Forever Ours (Shattered Hearts Book 1)

by Cassia Leo

  “Come on,” he pleads. “I have something I want to show you, but I want to do it alone. I don’t want to ask Tristan to take us. Please?”

  I stare into his eyes for a moment and he tilts his head. His brown hair always looks calculatedly messy, the way it’s just long enough to cover his ears yet still sticks out in all the right places. His skin is so smooth; I often find myself wishing I could press my lips to his cheek just to feel the softness of his skin. And don’t even get me started on the metal stud in his tongue. The way he plays with it when he’s tuning his guitar makes the butterflies in my stomach cry tears of joy. I don’t know what Chris sees in me other than the way my hand seems to fit so perfectly in his.

  He pulls me a little closer and lifts my hand to his mouth. My heart races as he lays a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Claire, it’s your birthday. And I know you probably haven’t had a whole lot of birthdays you want to remember for the rest of your life, but I want this birthday to be the one you never forget. Let me take you for a ride.”

  I stare at his lips as he says these words and that’s when it happens. This is that moment; the moment where everything slows down and nothing is ever the same.

  Forever Floating

  Chris pulls the motorcycle out of the garage and onto the street in front of the driveway because I’m afraid we’ll fall if he goes down the driveway with both of us on the bike. It’s a regular old racing bike that he picked up from a neighbor’s house on his birthday; the day I went with him to Shayla’s house.

  The body is lime-green with a black racing stripe that’s peeling off. He claims he’s already saving up for a new bike. And if he can just score a few well-paying gigs this year, he’ll get it for his next birthday.

  “Come on.”

  He nods toward the back of the bike as he squeezes the handlebar and revs the engine. The exhaust pipe coughs out a small cloud of gray smoke that smells like gasoline. He pats the seat behind him and smiles.

  I double-check the strap on the helmet Chris bought for me a couple of weeks ago, then I grab his waist and swing my leg over the back of the bike. My stomach vaults when my body is pressed against his back.

  “Hold on tight!” he shouts so he can be heard over the sound of the engine and through both of our helmets.

  I lean closer to him and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. He reaches back and slides his hand down the side of my thigh until his hand is behind my knee. Then he pulls my leg up to prop my foot on the spoke. He does the same with my other leg and I can hardly breathe from the embarrassment as something pulses between my legs. It’s the engine. It has to be rumble of the engine.

  He grabs both my hands and pulls them tighter around him, then he gives me a thumbs-up. Now we’re all set. Great.

  I close my eyes and lean the side of my helmet against the back of his right shoulder. I let out a soft scream when he takes off, but I’m quiet the rest of the way. He takes it easy on me the whole way there; going extra slow on the turns and easy on the acceleration. But I’m still ecstatic when he arrives at Moore Square in downtown Raleigh.

  My thighs are still humming from the vibration of the motorcycle engine as I stand next to the bike, waiting for Chris to remove his helmet. He hangs his helmet from a hook inside a compartment hidden beneath the seat cushion. Then he turns to me and smiles as he reaches for the strap on my helmet. The tips of his fingers are a bit calloused, probably from playing the guitar without a pick. He hates using guitar picks when he’s practicing.

  Goosebumps sprout over my arms and I try not to look at his face as he finally gets my helmet strap unhooked. He gently lifts the helmet off my head and I can feel him staring at me. I bite my lip and try to regulate my breathing. This is it. He’s going to kiss me.

  I muster the courage to look up into his eyes and he lets out a soft chuckle. “You did good. I think I only heard you scream once,” he says, and I let out the breath I was holding as he turns around and hangs my helmet on the same hook where he hung his.

  He locks up the seat compartment, then he grabs my hand and nods toward the park area where dozens of white tents are set up for some type of blues music festival. Closer to Blount Street, there are some animal petting zoos set up with billy goats and lambs. The grassy smell of hay hangs thick in the humid summer air as we pass the animal pens.

  “You want to ride a pony for your birthday?” he asks.

  “I think I stopped qualifying for pony rides when I stopped dotting my I’s with hearts.”

  He laughs and lifts my hand to his mouth to plant a kiss on the backs of my knuckles. “I — That’s why I like you.”

  Suddenly, he looks nervous. As if he almost blurted out something he thought he’d regret.

  I squeeze his hand twice before he looks at me. “I like you, too.”

  He chuckles as he shakes his head. He knows I know what words almost slipped off his tongue. That perfect pierced tongue. And now he knows that I feel the same way.

  Oh, God. Please let him kiss me today.

  We get to the booths and that’s when the fun begins. Chris chats up the vendors at each booth and we learn all about the various types of blues music, from bluegrass and acid blues to R&B and Canadian blues. I never realized how many different genres of blues music there were. The vendors play their music, some of them have musicians in their tents playing. Chris buys me the CDs he thinks I like, or that I should like. He’s a little pushy when it comes to introducing me to new music. Then we sit on the grass and watch a few bands play on the big stage.

  Around six p.m., when Jackie normally gets home from work, Chris’s phone rings and he pulls it out of his back pocket. But it doesn’t look like his usual phone. It’s a brand new smartphone.

  He answers the call, then he passes the phone to me. “It’s for you.”

  I’m a little hesitant as I take the phone. “Hello?”

  “Happy birthday, sweetie!”

  It’s Jackie. Something about hearing her voice today gets me all emotional.

  “Thank you.”

  “How do you like your new phone? I hope it’s a nice one. Chris wouldn’t let me pay for it.”

  I stare at Chris, then I hold the phone a few inches from my face to get another look at it. “This is mine?”

  “Of course! He didn’t tell you. Oh, Chris. Always trying to be so sneaky.”

  I smile at Chris and blink a few times so I don’t cry. I’ve never had a cell phone. And I haven’t gotten a birthday present in a few years.

  “Thank you,” I whisper again because I don’t know what else to say.

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. I’ll see you two tonight. Don’t be home too late. I have a beautiful cake for you.”

  I press the red icon to end the call, then I hold the phone in my lap. “I thought you were saving for another bike.”

  “I’ll still get my bike. I’ve just gotta do a few more gigs. No problem.”

  His smile is so soft and his brown eyes are so hopeful. I can see that all he wants to know is that this gift made me happy.

  “Thank you…. This has been the best birthday… I’ve ever had.”

  He reaches up and brushes away the tear that’s about to fall from my eye. “You deserve the best.”

  I smile and take a deep breath, then I hold out the phone to him. “Can you autograph it for me? So it will still be worth something when you’re rich and famous.”

  He smiles as he reaches up and softly places his index finger on my lips. “I’d rather put my signature here.”

  My heart pounds as he leans toward me. This is it.

  His lips land softly over mine and I breathe in the cinnamon scent of the churros we ate earlier. His lips linger there for a moment and I have to remind myself to breathe. Then he kisses me again, parting his lips just a little bit this time. With each kiss, he opens his mouth just a little wider. Until, finally, he slips his tongue into my mouth.

  The first thing I taste is sugar, t
hen cinnamon, then the soft metallic flavor of the metal stud in his tongue. That’s when I know this is real.

  His tongue brushes against mine and I try to mimic everything he does. And I think I’m doing pretty well when he lets out a soft moan. This spurs me on and I reach up to hold the back of his neck.

  We kiss like this, just sitting on the grass under the oak trees, for a while. But it’s not long enough. When he finally pulls away and lays a soft kiss on my nose, I think my lips are a bit numb.

  “Happy birthday, Claire.” He plants another kiss on the corner of my mouth. “I love you.”

  My entire body feels so light and warm, like a hot-air balloon ready to take flight.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

  Forever Addicted

  I tumble out of bed and drag myself out of my bedroom and into the hallway. When I push open the bathroom door, my eyes widen at what I’ve stumbled upon. Claire is standing next to the toilet, holding her new cell phone over the toilet bowl. Her lips are pressed together in a hard line across her delicate face.

  “What the fuck?” is the first thing that slips out of my mouth.

  “I don’t want this thing anymore.”

  “Please don’t drop it in the toilet.”

  “What is the point of having a cell phone if you never answer it?”

  Oh, shit. She’s had this phone two months and it’s turned her into a crazy person. I don’t dare say this out loud, but I’m beginning to wish I’d gotten her something else for her birthday.

  If I don’t call her back within a few minutes, she accuses me of playing games. If she doesn’t call me back right away, it’s because she was busy. I don’t think she even realizes how insane this sounds.

  “What do you want me to do? Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” I inch closer to her and she smiles when she realizes she has my attention. “You want me to promise I’ll never wait more than five minutes to call you back? Would that make you happy?”

  She loses the smile and purses her lips. “This phone has turned me into an addict. I look at it every two minutes to check for missed calls and texts from you. It’s sick!”

  I reach for her wrist and slowly move my hand down until the phone is in my hand. I place it gently on the bathroom counter, then I look her in the eyes.

  “Babe, you’re not addicted to your phone. You’re addicted to me.”

  “Shut up!” she smacks my chest and I try not to laugh too loud.

  I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me. She’s breathing hard as my lips hover over hers. “Don’t you have to get ready for school?”

  “It’s a late day. I don’t have to be at school for two and a half hours.”

  I smile. It actually makes me happy that I can’t remember what day is a late day anymore since I quit school. The only regret I have about quitting school is that Claire is alone now. With Jake and Rachel graduated, and Tristan hanging out with his new girlfriend, Ashley, Claire says she spends most of her time outside of class reading.

  “Good, ‘cause I have plans for you…. I gonna text you for two hours straight.”

  “You’re such a jerk!”

  She tries to push me away and I lean in to kiss her. At first she closes her mouth, but she laughs when I plant a loud kiss on her cheek. And I seize the opportunity to kiss her hard.

  Seconds later, we’re lying on my bed, the sheets bunched up beneath her and my hand easing down her waist to her hip. She grabs my hand to stop me and I smile as I move my hand up. I trail my lips over her smooth jaw and plant a soft kiss on her neck. I hear a sniffing noise and I quickly pull my head back, afraid she’s crying.

  “Oh, my God. You smell so good,” she says, leaning forward so she can sniff my shoulder.

  “Really?”

  She grabs fistfuls of my T-shirt and brings them to her nose as she inhales. “Yes! Is that some kind of cologne or something?”

  “No, it’s laundry soap and you use the same one.”

  “No, it has to be something else.”

  I reach up and lightly drag my fingertip across her jawline. “Yeah, it’s laundry soap and my pheromones, which you obviously can’t get enough of. Addict.”

  “Shut up.”

  “What? There’s nothing wrong with that. I can’t get enough of your scent either.” I bury my face in the crook of her neck and she lets out a soft gasp when I lick her skin. “You smell sweet and salty at the same time, like raspberries with a hint of the beach. It’s fucking intoxicating.”

  “Really?” she breathes. “That’s what I smell like to you?”

  I nuzzle my nose against the sensitive spot behind her ear and she giggles softly. “See what you do to me? I can’t get enough of you.”

  I kiss her neck and her skin is so soft, I want to devour her. But I respect her boundaries. So minutes later, we’re on my bike on the way to drop her off at school. As usual, she plants a kiss on the front of my helmet, leaving a kiss mark on the glass. Then she bats my hand away when I try to grab her ass as she walks away.

  Something about this feels too perfect. I keep waiting for my mom to tell me that Claire’s being moved to another foster home. Or that my mom will find out about us and Claire’s caseworker will have her removed from our home.

  Something bad is coming. It could be next week or next year. All I know is that this can’t continue the way it has. It’s too perfect. Nothing in my life has ever been this good or easy.

  Forever Thankful

  December 25, 2009

  Christmas at the Knight house is quiet and warm; just the way I remember it being with my mom. My mom used to put on the TV to whatever channel was playing the black and white movie marathon. Then we’d decorate the little tabletop tree she set up on the kitchen table with the sound of It’s A Wonderful Life playing in the background. The only gifts I ever remember getting from my mother on Christmas were a book about the Milky Way and a puzzle of the solar system. I wish I still had that book.

  After a huge feast of roast chicken, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and mashed potatoes, I feel as if I might burst. But I can’t let Jackie do the dishes after cooking such a huge spread.

  “I can do that,” I say, scooting in next to her at the kitchen sink.

  Chris sandwiches her on the other side and we gently scoot her back. “Go sit down. We’ll do this.”

  Chris washes while I dry the dishes and put them away. Occasionally, his hand will linger on mine when he passes me a plate or a cup and I have to shoot him a severe look to get him to let go. Jackie doesn’t know anything about Chris and me, and we have to keep it that way. I don’t know what I’d do if she found out about us and I were placed in another home.

  When we’re done with the dishes, Chris and I join Jackie in the living room to open presents. Chris gets an expensive motorcycle jacket and a gift card to his favorite music store from Jackie. Chris and I give Jackie a silver bracelet with three emeralds, which makes her cry for some reason. And Jackie gives me a gift card to my favorite book store and a new winter coat.

  When it comes time for Chris and I to exchange gifts, my stomach is in knots. I know Chris wouldn’t give me anything too expensive or personal. He doesn’t want his mom to know about us anymore than I do. But I’m nervous about what he’ll think of my gift to him.

  “You go first,” he says, and I shrug like it’s no big deal.

  I tear open the wrapping paper on the small box and my heart races. Lifting the lid on the white box, I find another smaller box inside. I open that box and find a small envelope. When I open the envelope, I find a picture of me and my mom.

  My mother’s sitting on the same sofa where she died. I’m sitting in her lap, my head nestled in the crook of her neck as she kisses my forehead. The picture is too fuzzy to see the track-marks on her arms. We look like a normal mother and daughter.

  “How did you get this?” I whisper through the painful lump in my throat
.

  “I asked my mom to talk to your caseworker and she contacted the lady you used to live next door to when you lived with your mom. This was the only picture she had. Are you upset?”

  I shake my head. “Thank you.”

  “It’s a beautiful picture of you two,” Jackie adds with a gentle smile that actually makes me feel worse.

  Chris begins tearing the wrapping paper away from his gift and I’m grateful for the distraction. When he lifts the lid on the box, he lets out a soft chuckle. He lifts the T-shirt out of the box and holds it up for us to see.

  I had to skip lunch at school for a couple of weeks to save up enough money for the shirt, but it was totally worth it. The black T-shirt has a white silhouette of a guy playing the guitar on the front, and the letters CK on the bottom right. The back of the shirt reads, “Music is my religion.” A quote from his idol, Jimi Hendrix.

  “You made this?”

  “Some guy in my English class designed the image on the front,” I reply.

  “Some guy in your English class?”

  I swallow hard when I realize he’s jealous, but this is not the right place for him to be jealous.

  “Just some guy…. Anyway, I took the design to that T-shirt shop in the mall and they put it on there. Do you like it?”

  He looks conflicted, like he wants to address the issue about the guy in English class who designed a shirt for me, but he knows he can’t do it with Jackie here. Something about this makes me want to laugh.

  “Yeah, I like it.”

  “Oh, please, Chris,” Jackie remarks. “Show a little more gratitude. I think it’s a very thoughtful gift.”

  “It is,” he adds, looking me in the eye. “I love it.”

  He puts emphasis on the word love and it makes my stomach flip.

  Chris and I stay downstairs to watch a movie while Jackie heads to bed early after a long day of cooking. We always wait at least an hour after she goes up before we let down our guards. When that hour is up, I look at Chris and he’s already staring at me from the other end of the sofa.