for months to make her talk to me, I gave up. I couldn’t stomach her rejection. I couldn’t stomach the thought that her thoughts about me were adverse when mine were filled with longing and attachment.

  “I miss you,” I tell her honestly. “I think about you.”

  She doesn’t say a word. Not an acknowledgment that she feels the same way. Not a single reaction that lets me believe she thinks about me too.

  “My friend.” She points at the bar again distractedly. “She’s waiting for me.”

  Stepping from the curb, she takes a single step before pausing, her body stiff in indecision.

  “Henley,” I whisper.

  Turning back, she throws herself into me, hugging me tightly. “I miss you, too.”

  I let her embrace filter into my soul. I’ve felt cold for so long, craving moments just like this. I let her warm me, thawing the hardened wounds she caused two years earlier.

  Hands around her waist, I pull back from her grasp to really look at her.

  Her freckles are still there, scattered like artwork across her nose and cheeks. Her hair is shorter, not by much, but the change is there. It’s still the same rich dark brown. Her eyes hold a spark, a glimmer of happiness and freedom.

  “You look good, Squirrel.”

  She blushes at the nickname. “Still unimpressed by the rodent-inspired endearment.”

  I ignore her comment, too consumed with looking at her.

  It’s scary and exhilarating at how easy you can fall back into old habits. Having my arms around Henley doesn’t feel out of place. Not even in the dark and glacial streets of Glasgow at midnight. A place we ventured to for escape only to find one another. It feels right. Like a limb I’ve been missing. A part of me that’s finally returned.

  “Some would call this fate,” I murmur.

  She laughs nervously, the warmth of her breath tickling my frozen cheeks.

  “I really do need to go,” she tells me. “Bridget promised me just one more drink.”

  “You know how I feel about promises.” I drop my arms reluctantly as she steps out of my embrace. “You already believe her,” I tsk.

  “Lucky she can only leave me sleep-deprived and not with a broken heart.”

  I grin. “Can I see you again? Tomorrow?”

  She takes longer than I’d care to answer. Doubt forcing her gaze away from mine. I’m convinced she’s about to say no. That she’s ready to reject me without an explanation.

  “Yes.” She finally whispers the word. The single syllable a dirty secret, one she doesn’t want to admit aloud.

  “I can meet you here?” I gesture to the empty street.

  She nods. “Nine? I’ll show you some spectacular grass to photograph.”

  “It’s a date.” I smirk.

  A slice of guilt twists at her face. “Bye.”

  I wait until she’s across the street. “Henley,” I call. She turns her body, expectation alight on her face.

  “Can you give me one minute?” I ask loud enough to be heard from across the deserted road. “It’s been two years since I’ve seen you. Give me sixty seconds to look at you?”

  I see the indecision in her posture and the way she pulls at her bottom lip nervously. But she gives in to me after a brief pause, turning completely.

  We’re standing on opposite sides of the cold and vacant street, our eyes anchored and breathing mirrored.

  She smiles first. A soft grin that presses her dimples in deep.

  I smile back. Because of course, I would. She’s Henley, the puppeteer to my happiness.

  17

  HENLEY

  “Where are you going so early?”

  Dropping my phone into my bag, I lean over Aaron—still curled on his side with his eyes closed in slumber—to kiss his temple.

  “Coffee with friends.”

  Opening a single eye, he smiles sleepily at me. “Tell whoever it is, I said hullo.”

  My gut twists uncomfortably. “Will do.”

  I’m a liar.

  A cheat.

  A girl born into deceit. A woman, whether I cared to admit it or not, who had adopted that same persona, comfortable in her dishonesty.

  “We’re on shift together this efternuin.” Aaron yawns, his accent thicker in sleep. “Stay again tonight, and we’ll walk in together.”

  His suggestion is innocent enough, but I find myself agitated all the same. Shame will do that to you, though.

  “I swapped my shift,” I bite out unnecessarily, my irritation projected unfairly.

  He frowns. “Why?”

  I laugh nervously. “What are you? My mother?”

  “Och, I hope not.” He sits up, his bedsheet bunching around his waist.

  In the month or so we’ve been dating, I’ve never been inflamed by Aaron’s presence. In fact, he’s always had a calming effect on my edgy disposition. I met him on one of the first nights I arrived in Glasgow. I asked for a job, he asked for a date, and that was that.

  He was handsome. And funny. And kind. He put me at ease, and I knew the moment I could take a full breath that I’d made the right decision. Leaving home was harder than I imagined it would ever be. Considering my upbringing, I was certain I’d fly out of my mother’s house without having packed a bag. But when the moment of truth came, I felt panicked. Jacinta, and Derrick for the time he was around, were always there. It felt as though they’d watched every breath I’d taken. They were a security blanket. I just didn’t know it.

  His calming effect has morphed in mere seconds. A pleasant relief to an annoyance I feel overwhelmingly inconvenienced by.

  “Sure I can’t convince you to be a few minutes late?” He waggles his dark eyebrows.

  I roll my eyes. “A few minutes?”

  “Love, you left me without last night,” he teases. “I’m a man starved.”

  I throw a cushion at his face. “I might see you tonight,” I lie.

  “My cock mourns what could’ve been.” His voice follows my exit, and I work to bury the self-reproach festering in my stomach.

  I should’ve just been honest.

  I’m meeting up with the boy who used to be my best friend.

  Who, whether he calls for the title or not, remains that person for me.

  My heart seizes at the mere thought of him.

  Brooks Riley.

  Gosh. My legs almost gave out on me. He was the last person I expected to see. My entire body jolted to life the moment my name fell from his lips.

  I can hear it now. The question, the awe, the relief in his matured voice.

  Henley.

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and breathe.

  Instead, I stood there like a wet fish; eyes wide, mouth gaping.

  I was petrified Bridget wouldn’t leave. Or worse, she’d stumble into the bar and tell Aaron I was outside with someone. Guilt should’ve been my guiding light pushing me to do what was right. Instead, I was overcome with possessiveness. When I saw him standing there, the thought of sharing even a second of him with another person seemed impossible.

  He looked the same. Older, but similar. He’d filled into his lean frame, but he’d started doing that two years ago when we’d last seen each other. When we’d rid ourselves of our virginities in a messy declaration of love. His body had morphed from a teenage boy into a man. The intensity in the broadness of his shoulde
rs, the thick line of his arms, and the strong cut of his jaw. Dark stubble was scattered along the bottom half of his face, his light blue eyes lost in memories I was too scared to unbox.

  I spent too long getting ready for a simple catch-up with an old friend. I put too much thought into how I looked, hoping like hell he still appreciated what he saw in me the same way I do when I looked at him.

  Red flags were waving at me so strongly with every step, demanding I turn around and walk back to Aaron’s apartment. They appealed to my conscience, begging me to stay away from thoughts and feelings I couldn’t possibly understand.

  I ignored them all.

  Did he feel this way with Evelyn? Or was he truthful in saying that he was so caught up in us that she didn’t register?

  There’s no doubt I’m worse. I know I should’ve been honest with Aaron. That I should’ve been honest with Brooks. Instead, I’m creeping away from one while hiding my whole self from the other.

  “Squirrel.” His voice sounds surprised to see me. “I half expected you to stand me up. You’re late.”

  I check my watch. He’s right. I’m thirty minutes late.

  “You waited.” My voice raises.

  Handing me a coffee, he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “I would’ve stood here all day, Henley.”

  “Thanks.” I lift the coffee, ducking my head toward the toes of my shoes.

  I would’ve stood here all day.

  I know he’s not lying. He would’ve. He would’ve stood in the cold, waiting for me, even if I had zero intention of showing up.

  “Let’s walk,” I say, needing to shake myself from the moment.

  Hours pass before I realize. Long minutes of animated conversation and laughter that knot in my stomach, forcing me to bend in half.

  “Stop it.” I push at his shoulder, the telltale shutter of his camera clicking over and over again. “Brooks,” I whine, my laughter completely derailing my protest. “I said stop.”

  He disregards my plea, the shutter closing once again. “Anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?”

  The wide lens pulls away from his face slowly, his eyes more potent when left unshielded. Blue pools of something far stronger than lust and too tumultuous to be love swirl in his eyes.