Mr. Always & Forever

by Ashlee Price

  “Oh, just that Mr. Blake here was the one who wrote that very interesting article that sent me to prison,” Damien informs her. “Isn’t that right, boys?”

  He glances at the two heavily built men in black behind him and I swallow hard, suppressing a shiver.

  “But I’ve already forgiven him.” He pats my shoulder in a seemingly friendly gesture, though the force behind his hand lets me know it’s anything but. “Like I said, I’m a changed man now.”

  I force a smile. Is he really? Has he forgiven me?

  “Well, love can change a man,” Tiffany says. “You know, Mr. Shore and Margot have a very touching love story. They…”

  I stop listening, my attention diverted as Margot drops the purse she’s been fidgeting with. She kneels down to pick it up, and so do I. As she stands up, her shawl slides off and I see bruises.

  Marks from a whip.

  Quickly, she pulls her shawl back in place.

  “Thank you,” she mutters, her eyes telling me something else.

  Damien Shore is not a forgiving man.

  I grab my laptop. “I’m sorry, Tiffany, but I have to go. Like I said, work.”

  “Of course.” She turns to me. “I wouldn’t want to keep you. It was nice bumping into you here, though.”

  “Yeah. It was nice,” Damien seconds. “I look forward to reading more of your stories.”

  I simply nod before making my escape, holding my breath as I feel eyes pierce my back like daggers.

  Only once I’m in a cab do I manage to breathe, but even then, fear still grips my gut just as hard as Damien Shore’s hand gripped mine.

  It was a threat. I know it. He’s coming after me.

  I take out my phone to type Ingrid a message. I know that I have to leave her alone so that at least she can be safe from Damien’s reach. I end up staring at the screen, my hands shaking.

  What do I tell her?

  One of my hands clenches into a fist. How the hell did that bastard go free? Why does this have to happen now?

  I don’t want to leave Ingrid. Not now. Maybe not ever. But I have to, so with my gut wrenching, I type the letters, each one like a fragment breaking off my soul.

  Suddenly, my phone vibrates.

  Startled, I nearly drop it.

  Muttering a curse, I hold it firmly and look at the screen. It tells me I have a message from Ingrid.

  Discarding my message, I read hers.

  Hope you’re OK. Got my interview. It’s at a ski resort in Aspen tomorrow. Wanna come along?

  I sit back, drawing a deep breath.

  I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. Every moment she stays with me is another moment I’m risking her life, which I can’t have.

  Then again, if I’m leaving her, then I should tell her in person. She deserves that much.

  I stare at my phone, fingers running over the screen.

  I have to say goodbye. In Aspen.

  With my heart sinking, I type a new message, this one just as painful.

  I’ll be back tonight. Looking forward to Aspen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ingrid

  In all my years in Colorado, I’ve never been to Aspen, and now that I’m in a log cabin, staring out the window, I wonder why.

  Under a thin blanket of snow, white hills and rows of pine trees stretch out before me, cream-capped mountains looming over them. I can catch a glimpse of some skiers, too, all wrapped up, and the smoke rising from the chimneys of the other cabins.

  It’s a whole other world, one that’s enchanting, adventurous and serene all at once.

  “I wish Alexa could see all this,” I tell Conner. “I swear I’ll bring her here someday.”

  Sitting in front of the fireplace with his gaze lost among the flames, Conner says nothing.

  I call his name.

  He turns to me. “What?”

  I walk over to him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He nods, staring back at the fire. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  But I know he’s not. Ever since he returned from Dallas, he’s been quieter, deep in thought and distant. Even when he was smiling at Alexa, I could see a glint of sorrow in his eyes, and twice I could swear he was avoiding me. He got off the couch just as soon as I got on it and left the bathroom as soon as I got there. He said he was done brushing his teeth, even though I could see he’d just started.

  What happened in Dallas?

  I’m about to ask but decide it’s best to hold this conversation after my interview, which is starting in less than half an hour.

  I place a hand on Conner’s shoulder. “Shall we go get that story?”

  ~

  “There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid,” Astrid says, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her blue scarf.

  She’s seemed nervous since the interview started, even though it’s just me, Conner, and her husband, Trevor, seated in front of the fire of their luxurious cabin.

  “How did you meet?” I ask.

  “Just online,” she says, avoiding my gaze.

  “We’re both gamers,” Trevor elaborates. “And we met in an online game. We started chatting, first about the game and then about other stuff, and we just got so interested in each other we decided to meet. I had no clue she was a princess.”

  “I’m not a princess,” Astrid says. “I’m more of a duchess. It’s my second half cousin who’s a princess.”

  My eyebrows furrow. “I see.”

  “She’s still a princess to me,” Trevor says.

  Astrid blushes.

  And she looks like one, with hair like golden yarn from a fairy’s loom, bluish green eyes under thick lashes and high cheekbones. The soft, caressing way she speaks and the finesse in her movements lends her an air of grace as well.

  “Does your family know you’re here?” I ask her.

  She nods. “But they don’t know I’m with Trevor yet.”

  “I thought this article you’re writing might be a good way to tell them,” Trevor says. “It’s going to be available online, right?”

  I nod. “But shouldn’t you tell them in person first?”

  “They won’t like Trevor,” Astrid says. “They don’t even like me. I don’t want to talk to them.”

  “But surely it’s better if you do,” I remark. “Right, Conner?”

  He stares at his lap and doesn’t answer.

  “Conner.” I tap his shoulder.

  “Sorry,” he mutters. “What did you say?”

  I give him a hopeless frown.

  “I’m sorry, but I thought this was an interview,” Trevor says. “Not a counseling session or something.”

  “Sorry,” I tell him, placing both hands back on my lap. “You’re right. But are you sure you want to share your story with your family in this way? I mean, no offense, but you don’t seem ready to tell them.”

  “Yeah, we are.” Trevor holds Astrid’s hand. “We’re done with hiding. But we also don’t want a confrontation or anything like that.”

  I touch my chin. “I see. Well, tell me more about your meeting, then. What was it like to see each other face to face for the first time?”

  “I was blown away,” Trevor admits. “She was much more beautiful than I imagined. I thought she wasn’t real.”

  “I thought you weren’t real,” Astrid says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because you look so much like your character in the game.”

  “When did you get married?” I ask, crossing my legs.

  “Just last year,” Trevor replies. “It was just an intimate ceremony in a tree house in Washington.”

  “A tree house?” I smile. “How romantic.”

  They both nod and smile but offer no further details.

  I tap my fingers on my lap. “So, what are your hopes for the future?”

  “Nothing set in stone,” Astrid says. “We take each day as it comes.”

  Okay. No future planned.

  “What makes you think your lov
e will last?” I ask. “What do you do? Like, do you have a special routine or something the two of you do that strengthens your bond?”

  “We just play together,” Astrid says. “Video games, I mean.”

  “Or we dress up as our favorite video game characters by sprucing up ordinary clothes with items we see lying around the house,” Trevor offers. “Just for each other. You know, to make each other laugh.”

  I smile as I imagine it. “Awesome.”

  “Sometimes, I dress up as a female character and she dresses up as a male. Just to keep it more interesting,” Trevor blurts out.

  Astrid falls silent.

  “Oh.” Trevor looks at her in concern. “I shouldn’t have said that?”

  “Please take that off the record,” Astrid tells me.

  I nod. “The cross-dressing part?”

  “The whole dress-up thing,” Astrid says to my dismay. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “It’s not,” I tell her. “It’s… fun.” I glance at Conner, nudging his shoulder. “Right, Conner?”

  “If she thinks it’s best to leave it out, then maybe she’s right,” Conner answers, even more to my dismay.

  What?

  “Please leave it out,” Astrid repeats.

  My shoulders sink. “But…”

  “If that’s what she thinks, she must have a good reason for it,” Conner says. “We shouldn’t judge her. We should just respect her decision.”

  My jaw drops. Unbelievable. Did he just dis me in front of a source?

  “Conner…”

  “I think they’ve told us all they want us to know.” Conner stands up. “Thank you for sharing your story.”

  He heads to the door.

  I put on a smile for Astrid and Trevor and shake their hands. “Thank you so much for your story.”

  I gather my things and walk out of the cabin after Conner, who’s already several feet ahead of me.

  “Conner!” I shout after him. “Wait!”

  To my relief, he stops.

  “Conner, what’s going on?” I ask him when I’ve caught up to him. “What happened back there?”

  Averting his gaze, he doesn’t answer.

  “Look at me.” I stand in front of him. “What happened in Dallas? What’s the problem?”

  He draws a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ingrid, but we can’t do this anymore.”

  “What?”

  He walks away, leaving me with my hands on my hips, completely baffled.

  We can’t do this anymore? We can’t do what anymore? And why?

  Since he’s already gone, I get no answers, of course, just more questions. I could chase after him, but I’ve already tried that.

  If he doesn’t want to talk to me, fine. If he doesn’t want to stay around anymore, fine. I don’t understand it one bit, but fine.

  Tucking my hands in my pockets, I walk to town, thinking of stopping by a bar.

  I need a drink.

  ~

  I gulp down my second vodka and coke, wincing at the bitter taste as I set the empty glass down on the wooden counter with a soft thud. The liquid blazes down my throat and I loosen my scarf, feeling the heat.

  Damn, that felt good.

  Unfortunately, it hasn’t made me feel good enough. I can still remember what Conner did.

  Jerk.

  I’m about to order a third glass, but a woman’s voice interrupts.

  “Sure you should be drinking?”

  I turn my head to see Astrid sliding onto the stool next to mine.

  “No,” I tell her. “But I will anyway. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Join you,” she says, grinning.

  Ah. The princess drinks.

  “Two vodka and cokes, please,” she tells the bartender.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her, resting my elbows on the counter.

  “I thought I owed you an apology.” She clasps her hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t say much.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Frankly, it’s not easy to talk about me and Trevor,” she opens up. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that it still feels unreal, and call me crazy, but that makes it magical for me. I feel like if I share the story then it’ll somehow lose its magic. Does that make sense?”

  I nod. “Sometimes speaking of something gives it power, and sometimes speaking of something makes it lose its power.”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  The bartender sets our drinks in front of us.

  “Thanks,” Astrid mutters.

  “So, you don’t really want your story published?” I ask her, turning my stool to face her.

  She shakes her head. “But Trevor thinks it’s not a bad idea.”

  “Maybe not, but if you don’t feel like it should be published, then it shouldn’t be. It’s your story, after all. It’s yours more than anyone’s.”

  “Really?” Her blue eyes grow wide. “I thought you needed the story.”

  “It’s fine.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m only saying this because I’m drunk, but I don’t mind letting go of a story just this once if it means someone else can hold on to happiness a little longer. Lord knows there’s not enough in this world.”

  “Thank you.” Astrid places her hand over mine.

  “And I sure hope you can hold on to it.” I squeeze her hand. “Don’t let anyone, not even your royal family, tear you apart.”

  “Shh.” She holds a finger to her lips.

  I purse my lips. “Sorry. I forgot it was still a secret.”

  “I hope you can, too,” Astrid says.

  I tap my fingers on my glass. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you and… that guy with you fighting from our cabin. I’m sorry if I caused it.”

  I grab Astrid’s hand. “You didn’t cause it. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe Trevor will find out. I told him to see if he could talk to your boyfriend. You’re not the only one who seems to need a friend.”

  “You did?” My eyebrows pull up. “Oh, and Conner’s not my boyfriend.”

  “He’s not?”

  “We just… work together.” I sip from my drink.

  “Okay. I’m so sorry. It’s just that you seemed…”

  “It’s fine,” I tell her. “And don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine. I’ll…”

  I stop, placing my hands over my eyes as tears swell. What’s wrong with me?

  “Ingrid?” Astrid places her hand on my shoulder.

  “I’ll be okay,” I assure her, wiping my tears and forcing the rest back. “I just don’t know what’s going on right now. I mean, I thought everything was going right and now… I just don’t know. But I’ll be okay. We girls always manage, right?”

  “To us.” Astrid raises her glass.

  I raise mine, too. “To us.”

  I gulp down the contents of my third glass as she drains her first.

  Afterwards, she frowns. “That’s… strong. But good.”

  I chuckle. “Wait. Don’t tell me this is your first time drinking?”

  “No, but I’ve never tried this drink before.”

  I shake my head. “I am such a bad influence.”

  “No, you’re not,” Astrid tells me with a sweet smile. “You’re a good friend.”

  My eyebrows go up. Friend?

  Just then, I see someone familiar walking past the window on crutches.

  Ed? What’s Ed doing here?

  “Is everything alright?” Astrid asks.

  I nod. “Yeah. Everything’s better than alright now that I’ve made a new friend.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “I don’t really have a girlfriend, I mean a girl who’s a friend, or a woman. You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” I place my hand over hers. “So, girlfriend, tell me more about yourself.”

  ~

  “Can you believe Astrid knows twenty-two different languages?” I ask Conner, my arm over his as he hauls me out of the
bar an hour later, having suddenly appeared with Trevor.

  “Yes,” he answers. “And I can believe she can’t speak any of those right now. How could you get your source drunk?”

  “She’s not my source, not anymore,” I tell him. “She’s just my friend now.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think we’ll be friends for life,” I add. “After all, we both have Norwegian names.”

  “Well, it’s good that you can still remember your name, seeing how much you drank.”

  I push him away, wobbling. “I am not drunk.”

  “Really?”

  “And even if I am, what do you care?” I point a finger at him. “Didn’t you toss me aside? Haven’t you been avoiding me?”

  “I…”

  “I knew you’d always be a jerk,” I cut him off, walking ahead.

  I stumble and he offers to help me, but I shrug his arm off and continue.

  He doesn’t chase after me, lagging behind as we walk the rest of the way in silence broken only by the sound of our footsteps in the snow. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of stumbling, we reach our cabin.

  Outside the door, I turn around, facing Conner. “You’re still here.”

  “Of course I am. We need to talk, Ingrid.”

  “Oh, now we need to talk. And what if I don’t want to, huh?”

  “Ingrid…”

  I shove him back with both hands. “Who do you think you are, always messing me up?”

  “I…”

  “Isn’t it enough that you stole my story? You have to steal my heart, too?” The words gush out of my mouth without a pause for thought.

  He falls silent, lips parted.

  I clasp my hand over my mouth as I realize what I’ve just said, then quickly retreat inside the house.

  For some reason, the door’s open, which is good because I can’t wait to get inside. But as soon as I do, I stop. My knees finally fail me and I drop to the floor at the sight before me.

  Ed is lying on the floor, his neck bent in an impossible way, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, lifeless.

  I scream.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Conner

  Ed is dead.

  Pacing the floor in the living room of our new cabin, I still can’t believe it. My gut coils and shivers break out across my back each time I think of it.

  Worse, he was clearly murdered. No question of an accident, and whoever did it didn’t even bother to make it look like suicide.