Promise Me Forever (Top Shelf Romance)

by Kate Stewart

  “God, this is awesome,” Lexi said at my side. “I can’t believe we got back here!”

  “I know,” I said, glancing her way. “We’ve come a long way, baby!”

  Lexi and I were like pigs in shit as we watched the show from the side of the stage.

  I ended the video and sent it to my father, who messaged me back something resembling an impressed text. He was just starting to learn and was getting there. Though I wasn’t sure he knew what LOL meant.

  “I fucking love you,” Lexi yelled as she rocked out next to me, full on fangirl. I gave her a lopsided smile.

  “Hmm, with all the prejudice you had, you finally giving in?”

  “They are awesome!”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve always been right about them!” I yelled with an elbow nudge.

  “You are,” she said, looking down at her phone with pressed brows. She glanced at me and her shoulders sagged.

  “You have to go,” I said as she slowly nodded, her devastation evident on her features. We shared a tear-filled smile.

  “Go,” I said, hugging her tight.

  “I’ll call you all the time, I promise.”

  “You better,” I warned playfully as she picked up her backpack. “How did I get here?” she asked with an incredulous face.

  Tears threatening, I faced my best friend, who had been there through damn near every song of my life. She had been my rock, my comfort, and I hoped briefly that I had been half as much to her. “You got here because you are hot shit and the world was smart enough to notice. I love you.”

  We hugged again as she looked down at my fresh Converse. “Nice choice.”

  Twisting my foot, I displayed my fresh white chucks that I’d scribbled “Don’t Worry Be Happy” on just hours before the concert.

  “I think so, too. Fitting, right?”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gave me one last hug and whispered, “This isn’t goodbye, you know.”

  “I know,” I said, though my heart was already missing her. And though I knew we would always be close, it felt like the end of our independence together. We both were chasing big dreams that were leading us down different roads.

  “Proud of you,” we both said at the same time before we shared a watery smile. She broke away from me and readjusted her grip on her backpack, hesitating before she eyed me over her shoulder.

  “Go,” I shooed her away. “I don’t want to cry.”

  We were crying anyway as she saluted me before she disappeared. I turned my eyes back to the drummer.

  My heart stuttered as the opening piano keys filtered through the air and into the screaming crowd. My eyes drifted back to the man behind the drum set, my hero, and my favorite storyteller, Don Henley.

  Don opened his mouth and poured out the opening lines to my favorite Eagles’ song, “Wasted Time”. He sang of a broken-hearted woman trying to find her footing, a woman going through the pieces of her love story and wondering where it went wrong.

  Oh, the irony.

  It was always the music that reminded me where I’d been and where I was going. Aching from the truth of the lyrics, sweet relief came in the form of the beautiful man who appeared on the other side of the stage. He was desperately searching for someone, for me. I stood waiting, as different tears— tears I’d sworn I didn’t have left—swam in my eyes. And his search stopped when he spotted me, his deep blue gaze found mine. I saw him visibly relax and for a minute all was right with the world. I expected him to bridge the gap, to come to me. Instead, he leaned against the side of the stage and slid his hands into his suit pockets, his eyes never leaving mine. No matter how much water was under the bridge beneath us, the man gave me as many of my dreams as he could, even after I broke us with my selfish heart. In the end, he gave the greatest gift he could ever give me. Nate gave me music.

  In that moment, I let my love show and my tears fall freely as Don’s raspy voice conveyed more to him than I ever could. Because our love was real. It was truth. And I would never take what we had for granted.

  I lifted my duffle bag from the floor and threw it over my shoulder as the last notes of our song played and our story ended on that stage. I took one last look at him, memorizing his details while I pressed my hand to my heart.

  I love you, Nate Butler. Thank you for loving me.

  My seat belt sounded as I hastily unbuckled it after seeing my husband standing in the driveway waiting . . . for me. His hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes searching for mine. Tears blurred my vision as I hiccupped through my sobs with a grateful heart. Because no matter how far I strayed from him, he waited.

  Barely able to shove the car in park, my heart thundered as his soul spoke to mine across the distance. Through the beams of my headlights and the drizzle pinging on my skin, I launched myself into his waiting arms. “I love you so damn much,” I cried as he gripped me tightly to him, relief evident and seeping between us as I sobbed in his hold. My heart home, my life wrapped around me. Because I was safe, just like he told me I was all those years ago.

  “Hey,” he said, holding me like I was his life force. “Hey, hey, baby, what happened?”

  I answered with a feverish kiss as it began to rain around us. I tasted him, breathed him in, his scent, and his warmth filling me to the brink and spilling over.

  “I missed you,” I murmured, placing reverent kisses all over his face, his jaw, and his soft lips.

  “Stella, what happened?”

  I pulled back and gave a knowing smile. “We happened. We happened, Reid. And I’m so fucking glad I asked you to kiss me.”

  He fisted my hair in a possessive grip, his beautiful green gaze flitting over my face. “I promise you won’t have to ask for that again, Mrs. Crowne.” He pressed hungry lips to mine, his tongue sweeping gently before our flames touched and we ignited, hot and burning bright blue, high enough for the stars to notice. When he pulled away, I saw our past the same way I saw our future when we collided back into each other’s present.

  The music had led me back to him, solidifying us, and I would forever follow. He was my song, my soul, my everything, and his love had propelled me forward into the woman I wanted to be. And that woman would burn out with the man who was made to keep her warm.

  He wiped the tears away as I stared up at him. “How did you know I was almost home?”

  “The way I’ve always known when you’re close,” he said, delving deep into my mouth and leaving me breathless. He pulled away after a lingering peck on my lips. “I felt it.” He watched my face closely.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Never better, never,” I said, gripping his face in my hands, longing for more. Even only inches away, with our bodies aligned and pressed close, I would never get close enough.

  “Welcome home,” he murmured warmly, ignoring the rain before he dipped his head and devoured me, a hungry man who was done waiting, reclaiming me with his heart as the lock reinforced in mine, with us safely inside.

  When he pulled away, I had only one request. “Take me inside and waste me, Mr. Rock Star.”

  “Gladly, Grenade.”

  Epilogue

  Pink: Who Knew

  Two Years Ago

  I took the job.

  And I left Nate at the donut shop that day with a tearful “I’m sorry” before I slipped the ring—that I hadn’t taken off since our break up—in his suit pocket. The press pass I’d returned after I left Speak appeared in the mail a few months later with the Austin City Limits tickets and a note from Nate that said I’d earned it. It was a surprise gift from him, along with his unexpected presence at the concert. The wordless love in his eyes that shined across the space of that stage told me we were good, that we would always be good, and that our story had meant as much to him as it had me. Because, despite the way we ended, there would forever be love between us. Always.

  Austin Speak’s presence had been requested at Austin City Limits that year, along with the rest of the reputable rags
. I couldn’t help but feel like I had something to do with that. And when I saw the Eagles were headlining, I knew it was fate telling me I had come full circle.

  Nate and I could never go back to what we were. And though, when I got on that plane to Seattle, I mourned for the future we would never have, the bigger part of me knew I needed to focus on my road. My plans had sat idle long enough.

  Reid and I had spoken once before I decided to take the job. He was in London recording a new album. That conversation lasted two days. And though it was on the edge of my tongue, I chose not to tell him about ending my relationship with Nate until I had some time for myself without the burden of my emotions in play. I kept it clean, knowing that any sway in conversation might ruin our newly rekindled friendship and lead to expectation I wasn’t sure I was ready for. We had years of separation between us, and I couldn’t help but be amazed at the man Reid had become. We talked about the band, our mutual love of music, my podcast and plans for it. He told me road stories of the people he met, and I couldn’t help but be envious, albeit slightly resentful that I hadn’t been a part of it all. But I couldn’t, not for one single second regret my time with Nate. He was a huge part of my journey, not a detour, and I knew that to be the truth in my heart. Reid and I left our conversation open-ended, the way our relationship had always been, and with wholeheartedly exchanged I love yous. He was a globally-known popular rock star with a bright future, and I finally had a chance to execute my dreams the way I’d always hoped. Our middle ground, as always was our love, admiration, respect, friendship, and above all, the music he promised me he would continue to make.

  I fell in love with Seattle.

  A few months into my new residence in Washington, and at the urging of my sixth sense, I decided to plant roots.

  I spent my days working as an editor for a city paper called Seattle Waves—a job I’d been trained to do and do well—and my nights working on my podcast. My rhythm came naturally. Within those few months, I had cemented myself in my new surroundings, stomping the sidewalks with purpose, doing the legwork, and working off the twenty pounds and then some I’d gained taking the long routes. I spent some of my nights familiarizing myself with the clubs. I went organic, back to the groundwork of watching shows of the up and coming to keep a fresh perspective, while simultaneously interviewing veterans for my podcast. I set the bar high and kept competing with myself, coming out on the other side a better journalist for it. I was climbing mountains in my profession, but breathing easy while doing it. My footing was exact, and with my heart in the right place, my obstacles were few. It was both expected and surreal to be on top of my game, and on my own terms.

  I knew Nate was watching. He told me so in a few emails. I had surprised us both, but in his last email, he made a roundabout comment that I had made the right decision. And though it stung, I agreed with him.

  I kept my eyes down as I typed myself into my new life. I loved Seattle for several reasons, not to mention the introduction to my new best friend: fall. Real fall, where the weather changed with the dates, the leaves turned in color, and the Seattle landscape took my breath away. Though I missed my family and my friends, Seattle felt like home.

  Despite my dreams to be a nomad, and the fact that I still put my suitcase outside my door every New Year’s Eve in hopes of an eventual passport stamp, I decided to buy my first house. With the small amount of success through my podcast, and getting a few ads from local vendors as well as a large, nationally recognized brand, I managed to scrape up enough money for a down payment. I spent weeks looking for the right place, working with a realtor, and searching online. And at 11:11 p.m., two months to the day that I had moved into my teacup-sized apartment, I got the notion to look for the latest listings.

  Because no matter how hard I tried to steer life my way, life decided to reveal its own plans.

  And they were nothing short of miraculous.

  It was on that night that I found my house, a large A-frame that looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkaid painting. A cottage-style dream with multicolored pavers that led up to a house with enough bedrooms for the seven dwarves. I jumped on it. Taking the morning off at my paper, I made a beeline for it. Everything inside me told me it was mine.

  I was full of daydreams about working the massive backyard as I raced through the streets to claim it. It was a little out of my price range, but I was determined to make it my own.

  You can’t put a price on your dreams, and I learned over the years that sometimes dreams have a way of paying for themselves. Excited for my new adventure, I floored the pedal up and down the steep roads that led to the small town outside the city. And as I neared, my nerves began thrumming up a familiar rhythm as my heart thudded with certainty. The minute I hit the private drive, my sixth sense kicked in, telling me I was right to follow the beat. A tidal wave of goose bumps covered me as the awareness hit.

  Look up, Stella.

  And I did.

  Turning Page: Sleeping At Last

  Reid walked me through our front door, his lips fused with mine, his hands in all the right places as I moaned in approval. He liked me vocal . . . most of the time. “I still can’t believe you were standing there!”

  “Again?” he groaned as he pushed my T-shirt over my head. “You want to hear this again?”

  “Every day. Every day,” I said, sucking on his bottom lip. “Forever.”

  “It was Rye who was looking at the house,” he said as his lips took mine to silence me. I pulled away with wide eyes.

  “You were just . . . there!”

  “I told you to believe me.”

  “Yeah, but you were right there! That’s not a coincidence, Reid. You were supposed to be in London!”

  “It’s a small world with us in it, baby.” He grinned at me, his fingers working the button on my jeans. “So, let me get this straight. The Sergeants getting signed by Sony or the fact that you won those drums, or any of the other crazy shit that happened didn’t give you a clue?”

  In front of the house, the other half of me, my future, was standing on the lawn, peering up at the expansive cottage with Rye’s three-month-old daughter next to him in a car seat. It only took seconds before his spine pricked with the same awareness and he turned to find me standing outside of my SUV, keys in hand and my jaw on the cobblestone walkway. His expression was priceless: a mix of shock and relief. Though he continually said he always knew, neither of us could have prepared for that moment.

  “I almost had another stroke when I saw that baby in the car seat on the grass next to you,” I whispered.

  “So you’ve told me a million times. Naked. Wife. Now,” he ordered.

  “Still, you were standing at my house!” I said with breathless anticipation as he spread me out on the bed.

  “Our house, and you started a bidding war. This fucking thing cost us twice the price, thanks to Rye.”

  “Reid,” I groaned in frustration, “it was a miracle!”

  “No, the miracle was that I didn’t strangle you the minute I found out you were no longer engaged and still hadn’t come back to me.”

  The hurt was still there. A flicker in his eyes that had faded over time and lay limp, unthreatening, beneath the promise of always and the years of new memories we shared.

  “I was working my way back to me, back to you,” I murmured. “I was giving myself some time.”

  He hovered above me, naked and hungry. “Time’s up, wife,” he spread me beneath him and kissed a hot trail from my knee to my thigh.

  “You bought it out from underneath me.”

  “Just to get a proper first date,” he said, looking up at me while his tongue traced my sensitive flesh. “I had to make sure you didn’t run off again.”

  “Leverage,” I said, tapping his forehead. “I was so mad.”

  “Doesn’t suck to have money,” he said with a chuckle. “Are you going to let me fuck you tonight, wife?”

  “Of course,” I pushed out, as he work
ed me into a puddle under soft lips and skilled fingers. I gripped his silky hair. “Once the story is over,” I taunted, as he blazed a trail to my center over my pulsing middle. He had me right where he wanted me, right where I belonged, with him, his. He explored me with precision, darting his wicked tongue to hasten the ache before he looked up at me with a smug grin. “We had sex on our first date, the end.”

  “Reid, please,” I gasped, tugging his hair, asking for both our story and more of the heat in his eyes. I never wanted an ending to either.

  He let out a sigh as I writhed, just as anxious but unwilling to let it go, needing the greedy satisfaction of heart and body. “On our first date, I put a mattress on the living room floor, and we had Ramen. And you talked a lot.”

  “And?”

  Butterflies swirled around as I gripped his jaw. He kissed his way up my stomach and then hovered. “I opened every window to the house and lit it up.”

  “Thousands of candles,” I said dreamily.

  “Hundreds,” he corrected sucking my peaked nipple.

  “And then?”

  He leaned down and nipped my neck as I locked my legs around him. “And then we argued,” he said biting my lip as his stiff cock nudged my entrance. “And it was the best fucking argument of my life, literally.”

  “And . . . then?” I asked, out of breath as he sucked my neck then nailed me with his hungry, jade gaze.

  “And then . . .”

  He pushed inside me and filled me so full, I broke. And he was there to burn through every piece, molding the ones we missed together, and soothing the burn between us.

  “I asked you not to let go,” he whispered as he thrust hard, drowning out my gasp with his groan.

  “Never,” I whispered as he sucked at my nipple, teething it and drawing me tight around him. I trembled in his wake as he peppered kisses over every inch of flesh his lips could reach before he licked at my parted mouth, commanding my tongue, and stroked me deeply, rattling my core.