Loved You Always

by Natalina Reis

  Shortly after that, his mother informed me she had received news from the runaway son. He was fine. He was in Europe with a girl he fell in love with. My heart broke into a million pieces and, being honest, it was still in pieces even after five years.

  The phone buzzed. How long had I been staring at myself in the mirror? My hands, gripping the marble counter for dear life, had gone numb and my throat was dry. The phone kept ringing even as I snatched it from the counter. It was an unknown number. I knew I should probably ignore the call, but the goody-two-shoes in me couldn’t make herself do it.

  “Hello?”

  “Em, it’s me, Jem.” As if I wouldn’t recognize his voice. It had been a long time, but his voice was engraved in my memory forever. My best friend. My love. “Can we meet for dinner?”

  I found that I had lost the ability to think or articulate thoughts rationally. “Where?” I had become monosyllabic.

  “Is our old hangout still open?” The Old Bookstore. Yes, it was still open. “Can we meet there in twenty minutes?”

  Not knowing what to wear for such an occasion, I slipped into a pair of jeans and a comfortable T-shirt. Why should I dress up for him? I was almost at the door when I made a full turn and went to change. I didn’t want him to think I had let myself go in his absence. God knew he didn’t need more air pumped into his already inflated ego. From the inside of my closet I dug up a sexy midnight-blue top. As a compromise, I kept my comfortable jeans on.

  A bundle of nerves had settled in my stomach. I was going to throw up at any moment. Damn it, Jem! Even after all this time I still felt like a teenager when it came to him. I was twenty-nine, but my heart didn’t seem to be aware of that.

  Good thing there was little traffic, because I wasn’t sure how I got to the restaurant. My head was so full I must have driven on autopilot. The next thing I knew I was parking in the tiny parking lot, my hands slipping off the steering wheel and my heart on a drumming rampage.

  The Old Bookstore, in spite of its name, did not sell books. It was a coffee shop that had been built in an old bookstore. Leftover bookshelves lined the walls, packed with books and caffeine paraphernalia. Small wooden tables and chairs peppered the old floors, and overstuffed armchairs in every corner invited patrons to read over a cup of steamy coffee.

  My heart jumped to my throat when I saw him. Alone in one of our favorite booths, beautiful and youthful as always. Will he ever grow old? His blond hair was tousled around his boy-next-door face, a faded strip of freckles across the bridge of his nose setting the stage for his amazing blue eyes. For a moment I contemplated a quick getaway, but his eyes met mine before I could do it. A smile curved his generous lips and he waved.

  With a big dry gulp, I forced myself to walk toward the booth, but I couldn’t muster more than a grimace. As much as I loved that beautiful jerk, I was too angry at him to offer him the comfort of a forgiving smile.

  Standing, Jem came toward me with his arms open wide and, before I could stop him, I found myself enfolded in his embrace, crushed against his chest and with his lips on my face. “Oh my God, Emily Rose, I missed you so much. You are a sight for sore eyes.”

  How dare he kiss me like nothing had happened? But I couldn’t extricate myself from his embrace. It was so good. It felt like home in his long, warm arms, the subtle scent of him intoxicating me all over again. My arms were itching to reciprocate the hug, but I was paralyzed and they remained solidly along my sides. He didn’t seem to notice and continued to squeeze me against him, depositing kiss after kiss on my flushed cheeks and nose.

  Finally, he pulled me away from him a little and scanned my body from top to bottom. “You look as gorgeous as ever,” he exclaimed. He sounded so sincere my heart thawed just a little. “I can’t believe I’m here with you. At last.”

  Still silent, my lips glued together in shock and fear of what may come out of them, I sat across from him in the booth. My breathing was erratic and my hands were still sweaty. I wiped them on my pants and swallowed again.

  “You look like you’re in shock.” Really? And he was surprised? “I have so much to tell you.”

  Amazed at how casual he sounded after such a long absence, I snapped. “What the hell, Jem! You were gone—without as much as a good-bye—for five freaking years and you expect me to just pick up where we left off?” It came out much louder than I intended and I noticed a few of the other patrons staring at us. I lowered my voice. “You’ve got some nerve.”

  Jem’s face had fallen a bit. He’d truly thought I was going to welcome him with open arms and forget the fact that I hadn’t heard from him in all this time. Was he really that arrogant?

  “I know. You have every right to be mad.”

  Hell yes, I had the right to be raving mad. Afraid that I might actually breathe fire, I lowered my eyes to my lap.

  “I was an idiot to leave without saying good-bye. I didn’t think I could handle it.” He couldn’t handle it? But he could handle leaving his best friend with no warning? “It was so hard for me to leave, but—”

  “But what, Jem? What?” I exploded, all the anger of the past years flowing through me and out my mouth. “It’s not hard. ‘Hey, Em, I’ll be moving to another country and probably won’t see you for a few years. I’ll write or Skype you sometime.’ See? Not hard at all.”

  Jem’s face had turned a mottled shade of red. At least he still had the good sense to be embarrassed. “I had a good reason, Em. I really did.” His gorgeous sapphire eyes were pleading. In the past that would have been enough to mollify me, but a lot had happened since then and I was not going to allow him to appease me that easily.

  “What could have possibly been the reason to abandon everything, run to a foreign country, and have no contact with your best friend? At all!” Fury colored my words, which came out fast and sharp. “Tell me! Can you tell me?”

  He lowered his eyes to his lap. “I can’t. Not yet.”

  What kind of explanation was that? Did he really expect me to trust him like I used to? Trust was one of the casualties of his actions.

  “Jeremy Peter,” I said, knowing all too well he absolutely hated his full name. When we were kids he made me promise never ever to call him that. Well, it was my turn to break a promise. “You can’t even come up with one good reason for your choices. Why did you even call me? Why did you come back?”

  His voice was a whisper. “I miss you, Emily Rose. I miss you so much.”

  I swung my legs to the side and slid out of the booth. “You didn’t miss me enough to let me know you were alive.” The miserable look in his eyes gave me pause. For a fraction of a second. The anger burning in my heart was too hot, too strong. I lashed out. “Don’t call me again. You’re dead to me, Jeremy Peter. Dead.” And I walked out of the coffee shop, a bitter taste in my mouth and tears burning in my eyes.

  How dare he come back to my life just as I was finally getting used to the idea of a life without him? Just as my heart was healing? I had a loving, stable man in my life now. One I could count on being there for me no matter what.

  I drove like a maniac all the way home and threw myself on my bed, clothes and all, for a good cry. Hating myself for shedding tears over Jem again, I punched the pillows and kicked the blankets off the bed. It didn’t satisfy me. Using the pillow as a muffler, I screamed as loud and for as long as I could, only stopping when a deep burning crawled up my throat.

  “I hate you, Jem. I hate you.” All the energy produced by my anger ebbing away, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands and sighed, feeling childish and stupid. “God, I hate that I don’t hate you. I love you. I will always love you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  __________

  Old Friends and Witches

  With dozens of pictures scattered on the floor around me, I pined over one particular photo. I don’t know how long I stared at it before the sound of someone approaching woke me up from my daze. “What do you got there?”

  My head snapped up to the ta
ll, dark man standing a few inches from me. “Dave, you scared me.” Because I had gone to another time and another place. I handed him the picture with a little sigh. “How did you get in?”

  “You left the door unlocked.” Crap! I couldn’t keep my head out of the clouds. “Wow! You look totally different in this picture,” he exclaimed, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “What’s with the hair?”

  I laughed at his surprise. “I went through a stage. I wanted to embrace my Asian ancestry fully.” I giggled again, realizing how silly that sounded now. “I got a bob and bangs and wore kimono-cut dresses for almost a whole year.”

  Dave stared at me, his mouth slightly open. “You’re not even fully Asian,” he sputtered. “I mean, you look cute but—it’s not you.”

  My dad was a military man, a hard-core marine with a heart of gold. He had met my mom in Japan during one of his assignments and—as the story went—fell in love and got married. My mom was fluent in English, working for the American consulate in Tokyo, so the fact that my father could barely say thank you in Japanese had not been an obstacle to their romance. Unlike my sister, who favored my dad in everything but his height, I was all Japanese. My eyes were slightly less slanted than my mom’s, but everything else was as ethnic as you can get without actually putting on a regional costume and speaking in Japanese. Sick of being compared to my blonde, round-eyed sister, I decided to totally embrace my Japanese heritage. That’s when the picture Dave held in his hand had been taken.

  “I like you better the way you are right now,” he declared, handing the picture back to me. He went down on his knees, gingerly avoiding the pictures on the floor, and kissed me. “I love your beautiful, long black hair and your amazing black eyes.” He swept a hand over my hair as if to prove his point. “And I adore those red, full lips.”

  Lost in the kiss, my mind wandered to another time when someone else had told me pretty much the same thing—minus the kiss. I remembered Jem saying those same words when I admitted to him I hated the way I looked. I so wanted to be like my sister. Pull yourself together, woman. Here I was, kissing my boyfriend with my mind on another guy.

  Dave pulled our lips apart and I opened my eyes, a little dazed. “So, should we stay in or go out for a bite?” He was always hungry. That big ex-marine body of his seemed to digest food as if it were water. I laughed and began collecting the photographs from the floor. “Joe’s Shack? I could go for a giant burger and fries.”

  “Sure. Let me pick up this mess.” Dave joined me as I stored the pictures in my over-the-top romantic box. When I looked up, he was staring at another picture, squinting in concentration. “What?”

  “Who’s this? You guys look pretty chummy.” I picked the photo from his hand, and my heart clenched. It was a picture of Jem and me a few days before he left. We looked young and happy, his arm draped over my shoulders and a big smile on his handsome face. I, on the other hand, had my face turned up to his, a look of utter devotion in my eyes. I was so obviously in love with him it was embarrassing.

  I threw the picture in the box with the others. “Just a friend.” As if.

  “I’ve never met him.” Dave could be very obtuse when he chose to.

  Keeping my eyes on the work at hand and far away from his, I answered in what I hoped was a dismissive tone, “A childhood friend. He lived next door for most of my life.”

  “Where is he now?” God, Dave! Will you just let it go?

  “He left five years ago, but he just came back to town.” I so did not want to talk about this with him. “We are not friends anymore.”

  From the corner of my eye I noticed the look of disbelief in his hazel eyes. “What happened?”

  Giving up on the pretense, I raised my eyes to his and shook my head. “Dave, I don’t want to talk about it. He was my best friend and he left years ago without so much as a good-bye. He called me when he came back to town, and I don’t even want to think about him. It makes me mad.” My voice had risen in a crescendo of anger, I realized. I was very angry at Jem, even after all these years.

  Dave threw his hands up in the air. “Sorry. I won’t ask again.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Come on. Nothing a greasy burger can’t fix.” I had to laugh. Men and their stomachs!

  Eating out with Dave was always fun. The man had an inexhaustible hunger for new foods. The weirder the better. I loved that about him. I was myself a foodie who enjoyed trying new dishes as often as possible. I had dated guys before who were so picky and limited in terms of their taste buds that we invariably ended up eating at hamburger or Italian places. Nothing against Italian cuisine—which I loved, by the way—but my stomach craved the kind of variety those more traditional restaurants could not offer me.

  That night we had settled on a little Belgian bistro a few miles from the house. My taste buds were dancing in anticipation of the amazing frites they served. I didn’t often eat fried food, but french fries were an obsession of mine. Dave knew that and, seeing my gloomy mood, steered me to the Petit Chef.

  “Do you think the chef here is really small?” Dave asked, pulling the chair out for me. He was a gentleman with impeccable manners most of the time.

  I giggled. “Never saw him, but judging by the restaurant’s name that’s a very strong possibility. Maybe we should ask.”

  When the young waitress came to take our orders, Dave didn’t hesitate. “Tell me”—he squinted, trying to read her name tag—“Jordan, is the chef really small like the name of this place implies?”

  The girl looked confused. “The name?” Hell, she didn’t even know what the name of her workplace meant in English. Wasn’t she just a little curious?

  “Never mind.” Dave gave up, stealing a disbelieving glance at me. “Bring us a beer and a Coke.” I had never been much of a drinker.

  We had a lovely dinner of frites and mussels, shared a giant Belgian waffle topped with a mountain of whipped cream, and espresso. By the time Dave dropped me off at my place I was feeling better. We said good night with one of Dave’s long, sexy kisses at the door, and I watched him get in his car and leave. He was a good man: handsome, smart, and fun to be around. I was a lucky woman.

  A book in hand, I cuddled under my bedcovers for a quick read before going to sleep. Tomorrow my young students expected me to be just plain Ms. Lambert, alert and ready for a long day of learning. My eyelids were getting heavy, and my thoughts were beginning to drift when I heard the phone ring. Damn! Forgot to silence it again. I reached out for it and almost dropped it when I saw the name on the caller ID.

  “What do you want?” I yelled. “It’s almost midnight.”

  Jem’s voice caressed my ears, and I hated him for the way he could still make me feel. “Sorry, Em. I really need to talk to you. Can I come over? I want to explain—”

  “Go to hell, Jem. What is there to say that you couldn’t have a few years ago?”

  “Please, Emily Rose, let me explain.“ His voice, low and pleading, was wearing down my resolve. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

  That was the real problem; I didn’t hate him. Even after all this time, I still loved him. “I’m outside. Can I come in?”

  Hating myself for it, I jumped out of bed and, forgetting I was in my pajamas, sprinted to the door to let him in. There he was in all his male glory, jeans low on his hips, a tight black T-shirt that revealed well-sculpted muscles, and a short black jacket in sharp contrast with his dirty-blond hair. When he raised his ocean-blue eyes to me, I swooned. For a moment I forgot he had left me, that he’d kept me guessing for five years; I forgot I had an amazing boyfriend who loved me and whom I adored. Jem still had the magic power to turn me into an idiot with just one look.

  He walked past me, looking appropriately contrite.

  “You better make it quick. Some of us work for a living.” I hoped I sounded convincingly irate.

  We sat across from each other in the living room, ill at ease and silent. I felt a ridiculous urge to offer him
something to drink, but quickly dismissed it. Five years and he still felt so familiar, as if he had never left.

  “Nice place, Em.” His voice surprised me out of my stupor. “Have you lived here long?”

  I was not up to chitchat. The longer he stayed, the more blurred the lines between reality and my wishful thinking would become. “You said you wanted to explain yourself.”

  Jem cleared his throat and brushed his fingers through his unruly curls. “I didn’t leave you because I wanted to. Not exactly.” I waited patiently to hear what he would come up with to justify what he had done. “Remember Tina?” How could I forget? She had been the girl he was dating right before his vanishing act. I never liked any of the myriad of girls he paraded by me throughout the years. In his defense, he was always convinced he was truly in love with these girls, but the relationships never lasted long.

  I nodded.

  “Well, something happened. She witnessed a murder and became a target herself. I couldn’t leave her at a time like that.”

  Confused, I shook my head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, you couldn’t leave her like that?”

  “She was in danger. Mortal danger.” I was still not understanding how all this had anything to do with him. “She had two choices. Stay and be killed or flee. She decided to go out of the country, away from her family and everything she had ever known. Alone. I had to do something. So I volunteered to go with her.”

  The words made sense, but nothing else did. “You volunteered to go with her? You barely knew her.” The bitterness in my voice surprised me enough to shut me up.

  “I made a mistake, Emily Rose. I thought I was in love with her and….” His voice trailed off.

  I looked at him, eyes burning with the threat of angry tears. Having him here was almost like old times, except it wasn’t. The times he had spent at my place, hanging out for hours on end, had been happy times. Having him here in my living room now was not. Did he really believe I was going to accept his half-assed explanation? “You want me to believe that crap? That you left your family and best friend to keep a girlfriend company? A girl you had known for maybe two months? Couldn’t you come up with a more plausible explanation?”