This Is Forever
Natasha Madison
Copyright © 2020 Natasha Madison. E-Book and Print Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons or living or dead, events or locals are entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Dedication
Books By Natasha Madison
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
Southern Series
Books By Natasha Madison
Acknowledgments
Dedication
To Parker and Cooper
If you were real I would want to hug you and thank you for making my dreams come true.
It’s a Stone thing..
Books By Natasha Madison
This Is
This is Crazy
This Is Wild
This Is Love
This Is Forever
Southern Series
Southern Chance
Southern Comfort
Southern Storm
Hollywood Royalty
Hollywood Playboy
Hollywood Princess
Hollywood Prince
Something So Series
Something So Right
Something So Perfect
Something So Irresistible
Something So Unscripted
Tempt Series
Tempt The Boss
Tempt The Playboy
Tempt The Ex
Tempt The Hookup
Heaven & Hell Series
Hell And Back
Pieces Of Heaven
Love Series
Perfect Love Story
Unexpected Love Story
Broken Love Story
Faux Pas
Mixed Up Love
Until Brandon
Chapter One
Justin
“Justin, getting knocked out of the playoffs in the first round is obviously not what you were hoping for.” Standing in front of my locker, I am already irritated by the reporter’s question. I mean, it wasn’t like we were going to win the Stanley Cup, but when the underdogs beat us in round one, I don’t want to discuss it. “Are you planning on taking the summer off, or will you be training?” Looking at his suit, I think he’s overdressed, but what do I know? I’m wearing basketball shorts and a team T-shirt with the matching baseball hat.
I put my hands on my hips and look down at the floor, something that my big brother Matthew taught me a long time ago. Having been in the NHL for over twenty years, he knows what he’s talking about. Always think about the question before saying what you really want to answer. My first instinct is to tell him to fuck off and get out of my face. I want to tell him to strap on a pair of skates and tell me how easy it is for him to get to my stats, but I don’t.
Instead, I look up and say, “Yeah, for sure. Going out in the first round isn’t what anyone wants, but I have to give it to Vegas. They came out to win, and the better team won.” I look at him, and he nods his head, waiting for the answer to the second part of his question. “I’m taking a month off, and then I’m coming back to start the first ever Justin Stone Summer Hockey Camp.” I smile, proud of what I’ve put together. “I’m excited to start this first ever summer camp. I think there are a lot of talented kids who don’t have the means to get extra time on the ice. We have five kids coming in from every level, from mite to midget. It’s going to be mostly one-on-one hockey, and I am super excited about it.”
“That sounds great,” he says, ignoring it, and then asks another annoying question. “With many of your team members becoming free agents, how sure are you about the success of the team next year?” I look at him.
“I have no idea, and to be honest, that isn’t my job. My job is to go out on the ice and give it my all. Who I do it with is just a bonus,” I say, and then I turn to grab my Gatorade, hoping he takes the hint and fucks off.
“Thank you for answering the questions, Justin,” he says with a smile, and I nod. “See you next season.”
I look around, seeing a couple more reporters in the room. Apart from the last game of the year, this has to be the most depressing. Everyone came in today to “clean out their lockers.” Glancing at my watch, I realize my meeting with the GM is in ten minutes, so I grab my phone and head toward his office. My phone beeps in my pocket, and when I take it out, I see that Matthew just texted me. Matthew is my older brother, retired NHL god, and now the GM for the New York Stingers. And if that didn’t make it hard enough to follow in his footsteps, my father is Cooper Stone. The Cooper Stone who holds all the records across the board. The same records I try to beat every single year but always come short of.
Matthew: What time do you land, and are you staying with Mom and Dad?
I don’t text him back. In fact, I hate fucking texting. I always, always call, so it’s no surprise when he answers the phone laughing. “I think you are the only twenty-four-year-old kid who hates to text.” I hear honking in the background, and I know he must be in the city.
“I just don’t see the purpose of it when I can pick up the phone and call you,” I say, walking down the blue carpeted hallway. “I get there tomorrow morning. I changed my flight to give me extra time to pack up my condo and shit.”
“You mean you changed the flight so you can bang one more time before coming home.” He laughs, and I shake my head.
“No,” I say, trying to sound convincing but failing. Am I exclusive? No, I’ve never been. I have yet to find the person I want to be exclusive with. When I look around and see that all four of my siblings are happily married with kids, I wonder if I’m ever going to find my person. “Besides, if I got the flight out, I wouldn’t land in New York until midnight.”
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br /> “Where are you staying?” he asks. “I spoke with Dad ten minutes ago, and he said Mom is fixing your room.”
I groan out loud. “Why does she keep doing that?”
“Because you’re her baby,” he says.
“I have chest hair and a beard. I think I’m past the baby stage,” I say, and he laughs. “I’ll call her now. I was hoping to spend some time in the city. Viktor said I can crash at his condo and so did Max.” I mention my two brothers-in-law. “I have a couple of people I want to hit up while in the city.”
“I bet you do,” he says, chuckling. “Just remember to come home without a mark on you.”
“I can’t be held accountable about that,” I say. I think back to the time I went home and had scratch marks all down my back when I took off my shirt. “Fuck, I think she even drew blood,” I say out loud.
“Okay, well, call Mom and tell her what your plans are, or she’s going to start planning a welcome home barbecue like she always does.”
“I’m staying for two weeks,” I say, and he gets quiet. “I set up a two-week training session with Ivan at his ranch.” Ivan is a Russian hockey coach who kicks my ass every single summer. He makes me come back bigger and better.
“I heard that he makes the guys barf the first day of training.” I nod my head.
“He’s the most intense off-season coach out there. I have that hockey camp for the month, and then I want to see if I can go back to him for another couple of weeks before preseason starts.”
“Come out guns blazing, I see,” he says. “I have to run but give Mom a call.”
“I will,” I say and disconnect just in time because the GM, Hartley, comes out of his office.
“Justin, right on time,” he says and stretches his hand to mine, and I shake it. I walk into the pre-camp meeting and sit on one of the empty chairs as we go over what I thought of the season and things I want to change. When I get up and walk out of the room, I grab my bag at the same time as the metal door shuts behind me.
I’m closing my trunk when I hear my name being called, and I look over to see Ryder, the defenseman. “Have a great summer. Hit me up when you get back.”
“Will do,” I say. When I get into the car and put on my glasses, I have no idea how this summer will change the rest of my life.
Chapter Two
One Month Later
Caroline
“Dylan!” I yell from the bathroom while I attempt to apply mascara, but it’s so old that it’s dried out. “Ten-minute warning,” I say, turning the knob on the rusty sink to slowly add some water to the mascara. I swirl the brush in the tube, and it helps a little bit but not much. After one coat, I give up, closing it and opening the cracked mirror medicine cabinet. The bathroom is from the seventies, for sure, with moss green tiles everywhere. What used to be white grout is discolored to a dark yellow now. The tub is the same moss green color with lines of rust down it.
Walking out of the tiny bathroom, I turn off the lights, then step right into the living room that holds the small kitchen table with two chairs. Dylan sits on his knees while he eats his cereal, holding my phone in his hand as he watches YouTube videos about hockey. All he does every single time he has my phone or is on the computer is watch hockey plays or highlights. I think it’s why he got so good. That and the fact he loves the ice.
“I’m going to go get dressed,” I say, but he barely looks up from my iPhone. Walking into the bedroom I share with him, I open the closet door and see the six items that I own hanging. I grab the pair of jeans I wore yesterday and pair it with my gray and white striped short-sleeve shirt, tucking it in the front of my jeans. Then I pick up my black running shoes and slip them on.
The sound of my phone beeping lets me know that it’s time to go. “Mom!” Dylan shouts. “Time to go,” he says, and I walk out of the room and look at him. He takes his bowl to the sink and gets on his tippy toes to turn on the water and rinse it out. His shorts from last year are way too short for him this year and a bit too tight around his waist, but until I get my paycheck, they will have to do.
“Are you ready?” I ask him, smiling when he turns around wearing his own smile. His happiness lights up the room and my heart. He’s missing his two front teeth, his eyes are a baby blue just like his father, and his hair is a mixture of blond like me.
“Ready,” he says. Wiping his hands on his shorts, he nods his head and grabs his hockey bag at the door. I look at it, and I know that by the time the new season starts, he’s going to need a bigger bag since his equipment also needs an upgrade. He opens the door, and I close it behind me, locking the door. We walk down the hot hallway, then the five flights of stairs toward the parking garage.
Opening the trunk, I put his bag in there and hold his hand as we walk around the back of the car. I open the door, the squeaking noise echoing in the empty parking lot. “Get in, baby,” I say, and he climbs into the car and sits in his booster seat. I buckle him in, kissing his neck at the same time.
“Mom,” he squeals. I close the door, walking around to the driver’s side.
Another squeaking door when I open my own door, getting in and putting the key in and turning. It turns over three times. “No, no, no,” I say under my breath. “Please, please, please, please,” I send out another silent prayer. This time, the car starts, and I have to wonder how much longer the car is going to last. According to the guy in the garage, I should have scrapped this car last year, but with thousands in credit card debt and a minuscule salary, there is nothing else I can do.
The drive to the arena is smooth without much traffic. When Dylan’s coach called me two weeks ago to tell me that he enrolled him in a hockey camp, my heart immediately sank because I knew no matter how many days I ate ramen noodles, I wouldn’t be able to afford it. Then he told me the best news; it was all paid for through the Justin Stone Foundation. When I told Dylan about it, the smile and excitement on his face was everything. I knew I would eat all the ramen noodles in the world just to see him that happy.
Getting pregnant in my last year of high school was not something that we thought would happen. I was on the pill, we used condoms, and when I found out, it was the same day Andrew got the letter accepting him into the University of Edmonton for football. It was what he had worked for his whole life. Breaking the news to our parents was not an easy decision and deciding to keep the baby was even worse. My parents said it was me or the baby, and when I chose the baby, they kicked me out of the house. Thankfully, Judi, Andrew’s mom, took me in, and two days before Dylan was born, I married Andrew.
He wanted us to have his last name, and with his scholarship, we’d have housing since we were married. I had this idea of what it would be like to be married and have his child, but once Dylan arrived, my idea of perfect and Andrew’s were very different. He was riding the wave of his football until he tore his ACL and had to have surgery, and well, then he went down the rabbit hole of drugs. Though he did it so sly and sneakily, I had no idea how far down he’d gone until two guys showed up at our house and beat him right in front of me and one-year-old Dylan. The scholarship was toast, we were kicked out of the housing, and to add the cherry to the sundae, he had used all his scholarship money on drugs. By the end, he was addicted to fucking meth.
“Mom, will anyone I know be there today?” Dylan asks from the back seat, and I look in the mirror, watching him watch outside.
“I don’t know, but the good news is you make friends fast,” I say over my shoulder. The rest of the ride is quiet with him singing some of the songs from the radio.
“Okay,” I say, putting the car in park and looking in the back. “This is it. How ready are you?”
He unclips his seat belt. “How long am I on the ice for?” he asks when I open the car door and get out, going to the back and opening his door. “Is it all day, you think?” He jumps out of the car at the same time a truck pulls up and parks next to us. Walking to the back, I pull his bag out, and I’m getting ready to carry it
when he grabs it from my hand. “I got it, Mom.” Picking up his bag, he struggles to carry it to the door. It’s so heavy, he ends up dragging it halfway there.
We get to the front arena entrance at the same time as someone else, and when I reach out to grab the door, a big hand covers mine.
“Let me,” he says. I look over my shoulder to thank the person, and all I can do is stare at the man behind me.
“Are you Justin Stone?” Dylan asks from beside me, and the man smiles, which makes his brown eyes turn just a touch lighter and golden. His hand drops from mine, and he squats down in front of Dylan.
“I am Justin Stone, and who are you?” he asks, his plump lips making me stare. He has to be the most handsome man I have ever seen in my life.
“I’m Dylan,” he says, and Justin holds out his hand to shake Dylan’s. Dylan looks up at me, and I just smile at him as he reaches out and shakes his hand.
“So you must be Dylan Woods,” he says, smiling at him and then getting up and looking at me. “And you must be Dylan’s mom.” His hand comes out, waiting for me to shake it
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This Is Forever (This Is Series 4) Page 1