For Keeps. For Always.

by Haley Jenner

  I miss her in a way that causes a pain in my chest I can’t ease.

  I love her.

  But more than any of that, I miss my best friend.

  I miss sitting with her on our rock, staring at the flow of the river while we hid ourselves away from the ugly in her life.

  I miss being the most important person in her life.

  I miss being the only person in this world who could make her smile.

  Who does that for her now? Who takes the sadness in her eyes and erases it with deep conversation and the love she’s been so deprived of in life?

  I hate that she doesn’t need me in the same obsessive way I do her.

  I hate myself for wanting her to feel lonely enough that the thought of rejecting my olive branch suffocates her.

  I hate that I’m asshole enough to know I want her hurting so she lets me in to take away her pain. Even if it’s just for a night.

  My phone sounds with a notification, and I pick it up, sucking in a quick, sharp breath.

  Henley: You shouldn’t have swiped on me.

  28

  HENLEY

  Brooks: Same could be said for you.

  Touché.

  Two years of healing.

  Of forgetting.

  All erased the moment he extended an invitation at contact.

  I’m pathetic.

  Henley: I shouldn’t have messaged you.

  Brooks: Yet here we are.

  Henley: Here we are.

  Brooks: You’re in NYC.

  Henley: I’m here for a mixology course.

  Brooks: Have to admit, I never imagined you’d step foot on home soil.

  Henley: It’s still a part of the world. It’s still somewhere I need to explore.

  I’m being purposely distant. I want to talk to him. But I also hate myself for wanting that.

  Brooks: If you don’t want to talk to me, Henley. Just say so.

  Henley: I don’t want to talk to you.

  My heart beats in my chest vigorously.

  Henley: But I can’t stop myself from needing to.

  Brooks: I can’t tell you I’m not thankful for that. Do you hate me?

  I stare at his message, my eyes stinging.

  How do I answer that?

  I stall, unsure what truth to unveil.

  Brooks: It’s okay if you do. I hate you a little bit too.

  My heart stutters at his words.

  Henley: I’ve come to realize that the power behind love can morph into hate when it all goes wrong. I love you, and I hate you. But I hate myself more than I could ever hate you. I often wonder if I could love myself as deeply as I love you. Maybe I could hate you enough to want to forget you.

  Brooks: Or maybe if you loved yourself as deeply as you do me, maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself take a chance on letting me love you back.

  I stare at his words. They all but pulsate on my screen, forcing me to feel them in the tips of my toes to the very top of my head. Coursing through my veins.

  Maybe you’d let yourself take a chance on letting me love you back.

  I want to scream at him. I have let him love me back. I don’t doubt for a single second that he loves me as deeply as I do him. I just wish he’d understand that sometimes it just isn’t enough. Sometimes living in the throes of love is more painful than losing it.

  Henley: Most days, I wish I never met you. But those days, I feel the most pain because I don’t think I’d know happiness without you.

  I wait for him to respond. My cell phone damp with sweat in my palms. My words were hurtful. Not purposely harmful, but necessarily honest. I feel content in my own company traveling the world. But contentment is worlds away from happiness. Brooks is the only place in this world where I feel happy. When I’m with him, I never feel alone. And the harsh reality of that scares me more than anything in this world. He has the power to break not only my heart but also my spirit and soul.

  Brooks: Will you let me buy you a coffee.

  Henley: Yes.

  I don’t think before replying. I’d rather live in the pain of seeing him than with the regret of not.

  I arrive deliberately late. Afraid he’ll stand me up. Petrified of sitting in a coffee shop alone and hopeful only for him to decide it was a mistake to suggest it.

  Shedding my layers as I step into the coffee shop he’d suggested, I search the space with an anticipation that turns my stomach. My heart rattles in my chest at an unhealthy speed. Scarf held loosely in my hand, I pull at the beanie on my head as our eyes lock. He stands, the deep swallow in his throat as obvious as my own.

  Two years.

  Twenty-four arduous months of finding myself while needing to stay lost.

  My feet move forward of their own accord, and I can see the physicality of his sigh. The relief that drops his shoulders. He smiles then. A small smirk, one that hasn't changed throughout the years. The tip-up at the right side of his mouth, a slow blink of his beautiful blue eyes as he takes me in.

  Standing in front of him, I let my eyes track his face. Cataloging everything I’ve missed over the past few years.

  At only twenty-seven, he exudes a maturity most often seen in middle-aged men. Life experience tucked comfortably in his pockets. The better part of a decade spent solo, traveling the world, and embracing different cultures will offer you that. I don’t doubt, staring into my eyes the way he is, he sees a similar experience in me.

  Hair cut in the same style he’d worn at Addy’s wedding, the length drops over his forehead, obscuring the view of his left eye. The light shades that danced through the color have faded, having given way to the dark brown you’d be forgiven for thinking was black. The bottom half of his face is decorated in a shadow of dark hair, a thick mustache hiding the rich red of his lips.

  “Squirrel,” he breathes, hand grabbing hold of my jacket to pull me into an embrace I feel starved of.

  My arms wrap around his waist like a vise, cheek to his chest. I breathe him in. Drowning myself in the relief of feeling at home for the first time in years. A single sob escapes my throat before I can stop it. The sound broken and relieved and altogether full of affection.

  Brooks pulls me closer, nose to the top of my hair as he inhales. His hand finds the nape of my neck, holding me against him.

  “One minute, Henley. I need a fucking minute before you pull away from me.”

  The quiet desperation in his tone forces another sob to break free and I press my face into his chest, hiding the sound from the crowd around us.

  He steps back before I do, hands moving to my cheeks as he looks at me. Really looks at me.

  “Telling you I missed you seems deficient in meaning to how I actually feel,” he whispers.

  I close my eyes to catch the pool of tears within them.

  “Let’s get a coffee.” I feel the loss of his hands on my face like a wound to my heart, but I nod in agreement, opening my eyes to the blistering affection in his.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  We turn to the gentle husk of the man standing beside us.

  “The shop is pretty busy this morning and you two look like you could do with a quiet space to catch up.”

  I look at Brooks and then at the man again. I’d guess he’d be in his late thirties, clean-cut and excessively handsome.

  “Do you work here?” Brooks tests cautiously.

  The stranger smiles. “My wife does.” He points at the pretty barista, watching him in curiosity. “When I can manage it, I work from here so I can glance at her throughout the day.”

  I smile. “That’s sweet.”

  He shrugs. “I’m here early enough to snag that spot in the back corner.” He gestures behind him. “You guys take it. It seems you could use the quiet.”

  Brooks pulls me into his side. “Thanks . . .”

  “Tripp.” The man extends his hand. “And you’re welcome. I’ll just move my stuff.”

  “Take a seat, Squirrel. I’ll order for us.”

&
nbsp; I follow the kind man to his seat, watching as he collects his things.

  “You didn’t have to do this.”

  He glances up at me. “What’s your name?”

  I clear my throat. “Henley.”

  “Pretty name. Henley, I’ve learned through experience that kindness from a stranger can sometimes be the push you need in life. You and your friend look like you could use a bit of kindness.”

  I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you.”

  He winks and disappears, moving toward the barista to kiss her before sitting down on the seat Brooks had occupied only moments prior.

  “Cool place, yeah?”

  I look up at Brooks, taking the coffee he hands me with a nod of my head. “Nice people, too.”

  “We must have looked a mess for him to give us his seat.”

  I laugh lightly. “It wouldn’t be hard to tell we’re broken.”

  His eyes settle on me for longer then comfortable. A stare I should look away from but can’t find it in me to do.

  Opening his mouth to speak, he pauses mid-exhale, closing his mouth, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “Mixology?” he questions after a beat.

  I wait a moment, afraid he’ll continue. That he’ll work up the courage to say what he’d originally wanted.

  “I’ve started chasing the top-rated courses through the world. I finished one in Germany a few months ago. Rome a few months before that.”

  “And now New York.”

  “And now New York,” I confirm. “It starts in a few weeks. Just exploring the city beforehand.”

  He shifts closer, elbows resting on the table. “What’s the game plan with the courses?”

  Lifting my shoulders to my earlobes, I tip my bottom lip in dismissiveness, not willing to divulge my dreams. “I have a few ideas, but I’m just doing my research, perfecting my signature before I consider taking a leap. What about you?”

  “I haven’t seen Mom or Dad in years,” he admits. “I told them I’d visit. I started in Colorado and couldn’t bring myself to keep on to Lake Geneva, so I took a job in New York.”

  “I get that,” I whisper.

  Lake Geneva is where our friendship blossomed. It’s where our love story started and the very first place that caused us heartbreak.

  “You’re single,” he tests, unsure of the words whispered along his tongue.

  I nod. “You?”

  A swift up and down movement of his head.

  “You’re looking, though? The app,” I push.

  An exaggerated sigh escapes. “I spoke to Mom. She thinks I’m out here sowing my wild oats, as she put it. It made me realize there’s been no one since . . .” He clears his throat. “No one since you.”

  I frown. “Me? But Grace. The wedding.”

  Placing his coffee on the table, he leans back in his chair, arms braced at the nape of his neck. “Grace wasn’t my girlfriend, Henley. She was supposed to be my assistant in Russia. I fucked her before the wedding, I’m not gonna deny that, but not after. I fired her. Took a middle-aged, overweight man with a terrible drinking problem.”

  My heart feels tight in my chest.

  He left with his redhead.

  My chest heaves with the heavy breaths of panic.

  “I thought—”

  “Alex?” he cuts me off.

  “He broke up with me before we . . . before the elevator.”

  His eyes fire with lust. Darkening at the memories of a forbidden moment shared between two people who only find one another at inopportune junctures in time.

  Do it. Come for me, Squirrel.

  “It’s nice to be here with you.” I change the subject, needing the heat in my cheeks to subside and the throb between my thighs to fall away into nothing.

  “Be nicer to be at our rock.”

  I smirk. “My rock.”

  He laughs, the sound echoing through the room and straight into my soul.

  Leaning forward, he moves his hand to mine, bending his long fingers over mine. Without thought, I lift my hand, letting him thread our fingers together in a show of intimacy.

  My gaze settles on our hands, twisted together in longing.

  He jerks my hand forward softly, bowing down to brush his lips over the point our skin touches.

  “I don’t know how to just be your friend anymore, Brooks.”

  He kisses my hand again, holding his lips against my skin for a drawn-out second before meeting my eyes. “Me either. I don’t know if we have it in us to be anything more, though.”

  I grind my teeth to stop my jaw from shaking.

  “Love seems easier for others. Why not us?”

  A gentle cough to stretch his throat. “Maybe love isn’t written in the stars as people say. Maybe some of the best love stories are the very eye of the storm. Together we’re calm and happy, the gentle waves of intimacy surrounded by a cyclone. But when we take a step back from one another, we’re caught in a spiraling cycle of feelings neither one of us can grab hold of.”

  “I never knew love before you,” I confess unnecessarily. “So it shocks me that I’m not ready to compromise my life for your love.”

  “It’s scary, Henley. Love is fucking terrifying.”

  “The thought of gambling everything I have inside my heart makes me feel physically unwell. But living without you is a life of misery worse than my life with Jacinta and Derrick.”

  Fingers dragging across the line of his mustache, he cups his jaw, scratching the dark shadow of hair.

  “What do we do?” he murmurs. “Tell me, Henley. Tell me what you want.”

  There is no animosity in his tone. Just the same desperation I feel coursing through my veins.

  “I’d rather be with you at a distance than not have you at all. There’s no one else for me, Brooks.” My voice cracks and I place a hand over my lips to hide the quiver in my breath. “There has been no one else since you. I know it’s not much and I know it’ll be hard, but . . .”

  “I’d do it. Long-distance. I’d do it for you. You’re scared of love and throwing yourself into it without caution isn’t who you are, Squirrel. It’s taken me a long time to realize that. We’ve hurt one another a fucking truckload discovering it, but we’ll only cause ourselves more pain by denying what we want.”

  “Each other,” I whisper.

  “Each other,” he echoes. “I won’t go years without seeing you, though, Henley. If you’re my girl, really my girl, we do this. We’re fucking committed. Six months apart max. You get me?”

  I nod vigorously.

  “Now come the fuck here so I can kiss you.”

  29

  BROOKS

  We decided to go out to celebrate our new relationship status.

  A mixture of it’s complicated and in a relationship.

  But it’s progress and a major fucking step forward for us both.

  In truth, I could never give Henley up. I’d hold on for as long as it took for her to realize she was mine. No matter how dark the road to our ending seemed, there was always light.

  Henley.

  While she’s alive and breathing, my light is her.

  She spins from my embrace, arms thrown above her head, hips twisting with the beat of the music.

  Her dress, nothing but a slip of silk, clings to the curves of her slender frame. The sides cut close to her nipples, teasing at the perky fullness of her tits.

  Outside, the temperatures dip below zero, but in here, surrounded by other partygoers, Henley’s body is slick with sweat. Glistening and damp, her long dark hair sticks to her skin, forcing her to lift it off her neck, the graceful column begging for my lips and tongue.

  We’ve overdosed on champagne. The carbonated liquid courses through our veins like blood, lowering our inhibitions and sending our libidos into overdrive.

  I want her.

  Need her.

  She moves against my body, her back pressed up against my chest, her pert ass rubbing into the swell of my cock. H
and in her hair, I wrap it around my fist, yanking it sideways to open her neck to my mouth. I let my tongue taste her heat, dragging it the entire way up the column of her neck to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. She groans, the sound only audible to my ears. I suck at her skin, dragging the delicate touch between my teeth as she turns in my arms, letting me claim her mouth.

  I lick into her mouth like a starved man. Tongue dragging against hers in possession and infatuation. Henley meets me stroke for stroke, lips pushing against mine in eager submission.

  One hand caught in her hair, I hold her to my mouth, refusing to let her go. My free hand brushes down her side, stroking the exposed skin of her tit, swallowing the desperate moan that escapes her throat.

  “I need you,” she bites out drunkenly. “Now, Brooks.”

  I break our kiss, my thick and heavy breaths brushing the skin of her face in want.

  I could take her home, but the thought of delaying the feel of her warm cunt engulfing my straining cock sounds like the worst form of torture.

  “I’m gonna fuck you in this club,” I promise her. “Come.”

  I grab her hand, pulling her with me without warning. Her small hands clasp mine in desperation. Her free hand wrapped around my bicep, limiting the space between us.

  I drag her through the overcrowded club without finesse. Her feet rush to keep pace, stumbling every few seconds, her body falling into mine to right itself. I push past people without apology. I’m caged in by my own desires. I’m possessed with my need to wreck her. To seize her and never let her go.

  Pushing into the seedy bathroom—lights dimmed to make patrons feel better about their appearance—I pull her in behind me.

  Moving around the space, I push at every stall, making certain we’re alone.

  Henley locks the door on demand, hand still held to the door handle as I lose myself in the heavy breaths pushing her chest up and down frantically.

  Her nipples are tight, clearly visible through the wispy silk of her dress.

  Hand outstretched, she pushes off the door to grab my shirt, and I yank her into my body, smirking at the grunt of air that expels as she collides with my chest.