That Forever Girl

by Quinn, Meghan

  Reid eyes the money. “How much did you give Griffin to take Brig to Bell Harbor for the day?”

  “Nothing. He’s a brother that doesn’t need to be bribed. Now with every minute that ticks by and you don’t take the offer, you lose a dollar.”

  “Fine, I’ll just stay here.”

  “Fine.” I mimic his attitude. “Then I’ll just take Harper to get ice cream instead.”

  Eyeing me, he finally resigns and takes the cash. “You owe me.”

  Ha, yeah right. The irritating pest can think that all he wants.

  After some pushing and shoving, I get rid of Reid right before Harper walks through the front door. She doesn’t need to ring or knock—not anymore, not once my mom told her she was family.

  “Hey, you.” I sweep her up into my arms and plant a kiss on her addictive lips. From the moment we first kissed in her driveway, I knew I would never be able to satisfy my appetite. There’s something about her lips that has me begging for more every day. Plump and soft, absolute perfection.

  “Hey.” She giggles when my lips trail down her neck. “What do you think you’re doing, mister?”

  “Greeting you properly. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a week.”

  She tilts her head to the side as one of her hands snakes through my hair. Shit, I love it when she does that.

  “Finals were brutal, but now we have the whole summer.” She presses her hand against my chest to put some distance between us, my lips still trying to work across her smooth skin. “Which is why we should take a second to look at what I found.”

  I catch my breath. “What you found?” Excitement and mischief blaze from her eyes. That can only mean one thing: she found something out about the Snow Vale Manor affair.

  That’s what we’re calling it at least.

  Over the past few months, whenever we’ve had time in between school, sports, and afterschool activities, we’ve pored over the letters, writing out timelines and casually asking our parents what they know about Iggy. We haven’t been able to crack much, but from the look in Harper’s eyes, I think she might have had a breakthrough.

  She grabs my hand and pulls me upstairs to my bedroom. She shuts the door behind us and tosses her backpack on my bed before flopping on it herself. Leaning against my door, I watch as her dark-red hair falls over her shoulders as she opens her backpack. She’s wearing a green sundress with a white cardigan, and in this moment, all I can think about is sliding my hand up her skirt and moving that cardigan to the side with my teeth.

  “Rogan, are you paying attention?”

  “Huh?” I shake my head, giving her my most charming smile. Caught staring. It happens so often she doesn’t even mention it anymore.

  “Come here, you goof. Look what I found.” She pulls a book out of her backpack as I sit behind her and pull us both against the headboard, positioning Harper between my legs while I look over her shoulder.

  “An old book?”

  She playfully elbows me. “Not just any old book, but a yearbook. Iggy’s yearbook.”

  “What?” I sit up, a little more interested. “You found his actual yearbook?”

  “Well, the one from his senior class. I was in the library studying and was getting tired, so I went for a walk and stumbled upon all the yearbooks dating back to the first one they ever printed. I got to thinking that since Iggy grew up in Port Snow, maybe we could find some clue about his Forever Girl.”

  “Harp.” I kiss her cheek. “That’s genius.”

  “Thank you.” She beams. “I thought it was quite genius myself. I haven’t looked through it yet because I thought you would want to as well.”

  “Hell yeah. Open it up—let’s see if we can find out anything about him.”

  Carefully, we scan through the thin yearbook, taking note of Iggy’s senior picture and trying to match it up with any other familiar faces among the candid pictures. It isn’t until we reach the musical theater page that we spot him again.

  “Look, that’s Iggy,” Harper says, pointing at the picture.

  “Are you sure?”

  She flips to his senior picture and then back to the theater shot. “Oh yeah, that’s totally him . . . and look, here’s another with a girl.” She brings the book in close so we can get a better look. Iggy is smiling at the camera, embracing a girl in a polka-dot dress. Her hair is pinned up in curls, but you can’t see her face because she’s pressed into Iggy’s chest.

  “That has to be her.”

  “How do you know? It could be Emma,” I point out.

  Harper shakes her head. “No, Emma has blonde hair. Remember the picture hanging above the fireplace? Even in these black-and-white pictures, you can tell this woman is a brunette, and by the way he’s holding her, you can tell he’s in love. This has to be Forever Girl.”

  “Holy shit. You’re a freaking detective.”

  She chuckles and scans the comments on the side. “Damn.” She snaps her fingers in disappointment. “It doesn’t say anything about who’s in the picture. What kind of yearbook is this? We need names, people.”

  Sighing, she tosses the book to the side. “Ugh, another dead end.”

  “Not necessarily.” I pull on her waist, and she turns, facing me, her legs draped over my lap. “We know that Iggy was in musical theater, which means he might have had something to do with the small theater here. Remember that field trip we took there freshman year? I think the guide said the theater was restored thanks to an anonymous donor . . . and that could have been him! We know he was wealthy. We just have to keep digging.”

  “You’re right. We could have a new lead with that.”

  “A good one.” I rub her thighs. “And who knows? With more research, we might be able to find more. Plus we could look through the other yearbooks.”

  “You’re right, we could. But you don’t want to do that right now, do you?” she asks, knowing me all too well.

  I shake my head as she rests her forearms on my shoulders and gingerly threads her fingers through my hair. “No, I don’t want to do that right now.”

  “No?”

  My eyebrow quirks up, and my hands find the hem of her dress. “What were you thinking about doing?”

  “Hmm . . . I don’t know. What could we possibly do?” She looks around the room. “Is it hot in here?” She removes her cardigan and tosses it to the side; my eyes immediately fall to her boobs, pressed up against the fabric of her dress.

  Fuck.

  I go hard in seconds.

  We haven’t had sex, and I know she’s not ready yet. She told me a few months back the whole idea made her nervous, and I assured her I had no problem waiting, that I’d wait as long as she needed me to. Since then, we haven’t done more than kissing and maybe some slight fondling.

  Do I want more? Hell yeah. Every time we part, I find myself in the shower taking care of the hard-on she leaves me with. But I also can read Harper like a book; she’s just starting to gain confidence in her body, and there’s no way I’m going to push her. She’s in charge when it comes to the physical, because honestly, if it were up to me, she’d be naked by now.

  “Damn, Harper, are you trying to kill me?” I ask, shifting beneath her, knowing full well she can tell how turned on I am from just having her on my lap.

  “What?” She playfully glances down. “Do you like my dress?”

  My hands slide a little farther up her legs, but not too much. I don’t want to move past her limits. “Do I like your dress? Uh, your nipples are hard as shit, and I have the perfect view of your cleavage. I’m pretty sure this is my favorite dress of all time.” Smiling wickedly, I add, “Then again, when are your nipples not hard?”

  And that’s the truth; her boobs are smaller, which is fine by me. From the brief touching we’ve done, I’ve found they are a small handful, just perfect for my large hands, and those nipples, fuck, they just about kill me whenever I’m around her.

  “That’s because I almost never wear a bra around you.”
<
br />   My head falls back, bumping against the headboard. “You’re actually killing me, Harper.”

  She leans forward and presses kisses across my neck slowly, methodically. “But killing you in the best way possible, right?” She shifts against my lap.

  “Fuck . . . yes.” She slowly starts to move her hips back and forth, and my eyes pop open. “What are you doing?”

  She shrugs. “Just testing some things out.”

  Feeling breathless and already about to explode in my pants, I sink into the bed. “Shit, Harp, test away.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ROGAN

  “Another water, Rogue?”

  I stare down at my empty water glass and nod. “Yeah, thanks, Hal.”

  The Har-Bahr is packed tonight, full of decorating volunteers celebrating the last twinkling light hung. I have to hand it to Griffin; he was able to pull it all off with a little time to spare. And Holiday Lane? I took care of it. All the residents worked around the clock to get their displays up and running in time for Lovemark to visit. Granted, no one really knows why we rushed, but there’s speculation—let’s face it: it’s a small town, and people talk. I think it’s one of the reasons why residents were so accommodating—that and the hundred-dollar gift card to the Lobster Landing offered up to the best-decorated house.

  I pick at the soft pretzel in front of me, barely taking any bites. I’m not especially interested in digesting the carbs, but Hal gave it to me for free tonight. He didn’t say why but just set it down and said it was on the house. I think the man is trying to feed my feelings with carbs.

  It’s no secret that Harper and I are no longer a couple; that’s old news, but now that she’s back in town, it’s like people are treating us like we just broke up. Walking through town, I’m constantly on the receiving end of sympathetic looks, pity slaps on the back, and even offers to talk over coffee if my “heart starts to feel heavy.” Talk about goddamn torture. It’s bad enough that every time I turn a corner, I’m scanning for the perfect shade of dark-red hair, but to have the entire town staring at me, waiting to see when I’m going to break down and cry like the pathetic motherfucker that I am . . . well, there’s only so much I can take.

  To wear off some of my pent-up anger and frustration, I’ve resorted to working out twice a day, but it’s done nothing to curb the growing agitation coiling at the base of my spine.

  “Hey, Rogue.” Griffin takes a seat next to me at the bar and signals to Hal for a water. As usual, we’re probably the only two in the place with a nonalcoholic beverage. “Thanks for helping out with Holiday Lane and getting the residents on board. It means a lot to me.”

  “Sure, no big deal.” Hal sets two fresh glasses in front of us as Griffin rips off a piece of pretzel and pops it in his mouth. “Is everything all set for Lovemark?” I ask quietly so no one overhears us.

  “Yup. Dad even made a feature fudge for them for when they come into town.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “So, how are you doing?” Griffin keeps his eyes focused in front of him as he performs his older brother responsibilities, checking on his damaged brother.

  “Fine.”

  “Really?” he asks. “Because I could feel the anger rolling off you from outside.”

  I drag my hand down my face. “It’s just so fucking uncomfortable here now. It’s like I’m in a fishbowl and everyone in town is watching me, wondering when I’m about to snap. When she wasn’t here, it was easier. Yeah, I still was a miserable fuck, but at least I didn’t have to worry about running into her. Now, I feel like I can’t make it two steps without panicking that I’m going to cross paths with her.”

  “Would it be so bad if you did?”

  “Are you insane? Of course it would be bad. I crushed her, Griff. It wasn’t like we had a mutual breakup. No, I was the relentless ass who broke her and left without a backward glance. It’s not like when you and Ren broke up.”

  “Hey, I was a dickhead and hurt her too. And when I saw her around town, I felt physically ill.”

  “Yeah, welcome to my world.” I take a sip of my water. “And what the fuck am I going to do if she starts to date someone . . . or fuck, if she gets married? There is no way I’d be able to survive that. I would have to sell all my properties and buy some tiny house in the middle of nowhere so I can rot in my own personal hell.”

  “Getting a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Not even a little. Think about when you and Ren were broken up, how shitty it was when you saw her at the Fall Festival, laughing and having a good time. It’s that for me times one hundred.”

  “But do you really think Harper is laughing and having a good time? She’s just as broken as you. When I talked to her yesterday, she wasn’t the same girl we grew up with.”

  “Wait, what?” I turn toward him. “You talked to Harper yesterday?”

  He takes a sip and plays with the condensation on the glass. “Yup. Almost ran her over. We sat down on a bench for a little bit and talked. I wanted to see how she was doing, since I know it’s just her and her dad. I think you tend to forget how much she treated our family as her own. How much she relied on Mom for that mother figure in her life. She didn’t just lose you, Rogan; she lost all of us.”

  Fuck if I don’t already know that.

  “Believe me, if I could, I would let her have all of you. I know how much the family meant to her. The fact that I unintentionally took that away from her splinters my soul every goddamn day.”

  “She’s not doing well. I could see it in her eyes, and I don’t think it’s just because of you. Something’s going on with her, something that brought her back to Port Snow.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, hating that I’m having this conversation. “I know. I saw it too. And her reasons for coming back aren’t matching up with her job at the inn. I don’t know . . . it feels like something happened and she’s not telling anyone—well, at least us.”

  “I agree. I have no idea what it is.” He’s silent for a second. “She apologized for not coming back home when Claire passed.”

  “Of course she did. They were good friends; I can’t imagine what she felt when she found out.” Just one more thing I took away from her. “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her she didn’t have to apologize and that no matter what, I would always be a big brother to her.”

  Because that’s who Griffin is. No matter who you are or where you come from, if you’re accepted into the Knightly clan, Griffin will always protect you. If only he could have protected Harper from me.

  “Christ, man.” I shake my head and stare down at the bar. “I think I feel even worse after this conversation.”

  He chuckles and pats me on the back. “Well, I think the worst is yet to come.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she just walked through the door, and I happened to motion for her to come over here.”

  “Wh—” I look up to find Harper nervously standing a few feet away, a blue-and-white striped beanie on her head and a white puffy jacket wrapped around her small frame.

  “Hey.” She waves hesitantly. “Just picking up some food for my dad and me. He can’t get enough of Hal’s pretzels. I won’t disturb you two.”

  “Not disturbing us at all.” Griffin stands up from his barstool and motions for Harper to sit down. “You can wait here; I have some people I want to thank. Good seeing you, Harper.”

  She eyes the seat like it’s about to set itself on fire and then glances back at Griffin. “Uh . . . good seeing you too.”

  Not taking a seat right away, she just stares at the stool, most likely trying to figure out what to do, so I make the decision for her. It will be more awkward if she doesn’t sit down next to me with all the eyes I can feel staring us down. Without giving it a second thought, I stand and lift her up by the waist and set her on the stool. She gasps at my abruptness and sits ramrod straight, one hand on the bar, bracing he
rself.

  I sit back down and turn to my water. “There, now you don’t have to decide what the hell you want to do.” I would love a fucking shot right about now.

  Instead, I turn to the pretzel I vowed I wouldn’t eat, tear off a piece, and stick it in my mouth. If I’m not drinking, at least I can try to find consolation in carbs.

  “Hey, Harper,” Hal says, walking over with a water glass. “Your order should be out soon.”

  From the corner of my eye, I watch her give the old man a sweet smile. “Thank you, Hal.”

  “Anytime.” He taps the bar. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  As Hal walks away, he eyes me, giving me a warning look before tending to another patron. Yeah, I know, I’m not the locals’ favorite, now that Harper’s in town to remind them how much I fucked up.

  I don’t think anyone here knows the true story. I’ve only delivered bits and pieces to my family, but in the end, Harper was the town sweetheart, while I was the asshole who broke her heart and drove her away. Whose side do you think they’d take?

  They’d better take hers. She deserves nothing but love from everyone who crosses her path.

  The pretzel tastes like cement in my mouth, tough and unappealing, so I push it to the side.

  “Not going to eat that?” Harper asks, surprising me.

  “Nah.”

  “Can I have a taste?”

  “I don’t care what you do,” I answer, the words harsh as they roll off my tongue. I’m about to apologize when someone comes up behind us and shakes both of our shoulders.

  “At last, you two are together again.”

  I inwardly groan. Fucking Franklin. The center of all the town gossip and the slicer of deli meat, he has a penchant for driving me crazy and not paying his rent on time.

  “Took long enough. And even with the curse looming over you, you still went for it. Good for you, Rogan, not feeding into the town gossip of the Knightlys’ broken love.” He grins.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Franklin,” I mutter, not giving him the decency of turning around to face him. Fucking moron.