Love Everlasting

by Tracey Alvarez

  She took Reid’s hand and dragged him with her onto the stage. Dragged was an apt adjective, as it felt like reeling in an unwilling fish.

  “Hey.” He came to an abrupt halt center stage, his face partially hidden in shadows. “I’ve been on a stage or two in my life.”

  “You have?” She couldn’t keep the hint of surprise out of her voice. “When?”

  He stroked his thumb over the bumps of her knuckles. “High school English class production of Macbeth.”

  She choked out a laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. “You can’t say that name in here!”

  Reid nipped the pad of her fingertip then soothed it with a kiss, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll say it again if you don’t shut me up with more than your finger.”

  So Darby wrapped her arms around his neck and spent the next few minutes shutting him up.

  When they finally broke apart, she hung onto his arm as he tried to leave the stage. “Wait a minute. Tell me about that play in high school. Who were you?”

  Reid’s nose scrunched up. “Malcolm. Only by virtue that I had a knack for remembering lines, not from any acting ability—trust me—but thank God it wasn’t a musical where I’d be forced to sing and dance.”

  “Not your strong suit, huh?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it you who compared my singing in the shower to a cat falling into a blender? Which was in really bad taste since your felines were right in the room at the time.”

  She laughed, leaning back on her toes, knowing his arms were there to support her. “Guess I’ll have to wait until the ball to see you dance.”

  He’d been smiling down at her in his sexy, teasing way, but at the mention of the ball his smile flatlined. “Oh no, I don’t dance. You think my singing is bad. I’ll traumatize you for life if you’re forced to dance with me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “C’mon. You can’t be as bad as the average Kiwi guy’s side-to-side shuffle.”

  “Wanna bet?” He held out his arms in a dance position, which wasn’t really a dance position, said she who’d had a few months of ballroom lessons.

  Darby moved in close, toe to toe, adjusting the angle of his arm and the position of his hand on her hip. “Right. On the count of three, you step forward, I step back. One, two, three…”

  Reid stepped forward, his toes squishing down on hers.

  “Ow!” Darby jerked and Reid let go of her as if she’d suddenly developed lava-like skin.

  He swore and Darby laughed. “It’s okay. I should’ve been clearer—step forward with your left foot, not your right. Like this.”

  She gave him a brief demo of the male part of the waltz and for the next twenty minutes, with much complaining on Reid’s part, they clumped around the stage.

  “Why are we doing this again? I suck.”

  Actually, he didn’t. He wouldn’t win any ribbons, but he’d mastered the basics enough that he no longer looked like Frankenstein’s monster on steroids—his description, not hers.

  “Because for a wedding planner I can’t believe you don’t know how to dance. You might have to step in for the father of the bride one day, and then you’ll be thanking me.”

  And because Darby wanted one romantic dance with him at the ball next weekend.

  He sighed a God help me sigh. “One more time, then.”

  “Great. This time we’ll try with music,” she said and slipped her phone from her back pocket. She scrolled through her playlist and selected one of the songs she’d downloaded to practice with between lessons.

  She propped the phone up against the set backdrop and hit play, unable to mask a dreamy smile on her face at the first distinctive banjo notes coming out of the tiny phone speakers. She turned to find Reid staring at her with unabashed horror.

  “Are you kidding me? Kermit the Frog?”

  A bubble of laughter fizzed in her chest, straining to be released, but she held it back with effort and hurried to take up the waltz position.

  “Wash your mouth out.” She squeezed his fingers and readjusted the position of his hand on her waist that was currently sliding down to her butt. “Anyone who doesn’t get a little choked up at the ‘Rainbow Connection’ is a sociopath. Just saying.”

  He looked at her with raised eyebrows and she looked up at him, teeth raking her lower lip to keep the giggles inside. Then his forehead smoothed and an entirely different expression swept over his face. He drew her in close until neither of them could breathe without touching. Far too close to waltz to, but Darby didn’t have a single complaint.

  “You are the most complicated, contradictory, irritatingly perfect woman I’ve ever met, and I—”

  But Reid didn’t finish his thought as suddenly an overhead spotlight clunked to life. Hot white light poured down on them, then other stage lights came to life—ones that sent sparkly disco flashes around the stage.

  Reid squinted into the still-darkened auditorium. “What the…”

  “Guess Fergie’s testing out the light show for the ball scene before he calls it quits.”

  “The man’s got a great sense of timing.” He gave a dry chuckle and took a half step away from her so they were in the correct position to begin. “Might as well use it.”

  “Yeah.”

  Her heartbeat thudded so loudly in her ears she could barely hear what Kermit was singing about the lovers and dreamers of this world. What had Reid been about to say?

  Reid—with a muttered, “One, two, three”—remembered to lead with his left and they began to glide. Or maybe the gliding, the smooth rise and fall of their steps, the sway of their bodies in time to the music, the dreamlike moments of synchrony that would be over all too soon, were just figments of her imagination.

  Live in the present and make it beautiful.

  Tears prickled hotly in the corner of her eyes. The present was beautiful, but only because she’d somehow stupidly fallen in love with this incredible man. The thought was both exhilarating and gut-wrenchingly terrifying at the same time. And while her brain backpedaled frantically and tried to slam on the brakes, her heart stretched in luxurious bliss like one of her cats waking up from a long nap.

  Wetness spilled over her lashes and trickled down her cheek. Reid grinned at her and shook his head, taking her tears at face value. Girlish sentimentality.

  “You weren’t kidding me about the little green guy turning on your waterworks.”

  Darby wasn’t kidding him at all. Not anymore. And not herself, when at the beginning of all this she’d arrogantly assumed her heart would remain safely on the bench. Did she dare share that with him, though? For a woman who’d walked into the oncology ward week after week with a ready to kick cancer’s ass smile on her face, she found the prospect of this vulnerability just as challenging. The realization was too raw, too new to boldly go where she hadn’t gone for years—or if ever.

  She forced a smile on her mouth and lifted her chin. “Shut up, you sociopath.”

  Reid laughed, she joined him, and no one but her realized her laughter was as brittle as the glass slipper Cinderella wore to the ball.

  Chapter 14

  It was the night of Cinderella’s last dress rehearsal and Darby kept flicking worried glances out at the auditorium where Reid sat, and twice she missed her cue.

  Just nerves, he told himself. Tomorrow was opening night to a sold-out show, as were the Saturday matinee and the final evening performance.

  On stage, Darby once again flubbed a line exchanged with Hugh. She apologized to no one in particular, apologized for apologizing, and then repeated the line in a tone that made his gut tighten. A tone that reminded him of a dog crawling on its belly, whining for approval. He doubted that approval was needed from Hugh, but rather the overall cast and crew who’d spent hours on a production that Darby was desperate to succeed. There was a lot riding on this show, and Reid wasn’t immune to the pressure now either.

  Both of them had worked late together in his workroom for the past three nig
hts after Darby’s car was broken into. Four costumes sourced from charity shops, including a sixties-era prom dress that was serving as the Fairy Godmother’s gown, had been stolen. Go figure. The thief had no taste or appreciation for the arts.

  Reid immediately offered to make replacements, uncomfortably grateful that the thief had given him an excuse to spend more time with Darby. Because he was beginning to feel as if he needed to make excuses to himself for this constant desire to be with her.

  He slouched down in the mildly uncomfortable theater seat, watching Darby with predator-like intensity as he had been doing since they arrived together earlier with all the completed costumes. On stage, she shone like a beacon, dragging his gaze back to her over and over, no matter what else was happening. She was the light of the whole damn show, and he couldn’t for one moment allow himself to imagine that light extinguished.

  Get a grip, man.

  His breath rasped in and out of his chest, burning his lungs as if he’d inhaled oily black smoke. He slid out of the seat, barking his shin against the one in front in his haste to get out of the claustrophobic row. He could feel Darby’s gaze on his shoulders like a sniper’s laser dot as he strode up the center aisle. Opening the heavy theater doors as quietly as he could, he slipped into the cooler foyer and tried to walk it off. It being the sick feeling of finally acknowledging the invisible axe swinging in ever-lowering arcs above Darby’s head. And his inability to prevent it from happening. His selfishness and underlying cowardliness of not wanting to go through the type of grief he’d suffered over his mum’s death again.

  Darby’s not going to die. She’s not me. The calm but slightly frustrated voice of his mother dropped into the chaos of his mind.

  But she might; the cancer could come back. The voice of a frightened child—his voice.

  She’s. Not. Going. To die. A man’s voice, one who was still resisting what his heart already knew. That all his defenses, all the sensible reasons why he and Darby were a bad idea, they all meant nothing. The battle for his heart was lost the moment she’d left him standing at a wedding with her slingback shoes.

  Applause and whoops came from behind the closed theater doors as the rehearsal ended. Reid slammed through the outer doors, hoping the brisk night air would cool the heat extending from his feet to the roots of his hair. He shot past the alleyway, then did an abrupt one-eighty and stalked back down it to the theater’s rear doors. He felt like he’d been caught in an electrical storm, with every hair raised on his body, but he couldn’t just leave.

  Not without her.

  The back door was pinned open and he slipped through, ducking around chattering cast members streaming through the wings. He spotted Darby off to one side near the front of the stage, still in her blue dress and heels he’d bought her, chatting with Kaitlyn. Barely aware of Hugh scowling at him as he brushed past, he marched onto the stage. Darby’s gaze flicked to his and widened as something in his expression must’ve given away his intentions.

  He crossed right to her, ignored Kaitlyn’s irritated ‘Hey!” at the interruption, and kissed her with all the pent-up frustrated need he’d been bottling. Kissing her didn’t drain that need, though, it amplified it. With a little moan into his mouth, Darby swayed closer, fisting her hands on his shirt hem and holding on tight as if she was concerned one of them was going to run.

  Well, it wouldn’t be him.

  It was Darby who broke the kiss, perhaps a little taken aback by the spontaneous round of applause that had broken out around them. Her gaze zipped from him to Kaitlyn, who grinned like the Cheshire Cat off to the side.

  “Well, that was unexpected.” Kaitlyn shot Darby a we’ll talk about this later, oh yes, we will look. “For some of us, at least.”

  “Should’ve guessed someone else was screwing her.” Hugh’s voice came from behind them. “The only unexpected bit is it’s you.”

  The pretty blush coloring Darby’s cheeks drained away as Hugh sauntered onto the stage, muscles bunching in his folded arms as he scanned Darby from head to toe with a disdainful sneer. She stiffened in Reid’s arms and he felt the first quiver of hurt shoot through her.

  He let her go, moving protectively in front of her. Darby gripped his forearm with jaws-of-life strength, as if expecting him to knock the poisonous little cretin on his skinny-jean-covered butt.

  “Figures that if you can’t get a real man you’d settle for a pansy.” He all but spat the words, stepping sideways so he could direct them at Darby.

  Provocation or not, maybe she had the right idea hanging onto his arm before he lost sight of his better judgment and punched Hugh’s front teeth in—though if the expressions on the faces of two men advancing out of the wings were any indication, things were about to get ugly all on their own.

  “What did you just say about Darby, King?” one asked, an ass-whupping in the making in every line of his beefy shoulders.

  Hugh, either as dumb as a sack of rocks or in love with the sound of his own voice, was the type of guy to not know when to just shut up.

  “Poor little cancer girl—you know the only reason I asked you out was to check screw a bald chick off my bucket list since I figure your hair is a wig as fake as your boobs.”

  Reid’s fists clenched, and rage so hot it was almost nuclear sealed his veins and arteries closed as it flowed through him. Darby trembled again and he realized she now stood level with him, her arm bumping his with her shivering.

  Things happened in rapid succession. In the pause before he lunged at Hugh, Darby moved—cobra fast—darting under his arm and swinging a perfect right hook. He caught a glimpse of her face and knew he’d got it wrong. Darby wasn’t scared or upset; she was furious, ready to kick ass and take names pissed. Her fist connected with a satisfying crunch into Hugh’s nose. He rocked back a step with a falsetto squeal of pain, then attempted to go after her.

  Attempted being the word of the day.

  Reid was in front of Darby before Hugh’s fist got anywhere near her, the sloppy punch bouncing off Reid’s arm. The little prick still had enough force in that swing to have hurt Darby, and for that…

  He caught Hugh’s wrist in a viselike clamp, capturing his other hand when Hugh, again, attempted another swing. Simply by the height and strength difference and Hugh being light years out of his league, Reid kept him at a braced and helpless distance away from him. Kind of like a tantrum-throwing kid trying to lash out at his daddy but with limbs too short to do any real damage.

  The bones in Hugh’s wrists ground together as Reid tightened his grip. More to restrain himself than to keep Hugh at bay because he’d never wanted to beat the living crap out of someone else as much as he did this pathetic excuse of a man.

  Insult and try to strike his woman?

  “Quit now before you get hurt,” Reid said.

  Hugh’s face was a dull, furious red, his gaze skipping around the gathering crowd, looking for support before landing on Darby. He bared his teeth at her.

  “Make no mistake.” Reid pitched his voice deadly quiet. “I will take you down if you make a move toward her again.”

  Hugh wriggled his wrists and Reid released him with a shove, tensing himself to protect Darby if needed.

  Hugh glared at them, examining his nose with tentative fingers. “I could report you both to the cops for assault. That cow attacked me—you all saw it.”

  “That’s not what I saw.” Claudia came up beside Darby and slid an arm around her waist. “I saw you about to hit a woman—my friend—who’d done nothing to provoke you.”

  “Agreed.” Sally appeared on Darby’s other side. “You instigated this, Hugh. Shame on you.”

  There were mutters of agreement from all around them.

  Beefy Guy stomped up to Reid, slapping a meaty palm on his shoulder. “Leave something of him for me and my pansy mate once you’ve reeducated the dickhead, will ya?”

  The rumbling grew louder.

  Hugh spat on the stage. “Screw you all, and screw this
pathetic production. See how far you get without me.” He turned his back on them, hopped off the stage, and stalked out of the auditorium.

  “Well,” Darby said in the stunned silence. “What a prince, eh?”

  “Speaking of which”—Sally hugged her clipboard close to her chest—“how on earth are we going to replace him by tomorrow? We can’t have opening night without Prince Charming.”

  Darby stepped away from the two women, the flush of anger gone from her face and replaced with pale resolve. “Tony?” she asked the beefy guy at Reid’s side. “Could you step in?”

  “You think I’d be a believable prince with this ugly old mug?” Tony poked a thumb at his face then shot a glance at Sally. “Didn’t I tell you we shoulda had understudies?”

  “We’re too small a group to have understudies. And Hugh”—Sally clicked her tongue and shook her head—“who I think we can all concede is not a very nice guy, does have somewhat of a visual appeal.” Her gaze settled on Reid, slid away, then jerked back and turned speculative. “As do you, Mr. Hudson.”

  Darby spun toward him, hope in every line of her face.

  Aw, hell no.

  He folded his arms and glanced around. Every one of the remaining cast was staring at him as if he were the second coming.

  “Remember what you told me about remembering lines?” Darby said.

  “I’m not an actor.”

  Sally snorted into her clipboard. “Neither was Hugh, truth be told. You’ve watched the rehearsals a number of times and we can’t afford to be picky. If you can memorize the lines, you’ve got the part.”

  “But the dancing and the stage direction,” Reid said. It really wasn’t much of a protest because he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Darby, who just continued to watch him with her beautiful blue eyes.

  Claudia beamed at him. “Who’s willing to stay late tonight and run through the play a couple more times?”

  There was a clamor of offers.

  “What do you say?” Sally asked.

  “Reid?”