More Than Forever

by Jay McLean

  "I know she's your friend and you have to study and work with her, and I'm trying to be okay with it. I'm trying so hard not to be the annoying jealous girlfriend but it's hard for me."

  "I don't know what you want me to do. I can't drop the classes. I can't quit the—"

  "I know," she cuts in. "Just... think about my feelings. That's all."

  "Okay, babe. That's fair." I lean in and kiss her quickly. And then I test the waters. "How was your study group?"

  She looks away. "It was productive," she lies.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  -LUCY-

  As much as it hurts me to admit, things have changed. I don't know if it's me, or him, or both of us. Ever since the night at his work when I walked in on him and Roxy 'talking', he's been... off.

  He's always busy, which is fine, I get that. But he's also been moody. I try my best to match his moods. When he's happy, I'm genuinely happy. When he's down, I try to support him. For five weeks since that night, I've been trying to do everything I can to be there for him. To be what he needs and what he wants. We've spent every night together, because it's the only time we have. And when he tells me he's stressed and needs a release, I give it to him.

  The second Minge leaves the room for class he's on me. "I miss you so much," he whispers.

  My hands splay across his chest. His hands work on my breasts while I move on him. He licks his lips as his eyes bore into mine. Our breaths are heavy, uncontrolled by the pure lust that's driving us. He removes his hands and leans on his elbows, taking my nipple into his mouth. His eyes never leave mine. I continue my pace, waiting for the tension to build.

  And then it does.

  My eyes widen, like it's still a surprise that he can make me come.

  "Baby," I pant.

  "I know. I got you."

  He sits up, grabs my ass roughly and pulls me closer to him.

  My head throws back. His hips thrust faster, working me over the edge.

  "I wanna see you," he says. He licks his lips again then bites down on his bottom lip when he sees my face. Then he runs his finger along the sweat forming in my hairline.

  "Cam!"

  "Fuck, Lucy."

  His fingers curl in my hair, pulling my face down to his waiting mouth.

  We come together.

  And then, we fall apart.

  He walks into the shower and waits for me to get out to hand me a towel. "Thank you," I tell him.

  He's gazing down at the floor, chewing his thumb. I watch his throat bob when he swallows. "You didn't say I love you," he mumbles.

  "What do you mean?"

  He looks at me now, for seconds that feel like hours while I self-consciously dry my naked body. "After we have sex, you always tell me you love me. You didn't this time. You got off me and went straight in here. Why?"

  My eyebrows bunch, but I recover quickly. I try not to let his tone hurt me. "I'm sorry," I step forward and kiss him lightly. "I guess I just thought you had an early class so I didn't want to take up too much of your time."

  "It's Tuesday," he clips. "You know I don't start for another hour."

  My eyes drop to the floor, and I wait for my heart to stop pounding so hard. For the hurt to stop aching so much. I look up and fake a smile. "I'm sorry." My voice breaks, and I look away before he knows exactly how he made me feel. Because he doesn't need to worry about me, not on top of everything else.

  I turn around and slowly start dressing.

  His arms curl around my waist, before he wipes his eyes on my shoulder. I feel the warmth of his tears against my skin. "I'm an asshole."

  I push down my emotions and settle my hand on the back of his neck. "It's okay, you're stressed."

  Sighing, he pulls back and turns me to him. "Four more days, Luce. Four more days and I'll make it up to you." He picks me up by my waist and sits me on the counter, spreading my legs with his hands so he can stand between them. "Just please be patient with me. You deserve so much more than the way I've been treating you lately. You do everything for me, and I don't even appreciate it."

  "It's okay—"

  "No, it's not Lucy. I feel like you come here and we have sex and that's it. We—"

  He must see my gaze drop, because he cuts himself off.

  "What?" he whispers. "Is that how you feel? Do you think I use you for sex or something?" His voice cracks. Maybe because he knows he's right.

  I keep my eyes down, not wanting him to see my reaction. "I don't think you use me," I tell him. "And it goes both ways, Cam. I mean, I don't have to sleep with you... but I do."

  "Why do you?" He lifts my chin so he can see my face. His eyes dart between mine as he takes me in. All of me. "Why?" he repeats.

  I hesitate to answer, because I don't want to lie. But I'm scared of how the truth will make him feel.

  His brows furrow and his mouth turns down to a frown. "Lucy, why?"

  I push down my nerves, and the knot in my throat, and I tell him the truth, even though it kills me. "Because you spend all your time with a girl that I don't trust, and I want you to remember what's waiting for you. I want you to think of me, even when you're with her."

  His eyes narrow, and I think that he's about to lose it. About to yell at me like he's never done before. But then his shoulders sag and his features flatten. "Baby," he sighs. He wraps his arms around me—so tight, for so long, that slowly, he pieces us back together again. "I'm so sorry that you feel that insecure about us. I'm sorry that I haven't noticed. I should have." He pulls back slightly. "I don't ever want you to feel like my world doesn't begin and end with you. And I need to cut this shit because one day you're going to wake up and realize that there's someone better out there that's going to treat you right, Luce. And when you do..." His eyes narrow to a glare and a snarl pulls on his lips. His nose scrunches, right before he grunts, "I'll find them, and I'll kill them."

  My head throws back in laughter.

  He raises an eyebrow. "You think it's funny?"

  I nod through my snorts.

  "I don't think it's funny," he says, but he's smiling. "Seriously, Luce. I know the woods behind your house pretty well. I'm sure I could hide a dead body in there. I'll make it so it looks like little Logan did it. If any of your brothers were going to kill someone, it's him."

  "Stop it," I laugh. "He would not."

  "Lucy," he deadpans. "This one time when I was at your house, even before you attacked me with your virgin kisses—" He stops while I let out a cackle. "I poured him a bowl of cereal. He got out of his chair, picked out a knife from the drawer, sat back down and started stabbing the bowl. I asked what the fuck he was doing—but in nicer terms, obviously, because I was still trying to get in your pants... you know what he said?"

  I shake my head, my smile in full force.

  "He looked up at me and said..." He leans forward so his lips are to my ear and whispers, "Practicing to be a serial killer. Join forces, Cameron."

  I push him away, my body shaking with laughter. "He did not."

  His eyes are wide as he shakes his head. "Swear it, Luce. This shit's too good to make up."

  -CAMERON-

  "Oh my God," Roxy whines, flopping into the seat next to me. "I just handed in Masterson's project. Talk about cutting it fine. Not like we've had a few weeks to work on it," she scoffs.

  "The roof design?"

  "No," she laughs, "the entire design."

  I tense. "What?"

  "Yeah," she says, now looking worried. "The entire design's due tomorrow."

  Whatever look just took over my face has her eyes widening. "Cameron?"

  "The entire design is due tomorrow? When the fuck did this happen?"

  "Um. Just over a month ago," she says, like I'm a dumbass for not knowing.

  "Fuck."

  "You haven't finished?"

  "Roxy, I haven't even fucking started. I didn't even know it was due. Was I in class?"

  She eyes the ceiling, like she's deep in thought. "Dude..." she says,
finally looking back at me. "I think it was that time when your friend got attacked and you missed a couple classes."

  "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" I'm on my feet now, my heart thumping so loud in my ears I can barely see straight. "How much will it affect my grade if I don't hand it in?" I'm panicking, trying to keep down the bile that's risen in my throat.

  She grimaces. "Thirty percent."

  "Fuck." I get up and start packing my shit. "What time?"

  "What?"

  I want to yell at her for being stupid and not understanding. Instead, I try to take a calming breath. "What time is it due?"

  "Oh. Nine."

  I run my hand through my hair and pull. Hard. Closing my eyes, I try to work out if it's even physically possible for me to get it done, or whether to just take the grade and hope it doesn't affect my funding.

  "Cam, are you working tonight?"

  I shake my head, feeling the adrenaline course through me.

  "I have a studio set up in my shed out back. If you have all your sketches, I can help. I don't know that I'd be very good. I'm an artist, not an architect, remember?"

  "Please," I beg, because I have no other fucking choice.

  *

  I text Lucy when we get in my car. I tell her that I have a last minute study group on a project I didn't know existed. I tell that it'll be a late night, and that I'll call her when I'm done. And then I tell her that I love her.

  I fought a war in my head about whether to mention that Roxy was my study partner. I chose not to because I didn't want her to worry when she has absolutely no reason to.

  After five minutes, my phone starts blowing up. Not just her, but Jake and Dylan, too. I switch it off, because if I don't I won't be able to focus. And I need to fucking focus.

  We walk through her house to get to the yard. It reminds me of Mom's house. The one I grew up in. Last year, she finally bit the bullet and sold it. Now she lives with Mark—and they've never been happier.

  Roxy's shed is a converted art studio with homemade light boxes and drafting tables. Kind of like the ones Tom made me, only nowhere near as good. She has her art framed and hanging off the walls. She's good, really fucking good, but I don't have time to take them in.

  She finishes switching the lights on and turns to me. "I'll call for pizza and then we'll get started, okay?"

  I nod as I pull out my folio and spread my sketches on the desk. "Where the fuck do I even start?" I mumble to myself.

  I feel the warmth of her hand on my back. "It's okay, C-Money. We'll get it done. Even if it takes us all night."

  "What about you?" I ask, stepping out of her reach.

  She shrugs. "I have a final in the afternoon. I've studied my ass off, I'm good."

  Sighing, I say, "You're saving my ass, Rox. Thank you."

  She shrugs again. "I'm sure you'll find a way to pay me back."

  She winks.

  I ignore it.

  *

  My eyes are so fucking heavy and my body is so fatigued, that I can't even draw a straight line using a ruler.

  She sets a cup of coffee next to me. "You're almost done, Champ. You got this."

  I stand up and stretch my legs and then my arms, yawning loudly as I do.

  She sips her coffee and looks over my work. "Hey, your rendering's gotten a lot better."

  "Thanks." I drink my coffee quickly and get back to work.

  Half an hour later, I'm done.

  She fake-claps and cheers, not wanting to be loud. I have no idea how long we've been in here, working almost non-stop.

  "Thank you so much," I tell her.

  She punches my arm. "No problem."

  We walk through her house and out to my car.

  Or what should be my car.

  Only it has no wheels.

  She snorts.

  I glare at her.

  "Sorry." She grimaces.

  "Who the fuck would jack my wheels?"

  "I'm sorry," she says sympathetically. "I probably should have warned you about parking a Delorean in my neighborhood."

  I drop my bags, my folio, and myself, onto the sidewalk. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I lift my knees and rest my arms on them.

  "I'd give you a ride," she says, sitting down next to me. "But my car's still not fixed."

  I turn on my phone. Ten missed calls from Lucy, Jake and Dylan. Then I curse when I see the time. "It's three?"

  "Yup."

  "Oh my God." I go through my phone contacts, deciding who the fuck to call. I try Jake first, he doesn't answer. I try Dylan, but his phone's off. And then I do what I should've done first, but was too afraid to do. I call Lucy.

  She answers on the first ring. "Hey," her voice is scratchy from sleep. "Did you just finish your study group?"

  "Yeah," I sigh, shaking my head and trying to avoid the inevitable.

  "We were trying to call you."

  "I know. I switched my phone off so I could focus."

  "Oh okay. Well, I need to tell you something, are you coming by now? I'll unlock the door."

  "Fuck," I accidentally say out loud.

  "Cameron?"

  And for some reason Roxy thinks it's a great time to pipe up. "Just tell her, C-Money."

  I narrow my eyes and shake my head at her.

  Lucy gasps. "Do I need to ask who that is?" she whispers.

  "Luce, the fucking wheels on my car got jacked, and I'm stranded. I wouldn't ask if I didn't need your help."

  Silence.

  Finally, she speaks, "Why doesn't someone else in your study group give you a ride?"

  I blow out a long, drawn out breath. "Because, Luce, there was no one else."

  She hangs up.

  I put my phone away.

  "You want me to make you a bed?" Roxy asks.

  "No, she's coming."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I know Lucy. And I know that she loves me, even when I don't deserve it."

  Twenty minutes later, she's here.

  *

  She hasn't said a word. She hasn't even looked at me. Not until she stops the car and nudges me to wake me up. "You're home," she deadpans.

  I sit up and look around. We're at my dorm. "Stay with me tonight?"

  Her eyes stay fixed on mine.

  My breath catches and a slow burn forms in my chest as I watch her eyes fill with tears. She doesn't blink. She doesn't let them fall. Instead, she nods and makes her way out of the car and toward my room. I follow behind her, not speaking, not knowing what to say so that I can bring us both back to this morning, after we talked shit through and everything felt like normal. Nothing feels like normal lately, and right now, I need normal.

  I open my door and wait for her to get into bed. She lies on her side, facing the wall. We face each other when we sleep. That's the way it's always been. So this is more that just her lying in my bed. It's a message. A form of punishment—one that I deserve. I get in behind her, push one arm under her pillow and the other around her waist, and I pull her close. "Lucy, can I at least explain?"

  Her breathing gets faster and her body tenses. "Dylan enlisted in the Marines. He didn't want anyone knowing so tonight was his last night. He wanted to say goodbye to you, that's why we were calling."

  My eyes drift shut when I hear the disappointment in her voice. I get it. I'm disappointed in myself. I should have been there for him. And I shouldn't have kept it from her. I should have been honest from the start. I should have done what she fairly asked and thought about her feelings.

  I know she's doing everything she can to keep it together because I can feel her chest heaving, and then stopping. Starting. And then stopping. "Maybe you should try to remember your old friends. The ones who've always been there for you."

  And now I'm pissed because I know who my friends are. She doesn't need to fucking remind me. "You think I wanted to miss out on saying goodbye to him? He was one of my best friends. Now he's gone, Logan's gone and Jake's always busy. I have no one left."


  "You have Roxy."

  My voice rises. "You don't even fucking know what happened, Lucy."

  She flinches and drops her chin to her chest, like she's physically shrinking in my arms. I roll onto my back, and pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to God it relieves the pounding in my head and the ache throughout my entire body.

  "Your mom called," she says quietly. "They want to come here on Friday after your last final. They want to take us out for dinner. I said you'd call her back."

  "Why? You could have just yes."

  "Because," she answers, her voice strained. "I didn't know if you'd be up to faking it."

  "Faking what?"

  "Faking us."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  -LUCY-

  He shakes my arm gently. "Lucy," he whispers. My eyes drift open, expecting to see his chest, the way I've woken up more times than not in the past. But I don't see him. All I see is the blank wall of his room. I feel the bed dip, and then his hand on my arm again. "Luce."

  I flip onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. My emotions from last night flood my mind and I don't want him to see the tears already forming.

  "Baby." He clears his throat. "I made you something."

  My eyes snap to him, and my heart breaks at the look on his face. His brows are drawn and his jaw's clenched. His eyelids are heavy as he blinks. Once. Twice. His breaths are long, slow, like it takes everything in him to keep it together.

  Sitting up, I put my hands on my lap, palms up.

  I close my eyes and I wait.

  I whimper when I hear the sound of paper unfolding. The sound that reminds me of how much he loves me.

  And I let the walls between us crumble.

  My heart thumps against my chest, waiting for the moment he tells me to open my eyes.

  "Open them," he whispers.

  I do.

  But I don't look down at his sketch. I look at him. And for once, I try to read him. Because he's always been an open book. He's always been so raw, and so sure about what he feels, and what he wants. But now... now, I have no idea. I have no idea what he wants. Or if I'm even part of it.

  "Are you gonna look at it?"

  My gaze drops to the sketch in my hands. It's not of me. Not just me. It's of us, from above, lying in bed. My face to his chest, our arms around each other, holding on. "You're my art, Luce. My heart."