I kiss him with every fiber of my being.
I kiss him with every inch of my love.
I kiss him with every ounce of fire igniting my soul.
And he kisses me back with every fiber of his being, every inch of his love, every ounce of fire igniting his soul.
He is mine, and I am his.
He’s the dusk to my dawn, the night to my day, the beauty to my soul.
He’s my everything.
Monday morning comes around, and I haven’t been able to keep the smile off my face since yesterday morning.
Everything is wonderful.
Lately, there have been times when I am able to let myself go and be happy, but there is always self-doubt, always a reason to believe my happiness will be ripped away from me as quickly as it has been given to me.
Today is different.
Today, I’m not scared of the unknown. I’m not scared at the minuscule possibility that something bad might happen. I’m living each day as it comes, and I’m finally embracing my life, embracing my happiness.
“You’re in a chipper mood this morning,” my colleague, Andi, comments.
I’m making my morning coffee, smiling in particular at the sugar stick from the stash that Drew bought me, as I pour said sugar into my coffee. Since I had, like, a million of them, I brought them to work for everyone to use, and now, every time I make a cup of coffee in my orange Without sugar, I can be a real bitch mug, I always think of Drew. Not that there isn’t a single minute of every day that I’m not thinking about him. He seems to be on my brain twenty-four/seven.
I glance over to her, my smile still in place. “I had the best weekend. It’s hard not to smile.”
“Was this the camping trip you were telling me about?” she asks as she wanders to my left and grabs her designated mug from the cupboard.
I stir my coffee and step out of the way as she grabs the carafe and pours her coffee.
“Yeah.” Then, I tell her where Drew took us, how we cliff-dived and swam in the cove, and everything else in between.
We talk for a few more minutes, and as we’re leaving the kitchen, she turns to me and says, “We should double date sometime. It’d be nice to go out with another couple.”
“Yeah, we’ll set up a date soon,” I say, not meaning a single word.
We go our separate ways, and as I walk in the direction of my office, I find myself coming up with excuses of how to get out of the double date.
The dog died.
I have a family emergency.
I’m washing my hair.
God, I’m such a bitch, but the thought of going on a double date doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.
I quickly take a large sip of coffee, hoping the hit of sugar might ease my dose of bitchiness just a tad.
I reach my office that I share with three other event organizers and greet two of my colleagues, who are just getting settled at their desks.
I follow suit and get comfortable at my desk, placing my cup of coffee down. I move the mouse to wake my Mac, and when it flickers to life, I open my calendar to get myself familiarized with today’s appointments. At first, I don’t notice it, but after a second glance at the highlighted date of May 2, everything around me ceases to exist. Blood runs cold within my veins, and panic grips my heart in a tight viselike grip.
No.
No, no, no.
Oh God…no, no, no.
I clutch at my chest, nausea washing through me, and vomit threatens to rise up my esophagus.
Death surrounds me, but it’s not my death.
Christopher’s death.
Six years ago, on April 30, my best friend died in the brutal hands of the war in Afghanistan when he was there to heal the wounded.
On Saturday, it was the anniversary of his death, and I forgot.
I fucking forgot.
While I was living quite possibly one of the best days of my life, not having a single care in the world, it was the same day as his anniversary.
I’ve never forgotten. Ever.
How could I have forgotten?
He was my life since I was five years old. He gave me my first kiss when I was eight years old in a game of Truth or Dare. He gave me my second kiss when I was seventeen and declared he was hopelessly in love with me. He was my first boyfriend, my first love, my first everything.
He was my everything.
How do you forget?
How do you fucking forget?
I jolt out of my seat, slamming my thighs against the wood of the desk, while my arm collides with my mug, causing it to crash to the floor.
“Shit!” I groan out in pain as I manage to shove the chair back and stand to my feet.
I look down to the broken pieces of my mug and curse for a second time. Through blurry eyes, I bend down to pick up the broken shards of orange porcelain, and I hiss out in pain as the sharp object slices against the palm of my hand.
“Hey, is everything okay, Jo?”
At the concerned voice of my colleague, Beth, I drop the porcelain back to the floor and jerk my head up. I blink the tears from my eyes, ignoring the sharp pain that throbs against my hand, as I reach for my purse.
“No, I…I have a family emergency,” I say on a shaky breath. I use the same excuse I was thinking of using to get out of the double date, but it’s the only plausible excuse I have right now. “I have to go.”
I push past Beth with urgency, but she pulls me to a halt.
“Your hand is bleeding.”
“I have to go,” is all I can manage.
I rush out of the office in the direction of my car.
The next half an hour becomes a blur, and before I know it, I’ve pulled Junior out of class, and we’re soon on the highway, heading in the direction of Dallas…to my Christopher.
Junior repeatedly asks questions about where and why as I race down the highway, and after the sixth question, I snap at him as I try to fight against my emotions. Guilt engulfs me as I see his bottom lip tremble through the rearview mirror, and mine follows suit.
I wipe away the moisture leaking from my eyes before apologizing to my boy. I answer one of his previous questions with the truth. I tell him we’re heading home for a couple of days and that we’re going to visit Daddy.
The look of happiness I see beaming along his little face at the prospect of going to his daddy’s grave tells me he has no idea what April 30 means and that he doesn’t realize his mama forgot. He holds no disappointment, no hatred, and I’m relieved because, right now, I’m carrying enough disappointment and hatred for myself.
We arrive in Dallas in record time. I haven’t spoken to my parents since I moved to Austin, and they didn’t think of sending Junior a frigging birthday card, so I bypass their house and hightail it straight to my real parents, the family who welcomed me with open arms when I was five years old and has treated me like one of their own ever since.
We pull up outside, and Junior squeals as he runs from the car and up the drive before excitedly banging his fist against his grandparents’ door. “Grandpa, Grandma, it’s me!” he shouts.
I follow him, and just as I approach the porch, the door swings open with Alana, Christopher’s mom, smiling down at Junior with surprise.
“Hey, gorgeous guy! What are you both doing here?”
“To see Daddy!” Junior exclaims with a toothy grin.
Alana looks to me, and that’s when she sees it—the pain, the struggle, the tears I’m desperately holding back through my misty-filled eyes.
She crouches down to Junior’s level and says, “Why don’t you go and see your grandpa and ask him for one of grandma’s special cookies?”
Junior doesn’t need to be asked again, and he charges inside like a bull in a china shop.
Alana steps off the porch and lays a hand on my shoulder in a motherly way that has me choking back the tears. “What’s going on, sugar?”
Drew appears in the forefront of my mind a
t Alana’s term of endearment, the same endearment he uses for me, and guilt gnaws at my insides. Guilt because, during the past three hours, my focus has solely been on Christopher, and I haven’t given Drew a second thought—until now. This mixes with the guilt and disgust I have for forgetting one of the most important dates, and I’m a mess. My emotions are in agonizing chaos, but right now, I can only focus on Christopher.
God, how could I have forgotten?
“I forgot,” I choke out. “I forgot his anniversary.” My shoulders slump as sobs begin to rack through me.
“Oh, honey.”
She goes to wrap her arms around me, but I pull away, not wanting her comfort. The only comfort I need right now is a couple of miles away in the Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetery.
“I need to be with him. I need to be with Christopher right now. Can you watch Junior for a while and tell him I’ll take him to his daddy later?”
“Of course, sweetheart, but let me drive you. You’re not in a fit state.”
I clutch my keys within the palm of my hand, backing away from the porch. “I’m fine. I just need to be with Christopher.” My voice is rough with desperation.
I turn away and hurriedly head back to my car. All the while, Alana tries to speak out to me.
Once I’m inside the car, I’m able to block her voice out, and with the key in the ignition, I begin to navigate my way to the cemetery. Since I know the directions like the back of my hand after years of visiting him there, my brain seemingly goes on autopilot.
I follow my autopilot instincts until I’m standing before his grave.
I squeeze my eyes shut as burning tears blur my vision, and I drop to my knees.
As I grip the earth surrounding his grave, three words come tumbling from my mouth in a crying sob, over and over again, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”
All the self-hatred, guilt, and sorrow expels from me with every tear I spill, every sob I gasp.
I cry until my throat is raw.
I cry until every last tear has fallen.
Drew
I take my helmet off while still straddling my bike, and I look across the cemetery at my girl, who’s leaning against the side of a headstone, staring off into the distance. She looks like she’s been crying, and I hate it. I hate seeing the sadness on her face, the despair in her eyes. I’d do just about anything to take her pain away. I’d even swap places with Christopher if I could. I’d wrench my heart from my chest if it meant she could be with him again.
After an incredible weekend with the woman who’s not only stolen my heart, but also fucking owns every part of me, I was surprised when I received a phone call from Tyler—who’d had to get my number from the bakery—telling me his mom had called him to tell him Jo had turned up at her doorstep in a mess and that I needed to get my ass to Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetery. I grabbed my bike keys and was out the door before he could explain what had happened. He didn’t need to explain.
I knew the anniversary of Christopher’s death was coming up. She didn’t tell me when, but when I’d found out about her loss, she’d said it was almost six years since he died. So, it hardly takes a genius to work out why she’s at the cemetery. I wish she had told me though. I would have come with her, but what I’ve learned since knowing her is that, when she gets inside her head, it’s hard to get her back out again.
Tyler called me because he knew she’d need me, and after racing to Dallas in record time, swerving in and out of traffic to get to her, I’m here.
I’m here for her because, since I met her—the wonderfully crazy and sexy woman who handed my balls to me on a fucking silver platter—she’s been it for me. I’d never been dumbfounded before, especially in front of a woman, but with her, I was utterly speechless. It was like heaven came knocking, and an angel disguised as a devil in red panties and a white T-shirt appeared in front of me.
After giving her a few more minutes alone, I climb off my bike, set my helmet on the seat, and make my way over to her. She doesn’t see me approach, completely lost in her own world. It isn’t until I crouch down beside her and swipe a loose strand of hair from her face that she startles back into the present, locking eyes on me.
“Hey, sugar.”
She seems surprised to find me in front of her, but after a few seconds, her eyes soften a little with ease. “What are you doing here?”
“Tyler called me. He said you were here, that you’d been here for hours.”
“Hours?” she asks, drawing her eyebrows inward with confusion, an adorable crease touching along her forehead. “What time is it?”
I glance down at my watch. “It’s almost six.”
Her face blanches, and her eyes widen. She looks up to the sky, as if that will confirm the time. She glances at me, her usually piercing eyes dull and void of any emotion. “I guess time flies when you’re having fun.”
I usually find her sarcasm sexy as hell, but with the haunted gaze, it’s anything but. She grows silent and stares unblinkingly off into the distance, almost like she’s seeing something that I can’t see or perhaps she’s looking for something that isn’t possible.
I shift my position and sit beside her, giving her the space to work out whatever is going on in that pretty head of hers. No words pass between us for a good ten minutes.
Then, the softest words leave her mouth, her tone detached, sad. “I forgot.”
“What did you forget?” I urge, confused.
“I forgot his anniversary. It was on Saturday. I’ve come out here every year without fail, but this year, I forgot.” Her bottom lip trembles, but no tears fall. Her swollen eyelids and the red streaks along the softness of her cheeks tell me she’s probably all cried out.
“Sugar…” I reach out for her hand, but when she hisses out in pain, I turn her hand over, and my eyes double in size at the laceration along the center of her palm. “Shit, you’ve cut yourself.”
She glances down at her hand and winces at the sight of the blood. “When I realized what date it was, the mug you bought me somehow crashed to the floor in my rush to get here.” Then, without so much as a breath, she says, “I can’t believe I forgot. What kind of person does that make me?”
“A person that’s human,” I point out rationally.
“But how could I have forgotten? There hasn’t been a day since he died when I haven’t thought about him, but on the day he needed me, the day Junior and I always come out to lay flowers on his grave, to be with him, I wasn’t here.”
I pivot my body to look at her, staring at her in a way I know she can’t resist, completely unyielding. “Look at me,” I demand. And she does. “Just because you weren’t here doesn’t mean he wasn’t with you.” I linger my finger down her chest until the palm of my hand is touching directly over her beating heart. “He’s always with you. In here. And he always will be.”
She glances down at my hand briefly before looking back at me, sadness still swimming in the depths of blues, and I desperately want to see the sparkle again that’s usually followed by her smart mouth.
“I hate the thought of him waiting for me on Saturday, and I wasn’t here. Instead, I was living my life while he no longer gets to live his. It’s so fucking selfish,” she angrily grits out, flinching in pain as she clenches her fists.
My heart cracks down the center of my chest at the anger she holds.
“Jo, listen to me.” My words come out harsher than intended, but I need her to focus on me. I need her to listen to every word I have to say. “It’s not being selfish to live your life, a life you’ve only just begun living again. Christopher wouldn’t want this. He’d want you to be happy.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
I grip ahold of her other hand and squeeze tight, and without thinking, I lay everything out for her, giving her every inch, giving her my all.
“Because, if he loved you as much as I love you, there isn’t a goddamn thing he wouldn’t do to make you happy.
And, if he couldn’t be with you, then he’d want you to be with someone who made you happy. I—”
“Shut up,” she interrupts me, her eyes huge with shock at my declaration, her chest rising and falling.
I go silent.
“You love me?”
“I fucking love you,” I breathe out, my eyes boring into hers with everything I possess. I shift even closer and gently capture her chin within my fingertips, my thumb caressing along her bottom lip. “I have since I met you. I get that Christopher was your world, and I don’t want to sound like a complete dick, but he’s no longer here. I am. I am here. I want forever with you. I want to be your everything, but I can’t if I’m constantly competing with a ghost. I want you, sugar. I want every single piece of you. Well, except for the pieces that Christopher holds because I would never ask you to give that up. I would never hold a grudge for your love for him, but if you love me, too, you have to let me in all the way.”
My heart thumps against my chest as I watch emotions fill her eyes, emotions I can’t quite read, emotions that have anxiety coursing through my veins. I have never been scared of rejection, but until now, I’ve never met a woman who had the greatest possibility to break my heart. Jo has me by the balls right now, and I’m hoping like hell they’re still intact in a few seconds. Otherwise, I’ll be growing old as a very lonely man. If she breaks my heart, there will be no room for recovery. No one will ever come close to her, not by a million miles.
My body is suddenly jerked back when, in usual Jo fashion, she pounces on me, and I’m unable to take my next breath since she steals it from me with a slam of her lips.
“I. Love. You. Too,” she says in between kisses.
I fall in love with her a thousand times more at just hearing those words leave that sweet mouth of hers, a mouth that tastes better than any sugary treat.
She pulls away, and I caressingly drag my fingers through her flowing long hair, glancing up at her as she looks down at me. Her eyes are no longer dark and distant but full of love, full of life.
“I need all of you, Jo. Not just the parts of you that you choose for me to see but everything. I want your tears, your anger, your happiness, your ecstasy, your smart mouth, your body, your smile. I want your fucking everything.”
Our Forever Page 25