Forever With You

by Beverley Kendall

  I don’t fucking care.

  “You honestly see her as a victim?” Of everything she just said, that’s the only thing that came through crystal clear. “God, Mum, this all happened because of her. If she’s a victim, she victimized herself.”

  Needing to put some space between us, I stalk toward the end table closest to the balcony door.

  “Are you telling me you’ve never done something you’ve regretted? Something you’d take back if you could? How many times did you drink before you turned twenty-one?”

  More times than I can count but damn if I’ll admit to that if we’re going to go tit-for-tat in comparing the weight of our sins.

  My mum walks over to me. “Do you remember the time you and Blake took his father’s car without his permission? What do you think would have happened to the two of you if Mr. Richards had reported it stolen?” she asks, knowing full well it’s what he’d wanted to do but his wife had talked him out of it.

  “I can’t believe you’re comparing the two,” I argue.

  “Blake didn’t tell you he didn’t have permission to use the car, so how can you say they’re not the same?”

  She places her hand on my arm. “What do you think would have happened if Emily’s mother had been able to talk her husband out of pressing charges? I’ll tell you what would have happened. You’d have discovered Emily was underage and you’d have been angry. You’d have stopped seeing her but you’d have finished school and gone on with your life. The involvement of law enforcement in both cases would have and did make a big difference. And if you can’t see that, you’re only fooling yourself.”

  Whatever. None of this is going to change my feelings for Emily. She’s the same selfish bitch now that she was back then. Taking the job knowing how I feel solidified that.

  “I’m sure had Blake got you in trouble, you’d have forgiven him long ago.”

  “Look, Mum, I appreciate your concern, but from now on, please just stay out of it. I don’t want you talking to her anymore.”

  “Darling, we haven’t spoken in months. But if she calls, I’m not going to snub her.”

  “Yes, god forbid you hurt her feelings,” I mutter under my breath.

  Dropping her hand from my arm, she sends me a disapproving look. “My dear, I hardly think this anger is doing you any good.”

  Un-fucking-believable. I can only stare at her. I’m not a child. I haven’t needed her to hold my hand since I was six years old. The only thing I need from her now is love and support. The love is not in question. Never has been and won’t ever be. It’s the support that’s in question.

  As if she’s reading my mind, she raises her hand and cups my cheek in her palm. “Don’t even think it. This isn’t a matter of taking sides. You know I’ll always be on yours. I’d just like you to look at both in this instance. Emily’s a good person who did a bad thing, which she deeply regrets. I’m not asking you to be friends. What I am asking is that you don’t treat her like your enemy.”

  I briefly close my eyes and sigh. That’s easier said than done.

  “Think about it,” she urges me in a soft voice. “And I promise that if she calls, I’ll tell her I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to keep in touch. How’s that?”

  Since it’s all I can hope for, I nod against her hand.

  She brings my face down to hers and presses a kiss on my cheek. “Good. That was certainly worth the two hour drive up.”

  I get the feeling she means the stuff about Emily more so than the news about the pub. I follow her and watch as she retrieves her handbag from the couch and slings it over her shoulder. She turns to me.

  “You sticking around for a bit or do you have to take off now?” I ask.

  “I thought I’d do some shopping while I’m here.” She casts a critical eye over me. “You look like you could use some new clothes. Would you care to join me? It’ll be my treat.”

  Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. I smile wryly. “That’s okay. I’ll pass.”

  She feigns disappointment, her frown exaggerated. The truth is she hates shopping with me. The last time we attempted it I’d been fourteen and deep in the trenches of puberty. I’d fought her on everything from trousers to socks, and her veto power had been devastating to the look I’d been trying to craft.

  “Alright then. I’ll give you a call before I head home.” She reaches up and brushes another kiss on my cheek.

  I nod and escort her to the door.

  “I hope you’ll think about what I said…about Emily,” she adds, as if I need to be reminded. I know exactly what and who she is talking about.

  “Don’t worry, Mum, there isn’t a chance that I’ll forget.”

  Fucking Emily.

  Chapter 11

  The next day I’m ready to start my shift at six o’clock on the dot. Graham’s not getting rid of me that easily. I knew before I accepted the job that working with him wouldn’t be a walk in the park.

  As bad as things are now, they could be worse. He may have essentially accused me of being Jezebel, but at least he’s not nitpicking my job performance and breathing down my back.

  I’d bitched to April about him when I got home last night and her response was absolutely preposterous. Laughable really, because that’s what I did when I heard it.

  “I don’t know, Em, he sounds kinda jealous to me.”

  Of course I’d told her she was out of her mind. Graham would like nothing better than to see the back of me.

  Jealous. Honestly, April romanticizes everything since she got together with Troy.

  After exchanging a friendly greeting with Sybil, I take in the considerable size of the crowd packing the main eating area and the bar. The official start of Labor Day weekend means I’ll probably be running myself ragged all night.

  “Emily.”

  I turn with a start at the sound of Graham’s voice, my gaze locating him at the opening of the hall that leads to the offices. He motions me over to him with a decisive jerk of his chin.

  Oh crap. What did I do now? I check the time on my cell phone. I’m fifteen minutes early so it can’t be to bitch me out about being late.

  Squaring my shoulders, I wend my way around a group of twenty somethings and make the trek down the now empty hallway. Of course he couldn’t have waited for me. The door to his office is wide open but hardly welcoming. The man himself is parked on the corner of his desk, his expression stern and hands folded over his chest. His gaze narrows at my appearance.

  “Come in and close the door.”

  The terseness of his voice turns my wariness to alarm. All his British sternness can be a bit daunting.

  I have to make a concerted effort not to slouch, straightening my back and squaring my shoulders. Sometimes the appearance of confidence is what matters should it falter. The sound of the door latch catching when I close it echoes in the confines of the four walls.

  “What’s up?” I ask as if I don’t have a care in the world and the tension in the air isn’t as thick as clam chowder.

  He doesn’t immediately respond, content to pin me with a laser-like stare Superman-style.

  I try not to squirm but that becomes a monumental task as the seconds stretch into suffocating silence.

  I fear I’m about to choke on it when he finally speaks. “I saw my mum this morning.”

  My breath catches in the back of my throat, constricting my airway. That’s okay because at this point I’m holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. No, to be thrown at me.

  “You know my mother, right?” It’s a rhetorical question to which he demands an answer.

  I shift on my feet, refusing to drop my gaze from his. “She must have told you we’ve met.”

  The way he’s sitting, one leg out straight, his foot planted on the floor, the other one with his knee bent, his foot dangling over the corner of the desk, suggests nonchalance, but the tick of his jaw is as casual as a snake poised to strike.

  “Not just met. I hear you’
re quite chummy.”

  It’s not that I expected her to keep him in the dark about our communication but a head’s up would have been nice. He’s been difficult enough to deal with and now with this on top of everything else. Ugh.

  “Your mother—she’s been kind.” A wholly inadequate description of her to say the least. The woman has been a godsend since the day I knocked on her door and she invited me in and dried my tears.

  “Yes, and some people take advantage of the fact.”

  My spine stiffens at the not-so-subtle charge. “I didn’t take advantage of her. I went there looking for you.”

  “You spent the night in my house. My home. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you kept in touch with her. She said the two of you spoke up to a few months ago.”

  I’m not sure what he expects me to say. The truth is a mix of things he won’t take kindly to. “She was worried about me when I left, and told me to call her to make sure I got home okay. Then she said I could call her if I needed someone to talk to.”

  Talking to my family hadn’t been an option. And I hadn’t even been able to talk to my best friend. Heather wouldn’t have understood me lying about my age and sleeping with a college guy. His mother was literally the only person I could turn to.

  He crosses his arms again as his stare pierces me. “You kept in touch with her to keep tabs on me. Admit it.”

  This is where I should tell him he’s full of himself but I can’t. I had asked his mom how he was doing. But that’s natural. I’d been carrying a ton of guilt on my shoulders. I’d simply needed to know he was doing okay, that was all. There was nothing sinister about it no matter how he’d like to paint it.

  I glance down. My fingers close tighter around my cell phone. Five minutes. That’s how long it’s been since I stepped in his office. It feels like eons.

  “No, that’s not how it was,” I reply.

  “You’re saying you transferring to Warwick last year was a coincidence? It had nothing to do with the fact that you knew I was coming back?”

  God, he’d make a good lawyer. Had the circumstances been different, my dad would have loved him.

  “All she said was that you might be coming back. She didn’t say anything about where you’d be staying if you did. I certainly never expected you’d be living up here.” He could have decided to live anywhere. I’d come back because New York is home and California—as lovely as it is—isn’t. Graham being back stateside had nothing to do with it.

  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  He scowls, displeasure emanating off him in waves. “I have a girlfriend.”

  The bluntness of his statement catches me unaware, its impact like a punch to the gut. One I wasn’t expecting. “I know that,” I snap. As if I need to be reminded. He of all people knows that his love life has nothing to do with me.

  His mouth twitches. He still doesn’t look convinced. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to do, but whatever it is, it won’t work.”

  He thinks I want him back, that much is obvious. Because what else would I want from him, right? “If by whatever I’m trying to do you mean get you to realize that I’m not the femme fatale or monster you’ve conjured up in your mind, then you hit the nail on the head. It’s why I went to your mother’s house in the first place. To apologize. To beg your forgiveness. I never once thought of us getting back together. And I’m not trying to get back with you now.” Never in a hundred years did I think he’d ever give me another chance.

  The tick of his jaw is more pronounced as he pushes to his feet, allowing his hands to fall to his sides. The room shrinks to a third of its size with his looming presence. I’m pretty tall but he’s taller. And wider. It feels as if the distance between us has narrowed even though it remains unchanged.

  “I don’t want you talking to her anymore.” His voice sounds like gravel, gritty and low. The warning note in it makes it so.

  My first instinct is to tell him he can’t tell me what to do. But this is his mother and with him now back in the picture—back in my life—it’s probably not a good idea for us to keep in contact.

  “If that’s what you want, I’ll stop.” Saying it is simple. The hard part will be in following through. I’ll miss our conversations, as brief and as infrequent as they’ve been over the past couple years. But it’s always been the kind of friendship I knew couldn’t last. It would have tapered off eventually even if Graham hadn’t learned about it.

  I’d have thought my easy acquiescence would have satisfied him, but despite an abrupt nod, his scowl of displeasure is back in place.

  What now?

  He has a look of restlessness about him. Like he’s itching to pick a fight with me and is frustrated I’m not giving him the reason he needs to launch a full-frontal assault.

  Running a hand through his hair, he shoots me a sidelong glance. “She likes you.”

  And he’s as far from a fan as one can ever be. Yes, I’m aware. “I like her too.”

  Graham responds with an eye roll.

  Whatever. Let him think what he wants. Thinking the worst of me is probably how he’s able to sleep at night.

  “She doesn’t know you.”

  “She knows me better than you do. Better than you ever did.” I’m fully aware my response walks a tenuous line between the truth and a reprimand. Or maybe it’s me just trying to get through to him. Breach one of the many walls he’s erected around himself.

  He lets out a dark and humorless laugh, the accompanying smile, full of derision. “I wish to hell I didn’t know you as well as I do.”

  That shouldn’t hurt. He’s said worst to my face. But it does. This is how he takes his revenge. Not a roundhouse blow to the gut. That would be too quick. It’s better to take strips out of my hide one at a time.

  You signed up for this by taking the job, I remind myself. And you can walk away any time you want. When you can’t take it anymore.

  “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask politely, my voice and posture stiff. “It’s six o’clock.”

  It’s amazing how swiftly his expression goes from mocking to cold. Icy cold. He tips his chin toward the door. “Go.”

  I waste no time following his order to the letter.

  The deluge begins around eight o’clock. People pour into Zenith’s until it’s standing room only. By nine, getting to the bar to place my orders is a body contact sport, something a few too many guys appear to like a little too much. It’s a good thing I’m quick and agile, and a pro at evading unwanted hands.

  I’m on my way back to my section when I spot Dani seating a very familiar looking group. I smile. The second April and Rebecca spot me, wide grins break out over their faces as they spring to their feet.

  Dani, whom I spent a total of fifteen minutes shadowing for the night, glances over her shoulder at me. “Friends of yours?” she asks dryly.

  I give a happy nod.

  “Good. It’s your table now.” With that, she changes course and moves on to another table in the section we’re sharing.

  The gang’s all here. Well, except for Liv and Zach, who decided to spend a quiet weekend away before classes and football begin playing havoc with their time together. And here I thought them living together covered that whole issue of “togetherness”. But what do I know having never lived with a guy.

  April and Rebecca rush to embrace me. After two exuberant hugs, both resume their seats beside their boyfriends.

  “Hi guys.” I wave cheerfully at Troy and Scott and they respond with easy smiles. Blond, tanned and good-looking, Scott is Rebecca’s boyfriend. They don’t live in the same apartment building as the rest of us, so I don’t see them as much as I do the others.

  “We popped in thirty minutes ago and didn’t see you,” April says.

  I look around. “Are you kidding? I’ve been crazy busy the last hour. Where were you?”

  “Waiting for a table,” Troy replies, wearing the long-suffering look of a guy who’s here unde
r duress. I’m sure he’d rather be back at the apartment doing other things.

  “Forty-minute wait,” Scott informs me.

  I grimace. “I knew the wait times had been climbing since the after-work crowd hit, but I didn’t know it’s that long now.”

  “No worries. We’ve got all night,” April says, pressing a quick kiss on her boyfriend’s lips, eliciting a smoldering look from him.

  Forty-minute wait instantly forgotten. That’s the kind of effect she has on him. He’d do pretty much anything for her, even if it means spending the night in a crowded club when he’d much rather be home.

  I retrieve my pad and pen from my pouch. “Okay, what’ll you have to drink?” I skip our mandatory ID check since I know for a fact they’re of age.

  After I’m done taking their drink orders, I return to the bar. As I approach—getting jostled right and left, and I’m sure some perv just pinched my ass—I debate whether to battle my way all the way to Jason’s side or deal with Graham, who’s taken over bartending since Sam went home. Honestly, I’d rather not have to deal with him in any capacity right now.

  Buck up! Just hand him the order. He doesn’t bite.

  I steel myself as I silently slip the order onto the tray. He turns and looks at me then, which is too bad as I was hoping to slink away. “When you get a chance.” I try to hit the balance between friendly and professional.

  He plucks my order from the tray and peruses it quickly. He lifts his gaze to mine. “Did you get their ID?”

  “Yeah, they’re fine.”

  “No, you didn’t.” His reply is sharp and swift, like a dart, his expression hard.

  I’m thrown and more than a little frazzled as I stare at him, eyes wide, mind momentarily blank. I shake my head in confusion. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”