The Forever Girl

by Jill Shalvis

“You know what! That our . . . parts have touched too.”

  “And what parts might that be, Maze?”

  Taking a sharp breath, she pointed at him. “You know what parts, you just want me to talk dirty.”

  He grinned.

  She shoved her undies in her pocket before jabbing a finger at him again. “I’m onto you.”

  “If that was true, we’d both be a lot more relaxed right now.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or push him. Before she could decide, Jace walked by the laundry room, followed by Sammie, who was literally dripping Cheerios with each step, and then both pugs, snorting and squeaking as they cleaned up after Sammie like they were her personal vacuums. “Apparently, I’m the Pied Piper,” Jace said, then paused and took a second to look at Maze. “You okay?”

  “Yep.”

  Jace slid his gaze to Walker briefly, but then kept moving, his parade in line behind him.

  Walker shook his head. “Your boyfriend’s a good guy, but I’m not sure how smart he is.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he lets me get close to you.” He shifted even closer and looked her in the eyes. “Unless, of course, he’s not really your boyfriend.”

  Maze narrowed her eyes. “What he is is none of your business, especially for a guy who’s got a girlfriend of his own.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, that tall brunette with the smallest bikini on the planet.”

  Walker laughed softly.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “The only way you saw a pic of her is if you took a deep, deep dive online. Face it, you’ve been stalking me too.”

  Dammit. Caught. “Hey, I stumbled on that pic by accident.”

  “That picture wasn’t on my Instagram, it was on Boomer’s,” he said smugly.

  Boomer owned and ran the Whiskey River Bar and Grill in Wildstone, and in the old days, he and Walker had found lots of trouble together. She crossed her arms and ignored the fact that she could feel her face flaming. “So I was curious, so what? Why aren’t you bringing her to the wedding?”

  “Because I went out with her a total of two times. Two years ago.”

  “So . . . you’re not into long relationships?”

  Suddenly, his eyes were no longer shining with merriment. Or anything. Walker was in shutdown mode. “Not anymore,” he said.

  CAITLIN PRESSED HER forehead to the cool glass of her bedroom window and stared out at the night. The day had gone . . . shockingly well. Maze had sent the guys to check in on the equipment rental company, and the girls had gone shoe shopping. She’d finally found the right shoes for her dress. They were gorgeous silvery goodness with four-inch heels that would put her eye to eye with Dillon.

  Around her, the house was finally quiet. Everyone was sleeping, Dillon included—no doubt thanks to the orgasm she’d just given him. If there was one place where the two of them meshed and all her needs were met, it was in bed. He was just the right level of adventurous, and he made her feel sexy.

  But as had been happening lately, when they weren’t in bed, little tendrils of doubt filled her. Earlier, she’d given him a compatibility test she’d found on BuzzFeed. He hadn’t remembered the color of her toothbrush, her favorite pizza topping, or what her secret fantasy was—which, by the way, was for the man in her life to vacuum the entire house without being asked. When he’d thought her crazy for being annoyed that he hadn’t known this in spite of her telling him at least once a week, she’d gotten annoyed right back.

  Because what woman didn’t have that fantasy?

  With a sigh, she shook it off and reminded herself to concentrate on the house being filled with the people she loved above all else. Walker. Maze. Heather. And Sammie! She still couldn’t believe that she hadn’t known about her, that she hadn’t been trusted to know.

  But the truth is, that was on her. “You’re too bossy,” she told her reflection in the window. “Too judgmental.”

  “Hmm,” Dillon agreed sleepily from the bed, not moving a single inch, eyes still closed. “All true, but I do love it when you’re bossy in bed.”

  Caitlin thunked her forehead on the window while Dillon laughed softly.

  “What do you think of them?” she asked quietly.

  “Your friends?”

  “My family.”

  “You never mentioned Heather having a kid.”

  It was too embarrassing to admit she’d not known. “She’s adorable, though, right?”

  “Hmm.”

  She turned to look at him. “You don’t think so?”

  “Didn’t realize kids were so . . . messy.”

  Caitlin smiled. That was one of her favorite parts. “Having her here really brings it home how much I want one of my own,” she said softly.

  “Caitlin . . .” He sighed and flopped onto his back. “We talked about this. I love you. I love you so much that I want to be selfish and have it just be us.”

  She sent him a warm smile, but she couldn’t help but need more info. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know we’re not ready. We’ve got my student loans to pay off. A retirement portfolio to build. Careers to stoke.”

  “I want my career to be food and kids.”

  “You want to be a stay-at-home mom?”

  “Not necessarily,” she said. “I still want to work. Maybe I can start my own home delivery meal service.”

  “Really?” he asked doubtfully.

  She was starting to get the feeling that he was forgetting a few pieces of her hopes and dreams. “Why do you sound surprised?”

  “The only thing I’m surprised by is how much we’ve been arguing lately,” he said.

  “Me too. But I don’t know why we’re doing it.”

  “It’s wedding stress,” he said. “Your wedding stress.”

  “And you’re not stressed?”

  “Only when you are.”

  “Maybe counseling would help,” she suggested quietly.

  “What kind of couple needs counseling before they’re even married?” He patted the mattress. “Come back to bed, Caitlin.”

  “In a minute.”

  “You’re doing it again, aren’t you? Running through all the details of the wedding.”

  Actually, for once, she wasn’t. She was running through the details of her life. So she had no idea why she answered the way she did. “Yes,” she said. “Caught me. I’m thinking about the meeting at the florist we have this week. My mom and dad aren’t flying in until Friday, just before the rehearsal dinner, but your mom’s coming. That means you and I need to get on the same page.”

  “I hear you,” he said.

  She straightened when she saw a shadow cross the yard. When it moved beneath the slash of blue light from the moon, she realized it was Maze and relaxed.

  At the water’s edge, Maze stepped onto the dock, walked to the end, and plopped herself down, lying back to stare up at the sky.

  Caitlin couldn’t see her expression from here, but there was a sense of anxiety and nerves vibrating from her that caught at her heart. She rose to her feet and was about to grab a pair of sweats to go out there, when another shadow emerged from the house. A tall, leanly muscled shadow, bare chested, barefoot, striding down the dock with ease of movement and a sense of purpose.

  Walker.

  Caitlin stilled, watching as he approached Maze, who was still lying flat on her back, feet hanging over the edge of the dock, seemingly unaware of his approach. He said something and Maze jerked in surprise.

  Caitlin leaned closer as if maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could hear them. And she wanted to. Desperately. Once upon a time, they’d all been so close, so important to each other. Actually, everything to each other.

  But then they’d all had that fight three years ago at Michael’s graveside and had scattered far and wide. As far as she knew, Walker and Maze hadn’t had any interaction in those three years.

  Interesting then that his
body language seemed . . . determined. And . . . familiar? Something else too. Intimate. She pressed a hand to the glass as if she could call out to them and be a part of their conversation, but suddenly Dillon’s warm arm encircled her from behind, his mouth landing just beneath her ear.

  “Come to bed,” he said again, and then took her there himself. But for the first time—at least in bed—he couldn’t get her where she wanted to go.

  Chapter 7

  Maze’s maid of honor to-do list:

  —Pull off a reception rehearsal without a frosting fight.

  You’re going to get bit up by mosquitos.”

  Maze nearly jumped out of her skin and off the dock into the lake at the sound of Walker’s disembodied, sleep-husky voice in the dark night somewhere behind her. Lifting her head, she sent a glare in his direction, which was undoubtedly wasted on him because of the low visibility. “I came out here to be alone.”

  He didn’t say anything to this, and she craned her neck to get a better look at him. He wore a pair of running sweats and nothing else. Gulp.

  “And you’re gonna be the one to get bit up by mosquitos.”

  “I never get bit.”

  “Because you’re not sweet enough,” she said.

  “No doubt.”

  He crouched low at her side and looked her over. She did her best not to squirm in her pj’s: sweat bottoms, oversized T-shirt, and let’s not forget the fake UGGs. She used the cover of relative darkness to study him too. He’d always been fit, but there was a lean hardness to his body that felt new. An edge. Her eyes caught on the sizable scar above his left pec where the bullet had pierced his chest three years ago.

  His chest.

  “Turn around,” she whispered.

  He paused for a full beat, then reluctantly turned. Yep, there they were, the burn scars across the broad expanse of his back, shoulder to shoulder, from running into the Walshes’ burning house to try to save Michael. They’d faded a lot, but they were still clear enough to have the fear and terror bubble up inside her again.

  “Do they hurt?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “And the bullet wound?”

  “Sometimes, with the wrong pressure.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmingly grateful he was still alive. Even if she had mixed emotions about the man, and oh, she did, she couldn’t picture life without him on the planet somewhere.

  Which meant he wasn’t the problem. She was. Walker emitted a sexual pull that was hard to resist. When he entered her field of vision, she got a rush, and up close? He was deadly. The second she caught a hint of his scent or felt his body heat, she was as good as gone.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked.

  She shrugged and concentrated on the night around her. The moon was a little sliver in the sky; the water lapped gently against the rocky beach and dock pylons. She felt . . . overwhelmed, but it wasn’t from seeing Caitlin and Heather again. No matter how much time they went without seeing one another, they fell back into their same old rhythm, and even with all the things between them that hadn’t been said, it was an odd comfort.

  She supposed that was the meaning of family.

  But seeing Walker . . . that wasn’t comfortable at all. She’d told herself she wouldn’t react to seeing him again, that she wouldn’t let his presence get to her, that she could ignore him.

  She’d failed on all counts.

  He, of course, didn’t appear to be having any of these same issues. He’d remained cool, calm, stoic, even amused by the fact Caitlin had tricked them into spending all this time together. Amused and . . . sweet. At least to Caitlin and Heather and Sammie.

  Maze could remember a time when he’d been sweet with her as well. How even drunk in Vegas that night, she’d felt cared for. She’d felt safe with him. Safe and protected, two things she’d rarely, if ever, felt in her life, because she more than anyone knew safe and protected were nothing but illusions. And yet Walker had a way of making the illusion seem real, more real than anything else in her life.

  She needed to keep her guard up so she didn’t accidently fall again. Because this wasn’t about her and Walker. It was about Caitlin, whom Maze wanted to protect, the same way Caitlin had always protected her. It was Maze’s turn now, and she wanted to keep Caitlin from experiencing any heartbreak.

  Because as far as she could tell, there was always heartbreak with love.

  “Maze.”

  “I’m sleeping fine.”

  He nodded. “Okay, so if you don’t want to talk about that, then there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  He tossed a folder down at her side.

  She stared at the file and then craned her neck to try to see his face more clearly. “What is this?”

  “Our divorce papers,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Turns out drunk Elvis did file the papers, which sealed the deal.”

  She blinked once, slow as an owl. “‘Sealed the deal,’” she echoed slowly.

  “He made our wedding legit,” Walker said. “We’re married.”

  She sat up so fast she got dizzy. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Do you think I’d joke about this?”

  Mind racing, she stared at him. “Are you telling me that we’ve been married this whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  Having a hard time processing, she shook her head. “How long have you known?”

  “Maze—”

  “How long, Walker?”

  “Six months.”

  “Six months?” Here was the thing about having your stomach hit your toes: it made you feel like you were going to throw up. Or maybe that was just her life. “Six months?”

  “I found out when I went to get a loan for a piece of property I was thinking of buying,” he said. “The lender needed my wife’s info so he could check her credit as well as mine.”

  “Whoa.” She could only imagine the shock of that call. “That must have been a surprise.”

  He let out a low laugh. “Yeah.”

  “Six months . . .” she whispered again.

  “Are you going to just keep repeating that?”

  “I think I am, yeah.” She got to her feet too fast and wobbled. There was a clanging in her head and her vision went wonky. “Dammit.”

  “Maze?”

  “Hold on. There’s three of you, and while once upon a time I’d have loved to have three of you at once, right now I’m going to throw up.”

  He moved efficiently and quickly, and before she could so much as blink, he’d pushed her to sit again and had palmed the back of her clammy neck. “Push against my hand.”

  She had no idea why she did what he’d directed. Maybe it was his surprisingly gentle, but absolutely authoritative, tone. Or because she was starting to feel like she was drowning, and at the moment, like it or not, he was her only lifeline. Dropping her head to her knees, she closed her eyes.

  “So you want three of me, huh?”

  She kept her eyes closed. “Wanted, past tense. And only in bed.”

  He laughed.

  Lifting her head, she glared at him. “How is it that you’ve known for six months and you’re only just now telling me?”

  “I wanted to get you the solution before I told you the problem,” he said.

  “And that took six months?”

  “I got my attorney on it right away, but then I was away on a job. I knew I’d see you here, and I thought this would go over better if I told you in person.”

  She turned her head and stared out at the water. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me. You should know that.”

  He didn’t answer, which had her looking at him again.

  His eyes were dark. Serious. “I don’t know much about you anymore, Maze.”

  “Other than we’re married.”

  A very small hint of a smile curved his mouth. “Other than that. And the fact that you’re committing adultery
with Josh.”

  She let out a reluctant laugh, but other than that ignored the “Josh” thing. “Are you going to tell me that in the past six months you haven’t gotten busy with anyone?”

  The hint of a smile turned into the real thing. “I take my vows seriously.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So . . . we’re really married.”

  “Yep.”

  “Who knows?”

  “Just you and me, and Elvis apparently—if he remembers.”

  “You haven’t told Heather or Caitlin?” she asked, unable to keep the slight bitterness from her voice. “I mean, you did keep in touch with both of them.”

  He studied her for a long beat, during which she did her best to hold eye contact and keep her chin up. Not easy when she felt so off-balance. But one thing she knew about Walker: he expected her to go toe-to-toe with him. He wasn’t attracted to wallflowers.

  And why she was worried about that, she had zero idea . . .

  “I don’t care if anyone finds out,” he finally said. “But I felt you should know first.”

  “And you couldn’t tell me six months ago because you were on a job.”

  He nodded.

  “You went back in the field after you got shot.”

  He shrugged. “Turns out I’m not suited for a desk job.”

  “Why do you keep tempting fate?” she asked, boggled. “Do you want to die on the job?”

  “You asked me that three years ago and the answer is still the same. Why do you care?”

  The question pissed her off enough to not answer him. “We’ve been here for three days. Three days, Walker. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “And when should I have done that?” A note of irritation came into his voice. “On the hike with your boyfriend that you’ve been dating a year? Or is it a week?”

  She told herself to bite her tongue, to not get drawn in by those eyes, that body, or the way he made her skin hum with anticipation. But she’d never been any good at holding her tongue. “Is it that hard for you to believe that someone might want me in his life?”

  “Actually, that someone would want you in his life is easy to believe,” he said. “What’s harder to believe is that you’d let it happen.”

  She stared at him, her chest suddenly too tight to talk. She rose to her feet, pushed past him, and headed back to the house, quite certain if there’d been any light at all, she could’ve seen the steam coming out of her own ears. “He drives me insane,” she snapped as she entered her bedroom.