The guy exudes this quiet confidence that reassures me, and I believe I’m in safe hands. I’m feeling a lot more relaxed as I leave his office, and that’s a massive improvement from when I arrived.
One hour, and one massive ass-kicking from Luke, later, I’m finally standing outside my new apartment block, squinting in the faint afternoon sun as I look up at the top of the building, skimming my gaze over the large penthouse apartment that I’ll call home for the next while.
There’s a spring in my step as I skip into the building for the first time, and an air of anticipation swirls around me.
For the first time in years, I finally feel like I’m getting to do something for me.
Like I can properly breathe and the air is less restricting here.
Perhaps it’s all in my head.
But, for now, I’m determined to make the most of this time.
To reconnect with the art of creating music.
To rediscover who I am.
Because, for the last few years, I’ve lost all sight of the real Shawn Lucas.
And it’s time to rectify that.
CHAPTER THREE
Dakota
“Shit!” I mumble under my breath, quickening my pace as I pound the streets. It’s not like me to sleep through my alarm, but I guess all the late nights are starting to catch up to me. Prof Jennings is a complete stickler for timekeeping, and she’ll make an example of me if I’m late. I probably should’ve called a taxi, but we don’t live that far from the business school, and I figured it would be just as quick to walk. With only five minutes to spare, I’m definitely second-guessing myself now.
Extracting my cell from the pocket of my jean skirt, I begin tapping out a quick message to Elsa, to see if she can buy me some time. I’m not watching where I’m going as I race around the corner onto the campus, slamming full-force into solid resistance. My cell flies out of my hand the same time I wobble on my feet, arms and legs flailing about as I struggle to remain upright. A shriek tumbles from my mouth when I start falling. My book bag slips off my shoulder onto the ground as I grapple to maintain balance.
Large hands snake around my back, and I’m hauled against a hard, warm, masculine chest. My face is buried in his shirt, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the way I’m held against him. How firmly his hands are gripping my lower back and all the ways in which we are pressed together. I swallow over the sudden ripple of electricity in the air. Notes of citrus and sandalwood tickle my nostrils, and I inhale the intoxicating masculine smell without stopping to think about it.
“Da fuck? Did you just sniff me?” Disbelief and derision are evident in his tone.
Slowly, I tip my chin up, completely embarrassed but ready to apologize, when I’m waylaid by the most gorgeous face I’ve ever seen. His strong jaw is peppered with a light layer of stubble, and he has full, pouty lips—currently twisted into a sneer, but I’m purposely ignoring that fact for now. His expressive green eyes are encased behind trendy black-rimmed glasses, only adding to the appeal. I’ve always had a thing for hot, nerdy guys in glasses, and this dude measures up even if there’s nothing nerdy about him at all. With lustrous, dark hair shorn tight at the sides and worn long and effortlessly messy on top, this guy is seriously hot. Like Hollywood-level hot.
I’m already salivating.
And imagining licking every inch of his delectable body.
I jerk out of his hold as the thought lands in my mind, my cheeks flushing slightly at my barefaced visceral reaction.
“And why the fuck weren’t you watching where you were going?” he demands, bending down to the ground with an irritated scowl etched across his delicious face.
I can’t help ogling him as he bends over, noticing how his shirt stretches tight across his toned back, the hem riding up a few inches, exposing a strip of smooth, tan skin. My mouth is suddenly dry, my panties damp, and a foreign feeling rushes through me.
I take a step back as he straightens up, thrusting my cell and my bag at me. My eyes unashamedly roam his body from head to toe, and butterflies scatter in my chest. This guy is tall, at least over six feet, and he’s built. Nicely built. Not overdone or too bulky. He’s lean, with broad shoulders, abs that are clearly defined, even through the cotton of his tight shirt, and long, muscular legs that should be illegal on a guy.
He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a real piece of work.”
My eyelids flutter incessantly as I stare at him through a haze of lust.
This guy is something else.
And I’m making a total fool of myself.
I clear my throat and prepare to eat crow. I did bump into him after all, and I’ve been blatantly objectifying him since. “I’m so sorry. For knocking into you and for, ah …” How exactly does one apologize for such blatant drooling?
“Treating me like man candy?” He smirks knowingly, and the smug, condescending expression on his face raises my hackles. Arrogance is one of my pet peeves in a guy. Should’ve known someone who looks like this would get hit on a lot and that it’d go straight to his over-inflated head.
“You caught me unaware,” I explain, holding his gaze in what I hope is a neutral but confident manner. “But I apologize for my inappropriate behavior.”
He smirks again, and it shaves a layer of attractiveness off his face. He opens his mouth to speak when a ping erupts from his cell, capturing both our attention.
My nostrils flare as I spot the open game app on his phone. “Hang on here a second.” I plant my hands on my hips and glare at him. “You weren’t looking where you were going either!” I gesture at his cell. “You were too damned busy playing Fortnite to notice me! This is as much your fault as it is mine.”
“You’re just splitting hairs, Blondie.” He messes the top of my head, and I see red.
“Don’t call me that! It’s insulting and sexist.”
Cocking his head to the side, he stares incredulously at me. “And the way you were checking me out wasn’t?”
Valid point.
Douchebag.
Securing the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I calm myself before issuing my parting line. “Well, I guess that makes us even then.” I pierce him with a final scathing look before stepping away, walking briskly toward the entrance.
“You’re welcome,” he hollers after me, and I have a fleeting urge to flip him the bird, but I quell the impulse and keep my head high as I hurry toward class, composing plausible excuses to defend my tardiness in my head.
“Please, come,” Elsa pleads with me from across the table in the cafeteria.
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. “You know I would if I could, but I have to go home this weekend.”
“You’ve gone home every weekend, Kota. Surely your parents don’t expect you to keep that up indefinitely,” Tabitha cuts in.
“You won’t ever get freshman year back again,” Elsa adds, not realizing I understand that lesson more than anyone. I’ve already missed out on a year, so, trust me, I don’t want to waste any more time, but it’s not cut and dry.
“I know, but it’s complicated. My family needs me, and the main reason I chose to come to U of I was because it’s only a three-hour drive back home.”
Tabitha and Elsa share a look, and I stare down at my plate of uneaten food, wishing I had a magic lamp and I could summon a genie to puff me out of here. I know I’m going to have to explain the situation to my roomie and my new classmates soon, but I need to psych myself up for the multitude of questions they’ll have, and I’m not there yet.
“Hey.” Tabs stretches her hand across the table, squeezing mine. “It’s okay. We didn’t mean to get on your back. We just want you to have fun, and there’s safety in numbers at these frat parties. The last few have been wild.”
An itch crawls under my skin. I’ve never been the type to shy away from parties. He
ll, Cole and I barely missed a party our senior year, and I’d love nothing more than to cut loose, to escape my problems for a few hours, but the weight of responsibility won’t allow it.
“What about the following weekend?” Elsa suggests. “There’s a big blowout planned at Phi Kappa Psi. Their parties are legendary and are definitely not to be missed. Do you think your parents would let you stick around Friday night and go home on Saturday instead if they knew in advance?”
I’m not surprised she has logically come to the conclusion that this is about permission. Funny thing is, I could stay here and go to the party and not go home and Mom probably wouldn’t even notice.
But Dad would.
And that’s a whole other story.
“I’ll ask them this weekend,” I lie, hoping this puts an end to the discussion. Allowing myself to be deliberately distracted, I frown at the cracked screen of my cell. At least the phone still seems to be working, so I’ll only have to pay to replace the glass.
“Oh, yay!” Elsa claps her hands. “It’ll be so much fun. I really hope you can come.”
“Oh my God,” Tabs exclaims as we make our way to the auditorium for our income measurement class. “I totally forgot to mention this at lunch. There’s this gorgeous new hottie in my business law class. Like panties-instantly-wet-hot hottie. I spent the whole class imagining all the ways I could fuck him. Had to get myself off in the bathroom after class ended.”
I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach, with tears streaming out of my eyes. I laugh even harder when I spot the disgusted look on Elsa’s face.
Tabs has no filter.
Like zilch.
But it’s one of the things I love about her.
I was so lucky to meet both of them the day classes started and equally blessed that we all just instantly clicked. Tabs and Elsa went to the same school and they’ve been besties since second grade. I thought I might feel left out, but they’ve never made me feel anything but included. In general, everyone I’ve met here has been super friendly, and it’s helped make the transition easier, even if I am holding so much of myself back.
“Do you have to be so crude?” Elsa asks.
“Do you have to be such a prude?” Tabs retorts.
“I’m not a prude,” Elsa protests, elbowing Tabs in the ribs. “Just because I’m saving myself for my wedding night does not mean I’m a prude. I’m just exercising my right to wait.”
Tabs slings her arm around Elsa’s shoulder, smacking a loud kiss on her cheek. “Ah, I know that Els, and I would never criticize you for the choice you’ve made. I think it’s great you know what you want and you have the strength to stick to your convictions. But it works both ways, you know.” She gestures between them. “I’ve made a choice to bag as much cock as I can while I’m young, free, and single, and I’d like you to respect my decision.”
“I do. I truly do. That doesn’t mean I need to have it rubbed in my face all the time.”
“Speaking of rubbing …” Tabs has a wicked glint in her eye.
Elsa slaps a palm to her forehead. “You’re incorrigible. It’s just as well I love you.”
“You guys are so funny,” I cut in. “You should start your own comedy routine.”
“Nah,” Tabs says, shoulder-checking me. “We’re just here for your comedic enjoyment.”
“Speaking of hotties,” I say, cringing a little before the words have even left my mouth. “I crashed into this gorgeous guy this morning, and he was so fucking hot I lost all sense of reason. Made a complete spectacle of myself. Ogled him like he was a chocolate-covered strawberry dipped in champagne. I was only short of drooling, and it was so embarrassing.” I shrug a little. “Until he opened his mouth and released his inner asshole, and then I didn’t feel so bad.”
Tabs slings her arm around me. “Ooh, I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
“It’ll have to wait,” Elsa says, opening the door to the auditorium. “Class is about to start.”
“Rain check!” Tabs whispers as we step into the room. “We can compare notes.” She waggles her brows, and I stifle a laugh.
The assistant professor starts the class, and I attempt to take notes, but my mind wanders back to the guy from this morning. Being that good-looking isn’t fair on the rest of the male population. But his allure was more than just his insane hotness. He had this magnetic presence about him. This illusive power. And I felt conflicting emotions—an almost overwhelming compulsion to get to know him better and a potent urge to run a million miles in the opposite direction. Guys like him are trouble with a capital T. One second in his company and I was a messy pile of goo at his feet.
That doesn’t happen to me.
Like, ever.
I kissed plenty of boys before Cole and I went steady in tenth grade, and Cole and I got up to plenty of kinky shit, but even he didn’t have that kind of power over me.
The power to render me speechless.
To have me acting like a bumbling idiot.
How does that happen with a virtual stranger?
And why did it happen?
More to the point, why have I been obsessing over him all morning?
It makes no sense, and I have no time for boys.
Dad made his feelings clear, and while a part of me feels it’s irrational and unachievable, another part of me completely understands where he’s coming from and why he felt the need to lay down such heavy ground rules.
“Earth to Ms. Gray,” the prof barks out, and I snap out of my obsessive inner monologue.
I sit up straighter in my chair, clearing my throat as I look at the frustrated expression on his face. Shit on a brick. What did he ask me? And why, oh why, did he choose today to pick on me? The one day when I haven’t concentrated and I’m acting like a spaced-out zombie. “Would you mind repeating the question?”
He narrows his eyes at me, and I visibly shrink in my seat. He repeats it slowly, enunciating every word clearly, as if I’m stupid or deaf or maybe he thinks I’m a mix of both.
But the worst thing of all? I haven’t a clue what the answer is, so I guess I’m just going to affirm his assessment of me. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, as I squirm uncomfortably in my seat.
“I believe the answer is EBITDA,” a deep voice I recognize says from the row behind. All the tiny hairs on my arms lift in awareness, and I slink down even farther in my seat.
“If I wanted you to answer the question, Mr. Quinn, I would have asked you instead of Ms. Gray,” the prof responds, determined to prolong my agony.
“Some of us are here to learn,” he retorts. “Not waste half the class waiting for someone to answer something she clearly doesn’t know.”
“Oh my God,” Elsa murmurs under her breath. “What a jerk.”
“You’ve no idea,” I mumble in reply.
“I’d like to have a word with you after class, Mr. Quinn. You too, Ms. Gray. Both of you, please stay behind.”
I work hard to smother a groan. Seriously, could this day get any worse?
***
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Acknowledgments
I’m proud of every single book I’ve written, but When Forever Changes is a book I’m especially proud of because I’ve poured my heart and soul into this project, and I’ve spent months living with these characters, feeling everything they felt and living with this as if it was something I was actually going through myself. I’m emotionally and physically drained, especially because I couldn’t read over this without crying in several places, every single time. After writing the first part of the epilogue, I had to go downstairs to seek out a hug from my husband. My eldest son (he’s seventeen) was concerned when he saw me sobbing until he discovered I was crying over fictional characters I had created, and then he looked at me like I was crazy. But having these emotional moments is huge for me,
because it means I’ve delved deep and wrung every last drop of emotion I can from a scene. I’m feeling a huge sense of achievement to have executed this book in a way I believe does the story justice.
Gabby’s story has been in my head all year, and I was itching to write it by the time I sat down to start it. When this idea first came to me, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I would have done if I was Gabby, if I was faced with such heartbreaking situations at quite a young age. I felt a deep connection with Gabby, and I hope the emotion I was feeling has transferred to the pages. When I wrote the acknowledgments for Inseparable, I said if I’d done my job correctly then you, dear reader, should have felt all the feels. That sentiment applies here too. I hope you’ve experienced the whole gamut of emotions reading this but that ultimately you are happy because Gabby, Slater, and Billy are in a really good place in their lives when we say goodbye.
When I was growing up, in a small town in Ireland, cancer was quite prevalent, but it seemed to diminish for a certain period of time only to return in recent years worse than ever. At any one time, I always know at least a handful of people with cancer. It has touched my family on several occasions, and someone very close to me is battling cancer right now. My youngest son was devastated earlier this year when one of his friend’s fathers passed away very suddenly from cancer that was only diagnosed at the later stages, and it brought it all home again.
I think it’s quite conceivable that most everyone reading this book has been impacted by cancer in some way, so I hope I have portrayed Dylan’s situation, and the emotions surrounding his condition, appropriately and realistically and that I haven’t upset anyone too much.
I have to thank a few people who helped get this book published. My wonderful editor Kelly Hartigan who is extremely talented at what she does and a dream to work with. To Tamara Cribley of The Deliberate Page who shares my passion for stunning interiors. To Robin Harper for creating my all-time favorite cover, and thanks also to Sara Eirew for the gorgeous photo. I couldn’t do any of this without the support of my wonderful assistant, Lola Verroen. MASSIVE thanks to my amazing beta readers. Your feedback on every project is invaluable to me, and I really appreciate all the time and effort you put in: Jennifer Gibson, Sinead Davis, Deirdre Reidy, Dana Lardner, Danielle Smoot, and Karla Carroll. Thanks also to my ARC team, Sarah Ferguson of Social Butterfly PR, and bloggers around the world who help spread the word about my books. Much love to Siobhan’s Squad on Facebook and to all my READERS the world over. I never imagined I could have this career, and it’s all thanks to people like you who took a chance on one of my books, so, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU!
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