That Forever Girl

by Quinn, Meghan

  “I’m not fucking going. Why would I want to go to some banquet with a team I’m not on anymore?”

  “You’re on the team, Rogan.”

  “As a fucking honorary member. Might as well just rip my balls off and toss them in the dumpster.” He waves his hand to the side, that dark anger simmering beneath his surface starting to show. His eyes darken, his brows furrow, and every muscle in his body tightens. Whatever is going to happen tonight, I know it’s not going to be good. “Save yourself the trouble, Harper, and just leave.”

  “I don’t want to leave. I want to be with you.”

  He scoffs. “No you don’t. You just feel fucking sorry for me.”

  It’s not the first time he’s said it, and every time it still feels like a slap in the face.

  “Will you stop saying that? It’s insulting. You act like I don’t love you. Like I’m here out of pure obligation. You should know by now that you mean everything to me.”

  “Stop with that shit.” He leans back on the bed, his hands propping him up. “Are you really saying you still love me? When was the last time we had sex? The last time you felt my dick between your legs.”

  “You don’t have to be so crass.”

  “When was it?” he growls.

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “I do.” His chest flexes with anger. “Before the accident. Before I lost my goddamn leg. Trust me, I get it; you don’t want to fuck a cripple. I see the way you look at me when I’m putting on my prosthetic. There isn’t love in your eyes; there’s fucking pity.”

  “That’s not true, Rogan.”

  “Isn’t it? Ever since I came back to school, you haven’t looked at me the same.”

  “Because I feel guilty, not because I’m repulsed by you,” I shout, my stomach turning in knots. “Honestly, Rogan, I feel guilty every time I see you, because all I can think about is that I should have listened to you that night. If we’d stayed home, none of this would have happened.”

  A sinister look passes over his face as he runs his fingers through his hair, now grown down past his ears. “So you’re finally admitting you had a part in this.”

  “What?” I ask, caught off guard.

  “It’s about damn time you realize you were in the wrong that night.” He blows out a loud breath. “I spent every fucking minute trying to make sure you felt comfortable here, that you were taken care of, that you didn’t feel threatened by other girls, and when I asked you to stay home, you pushed me, wanting more. Always wanting more.” He shakes his head. “I should have listened to my gut a long time ago.”

  Hands shaking, I ask, “What are you talking about?”

  He stands and walks over to the door, leaning against it, arms crossed. “I knew you were trouble, Harper, I just didn’t think you were going to ruin me, ruin my life.”

  Wait . . . is he blaming me for what happened? I mean, I know I feel guilty, but blaming me for the whole thing? That crosses a line.

  “You can’t possibly mean that.”

  He looks me square in the eyes for the first time in what seems like months. “I do. What am I even doing with you? I repulse you, and you’re a reminder of what I could have had, of where I was going. I’ve realized something over the past weeks: even though I say I love you, I don’t really fucking mean it. Not anymore.”

  My breath catches in my throat as my knees start to wobble. “Rogan, you don’t mean that. You’re having a bad night—”

  “No, I’m having a clear-as-fucking-day night.” His eyes are wild as they scan his room. “All of this is a joke. What we have, it’s just a farce, so why carry it on any longer?”

  “Because I love you, Rogan.” I step forward, tears springing to my eyes. “Don’t do this. Don’t push me away. Remember what the doctor said? You were going to go through this stage of anger and—”

  “I know what the doctor said, Harper. I understand I’m fucking angry. I feel that anger pump through my veins every day of my miserable life. It’s the only reason I can get out of bed in the morning.”

  “It’s going to take time for things to feel normal again, and yes, things might be rocky between us right now, but we’ll get through this like we’ve gotten through everything else. This is a minor speed bump.”

  “I don’t count losing a fucking leg a minor speed bump. Every time I look down at my prosthetic, I remember that I lost everything. And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.” He gestures at me, slicing my heart in half. “I’m sick of your doting, your annoying questions, your constant hovering. If I wanted you around, I would tell you, and right now I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

  “Rogan, please,” I say, my lip trembling as more tears fall from my eyes.

  “Save the tears for someone who actually cares, Harper.” He holds out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  Why is he being so cruel? This is not the man I fell in love with.

  I wipe away a tear. “Give you what?”

  He nods at my hand. “The ring.”

  Instinctively my other hand guards the ring he gave to me as the blood drains from my face. I can feel it pool in my feet, my head spinning. “You . . . you want the ring back?”

  “Did you not hear me? I’m not in love with you. I don’t want to fucking marry you.”

  “But . . .” His vicious words paralyze me.

  “Just give me the ring and fucking leave. Don’t make this any more uncomfortable than it is.”

  Tears streaming down my cheeks, my entire body shaking, I slowly start to pull the white-gold ring off my finger. The ring that meant the world to me.

  “I don’t know why you’re doing this to us.” I hold it out to him. Grimly, he takes it and shoves it in his pocket, then opens his bedroom door and steps aside. I take a step forward. “Why are you doing this?”

  He stares down at the ground. “Because sometimes people fall out of love. I don’t want to be in a loveless marriage. I deserve more than that.”

  “Are you saying you deserve more than me? More than what I can give you?”

  He looks up now, a lock of his mussed-up hair falling over his furrowed brow. His eyes meet mine. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  The rest of the night is a blur. I can barely remember how I got back to my dorm, let alone how I ended up in my bed, but after hours of crying, I finally passed out, only to wake up at seven in the morning with swollen eyes, a broken heart, and one thing on my mind: getting to Rogan.

  I don’t care about what happened the night before, what he said. He’s in a bad place, and instead of walking away, I need to be there for him. As fast as I can, I get dressed, brush my teeth, throw my wild hair up into a bun, and head over to Rogan’s house. I consider stopping for coffee for the both of us but think better of it; I need to be with him, need him to know that no matter what he says, I’m not going anywhere.

  I drive to his house in record time and make my way through the three-story home, bypassing looks from his former teammates. When I make it to his bedroom, I swing the door open and gasp at the sight in front of me.

  His room is completely empty. Bedding, computer, clothes, shoes—everything is gone. I take a step forward, taking in the vacant bedroom . . . well, almost vacant. He’s left a few things behind, my heart breaking piece by piece as I take them in.

  Pictures of the two of us, framed, rest on his dresser, untouched. Next to them is a note. I quickly pick it up and struggle to read it through tear-filled eyes.

  If she comes by, tell her again it’s over.

  This has to be some kind of sick prank, right? There’s no way the boy who I fell in love with is treating me with such hatred, such cruelty.

  A creak in the floorboards has me spinning around, hoping to find Rogan. But instead there’s just Hemmy, standing at the door.

  “Wh-where did he go?” I ask, swallowing hard.

  “Dropped out. He’s gone.”

  “He what?” A sob escapes me. “He dropped out? Why?”

&nbs
p; Hemmy shrugs. “He didn’t give me a detailed answer, just said he needed to get the hell out of here. Told me to tell you it’s over if you stopped by.” He shrugs. “That’s all I got.”

  “Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “He made up his mind. There was no changing it. He’s a different man, Harper. I think it’s time you realized that and moved on.”

  But how could I possibly move on when Rogan just took my heart and soul with him?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ROGAN

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter, taking the steps up to the manor slowly. Thankfully, I chose to meet Harper here rather than drive together. There’s no way I want her to see me in this much pain. The bitter-cold weather always seems to affect me. Today it’s sending a razor-sharp pain down my bad leg, making it feel like my foot is throbbing in pure agony. Seven years later and I still get phantom pains, though they’re not nearly as intense as they used to be.

  One more step. I grin and bear it, making my way into the house, where I can warm up. Hopefully by the time I defrost, I’ll be able to walk up the stairs without grimacing. The last thing I want is to show any kind of weakness around Harper. I want her to know that I live a normal life, a different life than the one that pushed her away.

  Once inside, I quickly find a seat on the stairs and start rubbing the side of my thigh, massaging it up and down like the physical therapist taught me.

  I have everything planned out for today. I made sure Gina set up the ballroom with a table and a lunch for Harper and me. I want this to go smoothly; I want this to be the day I tell her everything. I just need my leg to get it together.

  I know, especially in hindsight, that my prosthetic never bothered Harper, but I can’t forget that last conversation in Syracuse, the ugly things I said to her, the cold-blooded way I treated her, as if she meant nothing to me, even though she meant everything. I know my leg has a direct correlation to that day, and I want to avoid it for as long as I can.

  The distinct sound of a car door slamming echoes from outside, and I brace myself. Using the banister to help me up, I stand tall and step down into the entryway and open the door for her. Peeking out beneath her thick coat is a dark-green dress and black leggings with black boots. She smiles shyly up at me and greets me with a warm press of her hand to my arm.

  “Oh, thank God it’s warm in here, unlike back in high school.” She removes her jacket and gives me a once-over. “Did you wear that shirt to distract me?”

  I glance down at my navy-blue dress shirt—the one I know makes my eyes stand out. “This old thing? Nah, just grabbed it from the closet.”

  “Sure.” She shakes her head, skeptical.

  I take her jacket and can’t help but glance over her left hand; her ring finger looks so empty. The image of her ashen face when I asked for it back flashes through my mind, sending a stab of pain through my chest.

  Why are you being so cruel?

  Her question followed me all the way back to Port Snow. My only answer: because I hated myself so goddamn much that I wanted her to hate me too.

  “It’s so warm in here.” She rubs her hands together and looks up at the ceilings. “Do you have the fireplace working?”

  I nod and drape her jacket over the banister. “The fireplace was one of the first projects I tackled. I wanted to make sure it could be fully functioning.”

  In awe, she studies the entryway, occasionally turning to take everything in. “I still can’t believe you resurrected this house and breathed life into it again. I never thought it would be possible, but you did it.”

  Taking a chance, I step up and grasp her hand. For a brief moment, she studies our connection and then looks up at me, confusion in her eyes. Now or never, man.

  “I know we’re here for business, but I really need to talk to you first.” I shift, my hip hitching. I try to hold back the wince, but she catches it. She always did.

  “Are you okay?” She glances down and then back up at me.

  I squeeze her hand. “The cold gets me sometimes. I’ll be okay.” If I had any doubts about whether I hurt her back in college, today they are confirmed. The look of pure shock that crosses her face at the casual mention of my leg . . . well, that says it all.

  There’s no denying it; I was horrible to her. Beyond horrible. If I ever want to earn back her love and trust, I need to explain.

  And if Brig finds out I didn’t spend a good enough time groveling to win back Harper’s affections, he’ll never let me live it down.

  “Will you come with me?” With one last look at my leg, she nods. Her hand still in mine, I take her to the other side of the house, the den.

  I push the door open, revealing the room, its walls painted a deep green, with the white molding creating a stark contrast. The same blond hardwood floors travel into the den, right up to the beautifully large window seat that overlooks the side of the house that is encased by snow-covered ponderosa pines.

  “Oh, wow. Rogan, this room is gorgeous. The color is amazing.”

  “It’s the only room in the house with color on the walls.”

  “Why?”

  It’s time I grew up. It’s time I stopped being the self-destructive asshat I once was and start being mature. Take responsibility for how I treated the girl I love and cure this godforsaken curse of broken love . . .

  Not answering, I bring her over to the window seat, and we both sit down. This is going to be hard, but it needs to be done. I fold my hands and rest them between my legs.

  With a deep breath, I look Harper in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I said to you back in college.”

  “I thought we weren’t going to talk about our past relationship.”

  “We need to, because I want more from you, Harper. I want all of you. I want your friendship, and I want your love. It’s taken me seven years to pull my head out of my ass, every day thinking about how I hurt you. Every day I’ve lived an ache greater than any pain in my leg, an ache so deep that it flows through my marrow. I lost you, pushed you away, and it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

  Tears well up in her eyes as she turns away, but I stop her. She needs to look me in the eyes; I want to feel all her sadness, and I need her to see my sincerity and regret. “I don’t know if I can take this, Rogan.”

  “I know. Believe me—I’ve spent so many sleepless nights wondering if I should just leave you alone or if I should try to win you back . . .” I take her hand and thread our fingers together. She doesn’t pull away, so I take that as a good sign. “That night, the night of the banquet, I was in a shitty headspace. Everything seemed like it was falling apart, and I couldn’t salvage the wreckage. I was going to a banquet for a team I didn’t play on anymore. It was humiliating. All my emotions started to boil to the point that I couldn’t breathe, and no matter what you did, Harper, there was no way you could have helped me. I had to remove myself from the situation, from Syracuse, and I had to do it without you, because . . .” I pause, pushing my hand through my hair. “I promised you so much more. I’d promised you a secure, happy life. I’d promised to be your best friend, your lover until the day we died, and I suddenly couldn’t give you any of that.”

  “Do you realize all I wanted was your love?”

  “At the time, I didn’t. I couldn’t. All I could think about was how I let you down, how you were going to have to take care of me for the rest of my life. I didn’t want you to sink with me. You deserved more, so I pushed you away. I acted like an ugly coward and said some of the most unspeakable things I could muster so there was no way you would ever want to see me again.”

  “You did a good job of that.” She chuckles sadly and squeezes my hand. “I still wanted to see you, though. Even afterward, I so desperately wanted to be with you.”

  “And that’s why I had to leave. I was angry and shattered and blaming the world for my problems. Making your life miserable. Even back then, I knew you were going to stick by my side. And I know i
t doesn’t excuse the way I treated you at all, but at least at the time, I think I was so broken that I needed to figure this all out on my own, figure out how to live without constantly thinking about my injury. So when I came back to Port Snow, I took a job I knew was going to challenge me, a job that would either make or break me.”

  “Construction,” she whispers.

  “Yup. It was fucking hard at first, trying to keep up with everyone else and not showing one ounce of weakness. I didn’t tell anyone about my handicap, but I didn’t have to—everyone already knew the minute it happened. But I swore I would never take special treatment, and the guys never gave it to me. I worked my ass off; most days I came home with a bloody and swollen leg, but I kept pushing forward. If I was going to live this life, I was going to make something of myself.” I shrug. “I might be just a landlord—”

  “You are so much more than a landlord—not that being a landlord is even a bad thing—but you are an entrepreneur. You’ve beautified this town, brought old houses back to life. Can’t you see the life you breathed back, not just into your soul but the world around you?”

  “I can,” I answer softly, the compliment hard to take, but necessary. It’s about time I realize the strides I’ve made.

  “Be proud of that.” And this is exactly why I need this girl in my life again, because she instills a sense of pride in me. She helps me look past my faults and focus on my positives. She sees the beautiful side of me, the strong and caring side that only a few truly know I possess. She is the reason why I’ve been wearing a smile on my face. Because of her, I’ve learned to love myself again.

  “I am, or at least I’m coming around to it. It’s not how I envisioned my life, nor is it a complete life without you in it.” She tilts her gaze down, uncertainty written all over her face. “I’m not asking you to jump back into what we had, because I know that’s going to take time, but I am asking for you to give me a chance. I’d like to show you the kind of man I’ve grown to be. The kind of man you deserve.”