The Forever Girl

by Jill Shalvis

  “Look, isn’t it beautiful out?” Caitlin called back, pointing to the green rolling hills. “To our right are the bluffs, where ten thousand years ago, glaciers from the ice age melted and created craters that eventually became Rainbow Lake. And if you look to our left, there’s a perfect specimen of a ponderosa, can you believe it?”

  Dillon laughed and hooked an arm around her neck. “She narrates like that in bed too. It’s cute. ‘This here is your funny bone, and then south, we come to a bone that isn’t funny at all, it’s perfectly hard and—’”

  Maze, who’d been walking and munching on a PowerBar, made a face like she was gagging. “Hey, trying to eat here.”

  Jace, his palms on little Sammie’s legs as he held her firmly on his shoulders, ducked a little to look into Maze’s eyes. “Everything okay here?”

  “Yep.”

  Jace took her hand and pulled her in closer. “Sure?”

  Maze gave the guy a smile. “Yes, I’m sure, you goof. I’m fine.”

  Jace nodded, brushed a kiss over her lips, sent Walker a long gaze that held some sort of warning in it, and moved off.

  Maze waited until Jace was out of earshot. “I’ve got a problem,” she said.

  The smile that crossed Walker’s mouth happened all on its own. He liked Maze a lot of different ways, but whenever she had a problem, it made her good and pissed off, and a good and pissed off Maze was one of his favorites. All that defiant energy and scorching attitude really did it for him. The only thing better was Maze in his bed. Because a turned-on Maze was adventurous, curious, single-minded, generous, and holy-shit hot. “So dump him.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Dump the asshole if you don’t like him. Jeff seems like the kind of guy who’ll move on without issue.”

  She rolled her eyes at the “Jeff” and shook her head. “I’m not talking about Jace.”

  He shrugged. It’d been worth a try. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t like Dillon.”

  “You don’t like ninety-nine percent of the population.”

  “I’m serious, Walk.”

  He met her gaze. “We both know this is Caitlin’s call.”

  Maze drew a deep breath. “Even if we think she’s making a mistake?”

  We. The last time they’d been a “we,” she’d had his ring on her finger and he’d thought his life couldn’t get more perfect. “Probably we shouldn’t be throwing stones from glass houses.”

  Her mouth tightened at the truth of that, and they walked some more.

  “I feel awful about lying low for so long,” she said quietly. “I owe Heather and Caitlin both. Seeing Caitlin so stressed and on the verge of a breakdown is killing me. She did so much for us.” Her eyes went fierce. “It’s my turn to be the strong one. I just hope I can fake it.” She pasted on a smile. “Gotta fake it to make it, right?”

  “Maze, you’re the strongest woman I know.”

  She blinked, looking so surprised that he grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

  “Believe it. Because I absolutely do.”

  She let out a shaky breath. “I wish I could be as confident about that as you.”

  “Then do what you just said. Fake it until you make it. Maybe then you’ll realize the truth about yourself.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’ve got all the power, you always did. Once you realize it, you’ll be able to do anything you want.”

  Chapter 6

  Maze’s maid of honor to-do list:

  —Take Frisbee off the list of reception activities.

  Years ago, one of Maze’s favorite things to do at the lake had been to sit waterside by moonlight with a firepit warming her toes. So it felt surreal to find herself doing that very thing with the same people all these years later.

  Surreal and . . . nice.

  They’d made a fire on the beach and ate s’mores while listening to the tune of the water hitting the shoreline and crickets singing.

  Correction: they all ate s’mores except for Walker, because his body was a temple. Trying to block the memories of how she’d once worshipped at the temple of Walker, she looked away from him and her gaze locked on Jace’s. He pulled her to her feet and then off to the side. “So I’m going to go to bed to give you guys some time alone.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She searched his gaze. “Unless you’re too tired to stay up?”

  He gave her a small smile. “I’m too tired to stay up.”

  She could hear the lie in his voice and started to say something, but he shook his head and bent to give her a sweet kiss on the lips and a look that said he’d be just upstairs if she needed him.

  When she walked back to the fire, all eyes were on her. Heather’s. Caitlin’s.

  Walker’s . . .

  “What?” she said. “Never seen a couple kiss good night before? And who’s bogarting the marshmallows?”

  “I remember the last time we did this,” Heather said. “Coyotes came down from the hill and were making hungry noises and howling. I cried.”

  “You were nine,” Maze said. “You were scared.”

  “I know. And you stood up, grabbed a few big sticks we hadn’t put in the fire yet, and started to head out to scare them off.” Heather smiled. “You were so badass, Maze. And protective. You always had our backs.”

  “It was Walker who saved us, though.” He’d taken the sticks from her and gone after them himself.

  “Because it takes a village,” Heather said. “And I love our village.”

  “Me too,” Cat said.

  Walker didn’t say anything and Cat elbowed him.

  “Ow. And what?”

  “You love our village too.”

  “Of course I do,” he said easily.

  Maze rolled her eyes. “If we’re going to get mushy, I’m out of here.”

  “If you leave now,” Cat said, “no more s’mores for you. Ever.”

  Not about to risk that, Maze stayed. They were quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. Well, at least on everyone else’s part. Maze was never comfortable, not in silence or otherwise.

  When they ran out of supplies, they scattered. Maze went inside and passed Jace having a Netflix marathon in the den.

  So much for his being tired. But she sure as hell was, so she waved and kept going, up the stairs and into her room. She climbed over the makeshift bed on the floor where she and Jace were taking turns sleeping and crawled into the comfy bed.

  She had no idea how much later it was when she jerked at the sound of someone trying to open the bedroom door. She was no longer in the cabin. She was in her mother’s old apartment, which she knew from the scent of old weed and bad booze.

  She was dreaming.

  Her relief was short-lived, because she couldn’t wake up. The light slanting in through the broken shutters was just enough to see the bedroom doorknob turning. The lock caught and so did the sob in her throat.

  Back and forth the knob turned, but the lock held.

  “Just dreaming,” she whispered to herself. It’d been years since the last nightmare and even more years since it had been reality and not a nightmare at all. Her mom had a weakness for men, all of them. But one in particular had been fond of preteen girls. She’d been a handy target.

  He’d gotten into her bedroom twice, and the second time she’d been ready with a baseball bat. He’d never tried again.

  But that first time . . . Sometimes she could still feel his hands on her. She’d screamed bloody murder and had finally managed to wake up her passed-out mom, who’d come stumbling down the hallway to see what the commotion had been about.

  Asshole Boyfriend—Maze refused to ever use his name—had been smart enough to get out of her bedroom and play innocent.

  When she’d finally been removed from her mom’s custody by CPS, they’d put her through mandatory counseling. All these years later, that night of horror still pissed her off whenever she thought about it, but she didn’t
feel scarred. She knew it hadn’t been her fault, she didn’t hate all men, and she could enjoy sex when she was in the mood.

  She considered herself lucky more than a survivor.

  But it turned out sometimes the brain played nasty tricks. Apparently, it didn’t matter how much time had passed—terror was terror, even in dreams. She hardly even registered grabbing her pillow and running for the closet, shutting the door behind her to curl up into the tiny space on the floor, the pillow over her head.

  When the closet door opened, she cried out and shrank back against the wall, lost in the confusion between the dream and reality.

  Strong, warm arms gathered her up against a broad chest. “Maze.”

  She recognized the safety of that rough voice. It was embarrassing, but she clutched at Walker like he was her personal teddy bear.

  “I’ve got you,” he said quietly, calmly, pressing his jaw to her, holding her tight to him, better than any teddy bear she’d ever had. “You’re safe and I’ve got you.”

  And then he sat on the floor of the closet, his back to the wall, and held her while she cried herself out.

  His big hand stroked her hair. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not alone, Maze. You’re never alone. We’re all right here at your six.”

  “Are you?” she whispered thickly.

  “I might not be the most open guy, but I’ve never lied to you.”

  That much was true. He’d always been honest, down to that long-ago Vegas morning when he’d woken up married to her and said, “I’ll take care of this, I’ll fix it.” At the memory, she closed her eyes tight.

  The next time she woke up, she was back in bed, alone, and it was morning. She sat straight up and looked around. Jace was asleep on the floor.

  Had it actually happened?

  She looked at the closet. The door was open, a pillow on the floor in there.

  Yep. It’d happened.

  She covered her face and took in a deep breath, remembering the feel of Walker’s arms around her, holding her tight to him. He hadn’t pressed her to talk. He’d just chased away her nightmares and held her until she’d fallen asleep.

  It embarrassed her that he knew everything about her, even the things she never talked about, when she knew only a few stark details of his past, nothing but the bare minimum. She didn’t know what to do with that. With any of it. So she did what she did best: lived in the land of denial. Stepping over a sleeping Jace, she got dressed.

  You’re not alone, Maze. You’re never alone. We’re all right here at your six.

  Walker’s words were stuck in her brain. Because she wanted to be at their backs too. It was time to give back to the people who’d given her so much, past time.

  She found Caitlin in the kitchen mainlining coffee and frosting a pan of cinnamon rolls. Maze held out her hand.

  “Touch this pan before I’m done and die.”

  “Not the cinnamon rolls. I want your real to-do list. That’s right, I know you gave me just a few of the million things you’ve still got on your plate. I want the whole thing.”

  “What? No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, Maze.”

  “Woman, give me your list. I’m the maid of honor and your best friend, and it’s time I act like it. You’re drowning and I want to help.”

  “Because . . . you love me?” Caitlin asked, brows up.

  “Yes. Now hand it over.”

  Caitlin laughed. “One of these days you’re going to say the words.”

  Maze just gave her the gimme hands.

  Caitlin pushed a huge three-ring binder across the table to Maze. It was stuffed to the gills with sticky notes and little pieces of paper sticking out of it at all angles.

  “Funny,” Maze said.

  Caitlin didn’t laugh.

  Maze stared at her. “That’s your to-do list?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s bigger than the Bible, Cat.”

  Caitlin sighed. “I know, I know. Look, I used to dream about my wedding and what it would be like. I had it all planned out in my head for years. But let me tell you something, the reality of putting a wedding together is nothing like the fantasy. And leaving things to chance is not in my nature. Practice makes perfect.” She paused. “But to be honest . . . if I could go back and do it all over again, I’d elope.”

  Maze caught the real emotion in Caitlin’s voice and her own heart squeezed. “Cat, you haven’t done it yet. If it’s making you this unhappy, it’s not too late.”

  “I’m not unhappy,” Caitlin said. “I’m not,” she repeated when Maze seemed doubtful. “Ugh, don’t listen to me, okay? I’m just tired. I’m worried. It’s a lot to plan. I mean, we get a wedding rehearsal, but there’s no rehearsal for the reception and it’s starting to freak me out. Anything could go wrong. Hold on. I can fix that.” She wrote on a napkin: Have a practice reception.

  Maze stared at the napkin. “You want to rehearse for what is basically a party?”

  “With a lot of people who are all really different from each other, so yes, I want to rehearse so that it goes off without a hitch. Did you hear about that wedding in San Francisco last weekend? The bride’s family and the groom’s family started a fight with each other—over cake. They ended up in a huge cake fight and the bride got frosting in her eye and needed to wear an eye patch on her honeymoon.”

  Maze blew out a breath. “Look me in my cake-free eyes and tell me you really want to do this.”

  Cat met her gaze. “I want to do this.”

  Maze nodded. “Okay. Then let’s do this.” She paused. “Um, you might want to shower before the day’s activities because you’ve got some frosting in your hair.”

  “Shit.”

  “Hey, it could be worse, it could be in your eye.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  When Caitlin was gone, Maze sat alone at the table with the binder. It was impressive. There were lists for the lists. The daily list began with: Clear the washer and dryer or you’ll get mold and then get sick and die.

  Not on Maze’s watch. So she went to the small laundry room off the kitchen. She was pulling a load out of the dryer when she felt a change in the force field. The only warning she had of who it was came from the deep thrum that began low in her belly. Only one person had ever affected her that way.

  Walker came in with a basket of clothes, which he dumped in the washer, lights and darks together in one load. Looking her over, he carefully took her in. “You okay?”

  She realized she was so tense that her shoulders were hunched up to her ears, so she purposefully relaxed them. “I’m good, but your clothes are probably screwed.”

  He gave a small smile but didn’t stop looking at her, and she realized he was asking because of last night, when he’d found her in the closet, when she’d cried all over him.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a sigh. “And . . . um, thanks. For being there.” She paused, not sure she really wanted an answer but unable to stop herself from asking, “How did you know I was . . . having a rough night?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I was heading for the kitchen when I thought I heard you.”

  Damn. How she hated that.

  “I knew Jace had fallen asleep in the den watching TV and that you were alone. How often does it happen, Maze?”

  “Almost never,” she said honestly, but when he didn’t seem to buy that, still eyeing her with an intense protectiveness she recognized, she shook her head. “It only happens when I get really tired or stressed.”

  “You know you’ve got nothing to fear from him anymore, right?”

  She nodded, because she’d found out years ago that the guy had been killed in a bar fight. “Yeah, and I get that the closet thing doesn’t make any sense, but it’s kinda like mac and cheese. Comfort, you know?” She stopped and cocked her head. “Wait. How do you know that I’ve got nothing to fear from him anymore?”

  His face gave nothing away as
he turned back to his laundry, but she stopped him.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t give me that blank expression. Spill it. How and why would you know that?”

  In typical Walker fashion, he stated the facts like he was talking about the weather. “I tracked him down and found out he’s dead. Which saved me from killing him.”

  She gaped at him because she knew he wasn’t kidding. “When?”

  “The group home I went to after the fire was run by a woman whose husband was a cop. He had search programs on his computer.”

  Shockingly touched, and also far too close to tears for comfort, she drew a shaky breath and redirected by pointing her chin at the laundry basket.

  “That’s . . . surprisingly domestic of you,” she said.

  “I’m good at throwing things into the washer.”

  “Are you, though?”

  He smiled. “Smart-ass.”

  “That’s the second time today I’ve been called that already.”

  “Cuz it’s true,” he said. “As for what I’m doing, Caitlin was struggling yesterday, so I told her I’d help. She didn’t have a full load so I added some of my stuff, along with some clothes I found on the bathroom floor.”

  She reached into the washer and pulled out a pair of her own pale pink lace undies. “These are mine.”

  “Are you sure? Cuz I’ve got a pair just like them.”

  She rolled her eyes but also laughed, and in return, he smiled. A real smile. Note to self: Never look directly into Walker’s eyes, especially pre-caffeination. “Your undies shouldn’t be touching my undies.”

  He laughed, the sound rubbing at a whole bunch of her good spots, damn him. “Why not?”

  She searched for a valid reason that wasn’t Because it makes me remember how good we were in bed. “It’s just not done,” she said lamely.

  Walker moved in, his mouth brushing her ear when he spoke in a husky whisper. “You do realize that your undies have touched my undies before. In fact—”

  “Oh my God.” She set a few fingers against his lips. “Don’t say it.”

  His eyes were heated and flat-out laughing at the same time. “Don’t say what?”