Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics)

by Debbie Macomber

  They ate at a Chinese restaurant and drank several cups of tea while chatting over old times. When Danielle suggested a movie, Joy readily agreed. After a quick phone call to Clara, she sat through a nondescript movie. No matter how hard she forced herself to watch the screen, her thoughts continually drifted back to Sloan.

  Danielle and Joy parted after the show, and Joy drove back to her apartment. Her watch said it was only ten. Much too early for her to head back to the beach house. If she was going to feel like a criminal because she took a night off, then he could sit and wait.

  With the television on, Joy slouched across a lumpy couch and laid her head against the back cushion and closed her eyes. When she opened them again it was well past two o’clock. Oh heavens, she hadn’t meant to stay away this long. If Sloan had waited for her he’d be in a fine mood by now.

  When she pulled into her parking spot in front of the house, she took in several calming breaths. Mentally, she prepared herself—for what, she wasn’t sure.

  The porch light was on, and another in the long hallway that led to her room. She turned off the outside light and tiptoed into the entryway. A deep voice flew out from the living room. “You look like a thief in the night.”

  Startled, she let out a gasp. Her hand flew to her breast. “What are you doing there?” she demanded defensively.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I live here.”

  “I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did,” she apologized. “You frightened me.”

  He moved closer to her. “Did you have a good time?”

  “Wonderful,” she lied.

  “How was Dan?”

  “Good.” She took in a deep breath. “Is this an interrogation?”

  “No, just curiosity.”

  “I didn’t mean to stay out so late.” She could have kicked herself the minute the words slipped past her mouth.

  “Time flies when you’re having fun, or so they say.”

  “Yes, well, I think I’ll get to bed.”

  “Did Dan kiss you good night?” The question came abruptly, issued with impatience.

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Her hand tightened around the strap of her purse.

  “You don’t look like you’ve been kissed.”

  “Sloan, please.” She released the words on a sigh.

  “At least when I kiss you, there’s no doubt. Your eyes grow warm and gentle, your face is flushed, and you have a look about you that begs for more.”

  Joy looked away, but not before she saw the way Sloan’s fingers bit into the arm of his chair.

  “Does Dan make you feel the way I do?” he continued, his voice raspy and deep. “Does your heart beat faster when he holds you? Or is it just the thrill of having a man, a real man, one you don’t have to look down to?”

  “Stop it,” she cried, her voice strained and weak. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” The temptation was to cry out that he was more man than she’d ever known, all the man she’d ever need. Were he never to take another step, she couldn’t love him any more than she already did.

  Joy inhaled a sharp breath, and her eyes rounded at the startling realization. For days she’d been struggling with herself, refusing to accept the truth. Now, in her anger, she acknowledged her true feelings. It was too late; she was already in love with him.

  “Joy?” Sloan paused and took her hand. “Are you all right? You look like you’re sick.”

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled, and pulled her hand free from his. “I just need to lie down.” She felt like she was staggering as she rushed down the hall to her room. Of course, she wasn’t, but it seemed her whole world had crumpled in on top of her, and the weight was more than she could possibly manage.

  “Joy, wait,” Sloan called out after her, but she ignored him and firmly shut the bedroom door.

  Even after she’d changed clothes and crawled between the fresh sheets, Joy couldn’t sleep. Unreasonably, she was angry with Sloan. She was irritated, because he knew as well as she did what was happening between them and had done nothing to stop it. Her feelings, emotions, and heart were only playthings to him, a small diversion until he was walking again. She could almost hate him. Almost.

  She lay there for what seemed like hours, unable to sleep because every time she closed her eyes pictures of Sloan would flash into her mind. Not content with dominating every waking minute, he was determined to haunt her sleep as well. The room felt hot and stuffy. Throwing back the covers, Joy opened the sliding glass door just a crack. A faint moaning sound stopped her. She had to strain to hear. Sloan.

  Was he in pain? Thoughtless of her bare feet, she slipped outside. Sloan’s glass door was also cracked. The sound of his moans was more distinguishable now, in addition to a faint thrashing noise. Joy peeked inside his room.

  Sloan was asleep and in the throes of some horrible dream. His head tossed from side to side, his blankets a twisted mess around his legs.

  “Sloan.” She hurried to his bedside and placed a restraining hand on both of his shoulders. “Wake up. You’re having a dream.” Lightly, she shook him. “Sloan, it’s a dream.”

  He jerked himself upright, leaning the brunt of his weight on one elbow. For a second he looked at her blankly, then released a small cry of relief. “Joy, good heavens.” His eyes were filled with some unspeakable torment. Forcefully, he pulled her into his arms, his breathing hoarse and uneven. “Oh Joy.” His open hands caressed her back, shooting a tingling fire down her spine. “I thought I’d lost you,” he continued. “You were in the school bus, screaming for me to help you, and I couldn’t get out of the chair.”

  “I’m fine. I’m right here,” she assured him, her hands brushing the hair from his face. Her heart cried out to him.

  “I couldn’t bear to lose you now.” He twisted his upper body, bringing her onto the bed beside him. Positioned so that he was above her now, his anguished eyes stared into hers. “Don’t stop me. I need you so much,” he murmured, before his mouth rocked over hers.

  She gave in to him unselfishly, parting her lips with all the eagerness of her newly discovered love. Her hands roved his back, reveling in the muscular feel of skin under her fingers. He was warm, vital, and, for this moment, this night, hers.

  His mouth left hers and pressed against the gentle slope of her bare shoulder.

  “You’ve been drinking,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” He moved to kiss her neck, his tongue making moist forays against the sensitive skin. “It was the only thing that kept me sane tonight while waiting for you.”

  “Oh Sloan. You didn’t drink after taking any medication, did you?”

  “Don’t ‘Oh Sloan’ me. I know what I’m doing. For once stop being my therapist and be my lover.” His mouth blotted any objection she might have voiced.

  Joy was reeling with the potency of his kisses, when his exploring hands cupped the soft undersides of her breasts.

  “You shouldn’t,” she protested weakly.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered against her ear, his warm breath caressing her lobe.

  “No,” she admitted, her arms entwined around his neck. “Don’t stop.”

  Desire, raw and fierce, ran through her blood, spreading a path of fiery awareness that left no part of her untouched. Her senses were in turmoil. No longer did she question right from wrong. No longer did it matter.

  Sloan’s kisses grew deeper, more passionate; their effect drugged her into submission and demanded a response. Trapped in the warm, rushing tide of her love, Joy responded freely, wholly.

  His lips began a downward path from the sensitive cord of her neck. Her long fingernails dug into the rippling muscles of his back as she arched, wanting to give more, needing to receive more.

  “Joy,” he moaned, and bruised her mouth with a scorching possession. “Do you realize how long it’s been since I touched a woman like this?”

  The whole world came to a sudden, abrupt halt. A woman. Any woman wo
uld have done. She was convenient, here, now. A passing fancy until he was ready for the Chantelles of this world.

  Dragging her mouth from his, she pushed him away. “No more,” she whispered, and struggled to sit upright.

  Sloan went still. “Are you hurt? What is it? What did I say?”

  The question was almost ludicrous. She was dying, and he wanted to know if he had caused her pain.

  “Joy?” He raised himself up and brushed the hair from the side of her face. “What’s wrong?” His tender concern was nearly her undoing.

  “Let me go,” she cried, her voice pitifully weak. She shut her eyes and waited for him to release her.

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was thick with frustration. “Are you crying?” A finger brushed the wetness across her cheek. “Joy, please. Tell me what I did.”

  “It has been a long time since you’ve touched a woman,” she whispered, achingly, at last. “So long that you’d hold any willing woman.”

  “That’s not true. I can’t think of anyone else when you’re in my arms. It’s you I want,” he muttered thickly. “Only you.”

  “That will change,” she said confidently, “and soon.”

  He groaned her name.

  “Please let me go,” she pleaded, her voice quivering uncontrollably.

  With a frustrated exclamation, Sloan rolled off her and stared at the ceiling as she raced out of his room as if the devil himself were in pursuit.

  For two weeks they treated each other like polite strangers. To avoid the curious stares of Clara and Paul, Joy took long daily walks along the beach. No longer did she play her flute on the veranda at night. L.J. was her companion and friend, often hopping along behind her on a walk.

  On the first night of the third week, Joy delivered Sloan’s dinner tray. He sat, his gaze centered on the ocean. Joy left it on the table outside.

  “Can we talk?” he asked, without looking at her.

  Joy bit into the soft, fleshy part of her inner cheek. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Us.”

  “No,” she answered emphatically.

  “All right, we won’t talk about us. We’ll simply talk.”

  Joy moved to the railing, watching the rumbling sea. The scent of the ocean filled the early evening. A gentle breeze brought in a salty spray. She turned and propped her elbow against the railing. “I don’t know if we have anything to say to each other.”

  “That’s a negative thought. I’ve never known you to be pessimistic.”

  “Oh, I can be,” she admitted, with a sad smile.

  “Yes, I noticed.”

  “If you don’t eat, your dinner will get cold.” Her mouth felt suddenly dry, yet her hands were moist to the point of being clammy. She should have packed her bags and walked out the morning after she’d given in to his kisses. But she couldn’t, not before it was time. When he was walking, at least on crutches, then she’d go.

  His gaze fell on the tray she’d brought with her. “Leave it. I’m not hungry.”

  “Have you been busy?” She knew he met daily with his father now, and she had seen his light long into the night.

  “Very.”

  “That’s good.”

  He came closer to her side. “In some ways, it’s helped me …” He let the rest trail away.

  “Helped you how?”

  His smile was wry. “You said the subject was taboo.”

  “Oh,” she said, and swallowed tightly.

  Paul shouted from the far side of the yard and waved. Joy gave a guilty start. She’d told him she would join him for dinner at Mobey Jake’s. They went there often now.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  Sloan’s mouth thinned with impatience. “I understand.”

  Quickly, she moved into her own quarters and grabbed a light sweater.

  “Joy.” Sloan had followed her and slid open her glass door. “Will you play tonight? I’ve missed that.” His smile was slightly off-center, and her bones felt like liquid. “Almost as much as I’ve missed having you as my friend.”

  “I’ve missed it, too,” she murmured, refusing to look into his eyes.

  “Hurry back, my Joy.”

  The words were issued so softly Joy was sure she’d misunderstood him.

  Paul brought her a double order of fish and chips and joined her at the umbrella-covered table in the sun. The large order was far bigger than Joy could manage, but she automatically bought the double fish so there would be enough for L.J.

  “You and the boss getting on better?” Paul questioned. Their camaraderie and mutual respect had grown over the weeks. They were a team, pressing toward one goal—Sloan. He would walk one day, and the credit would be due them all.

  “I guess so.” She wiped the corner of her mouth with the napkin and lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug.

  “Sometimes I wonder how you two can work with each other, the ice is so thick.”

  “You have a good imagination,” Joy denied uneasily.

  Paul lifted one thick brow expressively. “If you say so.”

  Joy dunked a french fry in a small container of ketchup. “I do.”

  Later, she brought her flute onto the veranda. She hadn’t played three notes when Sloan joined her. She lowered her instrument and offered him a smile.

  “Are you taking requests?”

  “Sure. What would you like to hear?”

  “ ‘Yesterday,’ ” he replied without hesitation.

  Joy remembered the first time she’d played the song. Sloan had angrily proclaimed that yesterdays were gone forever, that they couldn’t be brought back. Bitterness had coated his words. Now his voice was filled with hope.

  The sweet melodic sounds of the Beatles’ classic filled the night. When she was finished, there was a poignant pause.

  “Why did you request that song?” she asked in a whisper, not wanting conversation to ruin the mood.

  “Because I wanted to share with you some of my yesterdays.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Follow me,” he answered cryptically, and turned sharply, leading the way through his quarters. Once he was in the hallway, he paused in front of the door that was opposite her room. “Haven’t you ever wondered what was in here?”

  “No,” she answered honestly. “I assumed it was probably your parents’ room.”

  “Go on, open it.”

  Joy turned the knob and stepped inside. Because his chair wouldn’t fit through the narrow doorway, Sloan remained in the hall.

  The interior was dark, and she felt against the side of the wall for the light switch. Once she located it, she flipped it on. Immediately, light sprayed across a room filled with awards, trophies, and sports equipment. Plaques lined one entire wall. On closer inspection, Joy saw that each one had been received by Sloan. There didn’t seem to be anything he hadn’t tried and mastered. Baseball, volleyball, skiing, bowling, and hockey.

  Confused, she turned around, her smooth brow marred in thick creases. “All these are yours?” she asked, incredibly. “It’s unbelievable.”

  “I was quite the jock.”

  She picked up and inspected one of the smaller baseball trophies. “You were just a boy.” She lifted her gaze to his.

  “My father is credited with mounting most of these things. The albums on the desk”—he pointed to a large flat-topped desk on the far side of the room—“are filled with newspaper clippings from the time I could hold a tennis racket.”

  “My goodness, it’s enough to take my breath away.”

  “I was good.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “I’ll never be as good again.”

  Joy didn’t mince words. “No, you won’t. Does that bother you terribly?”

  The look in his eyes seemed to peel away every defense barrier she’d carefully constructed these past two weeks.

  “It did, but you changed that.”

  “Me?” The one word echoed across the room.<
br />
  “I accepted the wheelchair as my fate—until you came. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but one I can see as clearly now as if I’d signed the contract in blood. I was a winner with remarkable talent and skill, if I was to believe everything that had been written about me. I had the world by the tail; I lived the good life. And then it all came tumbling down on top of me. After the accident I decided that if I had to be half a man the rest of my life, then I’d be no man at all.”

  Joy understood what he was saying. She came and knelt by his side.

  “It wasn’t the pain that bound me to the chair, but the fear.” He took her hand and squeezed it tight. “I’m going to walk again, Joy Nielsen, because you had the foresight to understand what was happening to me on the inside. And just as you had your father, I have you.” Very gently he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

  Her heart plummeted to her stomach. Gratitude was what Sloan felt. Overwhelming gratitude, nothing more.

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re sure about this?” Sloan regarded her skeptically.

  Joy sat on the thick blue mat on the weight room floor, her legs crossed Indian fashion. “Trust me.”

  “You said that when you asked me to roll around like a man whose clothes had caught on fire.”

  “Now I want you to crawl just like a baby.”

  “How much longer before I can work on the parallel bars?” He eyed the set she’d brought in.

  “Not long, I promise. If you want, I’ll test you for strength again today.”

  “No.” He shook his head, and Joy could all but taste his disappointment.

  “Don’t push yourself so hard. You’re doing remarkably well.”

  “But the progress is so slow.”

  “It isn’t,” she replied emphatically. “Look how long you sat in that chair—months. You can’t expect to be out running again in a matter of a few weeks.”

  “Tell me what’s next.”

  Joy must have repeated the procedure to him fifteen times, but she didn’t hesitate when he asked again.

  “Lying to crawling, crawling to kneeling, kneeling to standing.”