by C. R. Jane
Join Juliet in a journey across the centuries, in a love story that defies time. What if you could live forever? Could you love forever?
Prologue
Boston, U.S.A. 2018
The stone is worn and almost impossible to read, a reminder of the hundreds of years that separate me from its inhabitant. I’ve searched for it for a year in this lifetime. Just like the others, I had to see the proof that he was gone. I had to make sure that somehow a miracle hadn’t happened, and I would stumble upon him somehow in this life. I had to make sure that I wouldn’t turn and see him flashing me that heart-stopping grin as he pushed his wayward, russet-colored hair out of his face. He was always laughing about something, usually about some crazy idea I had told him about.
Sometimes, I’ve imagined that I’ve seen him. I’ve found myself running after strangers whose walk, or gestures, or profile reminds me of his. I’ll tap the strangers on their shoulders. They turn around expectantly, flashing a smile when they see a pretty face. Their expressions inevitably turn to ones of concern as they uncomfortably ask if I’m alright since I’ve burst into tears at the sight of their face. It happens every time though. I just haven’t been able to stop myself from looking for him.
It won’t be a problem after today though. Just like it’s not a problem with any of the others.
I trace the dates with the tips of my fingers. 1778. Just five years after I left. I wonder if he died in the war, if another woman watered the ground beneath me with her tears, mourning a life that would never be. That’s what I would have done. That’s what the tears streaming down my face are for. I’m mourning the death of my last chance for happiness.
Curious tourists pass by me hesitantly. I’m sure wondering how a centuries old gravestone could cause me to weep uncontrollably. Rotting cemeteries aren’t supposed to inspire fresh pain. They would never guess that this loss feels just like yesterday to me. I wipe my eyes on my shirt, and press a kiss on my fingers that I then press on the stone.
“Goodbye Gabriel,” I whisper softly to the grave, knowing that there will be no closure for me even with the confirmation that he truly is gone.
I walk out of the cemetery, passing laughing families holding American flags, all enjoying a lovely, autumn Saturday. I walk and walk some more, the beauty of Boston invisible to me as I mourn so many lost lifetimes.
I finally stop when I get to the ocean. I close my eyes and soak in the feel of the breeze against my face. It reminds me of all of them, of everything that I have found, and everything that I have lost. The breeze stirs the strands of my hair, brushing them against my skin, almost like a lover’s caress.
“No more,” I whisper to the sea. It doesn’t answer me back.
1
Now
“Orders up,” calls out Val, shaking me out of my reverie.
I give a deep sigh and walk over to the counter to grab the food for my waiting customers. The air is thick with the stench of fried food and sweat. My shoes squeak on the black and white checkered floor as I make my way to one of my tables to deliver their food. Pretending to ignore the table full of truckers’ wandering, leering eyes, I set their food down and force a smile at them, politely asking if they need anything else.
“Just your number, baby,” says one of them. I involuntarily shiver, the man’s got to be pushing sixty and he’s missing a few teeth.
“Afraid I can’t help you with that, sir,” I tell him with a grimace. “Let me know if you need anything related to your meals though.” I can feel their continued interest as I walk away, and I know that I’m going to be carrying my bear spray with me when I walk home tonight after my shift is over. You never can be too careful about creepers these days.
My mind automatically thinks of Landon, and how he would insist on picking me up every night if he was here. He would probably have me carrying a gun with me everywhere as well. I immediately feel a pang of loss, and I force myself to concentrate on folding napkins while I wait for the rest of my tables to finish.
“We’ve got a live one,” says my co-worker Bethany.
I grunt uninterested, brushing my too-long black hair out of my face.
“You can have it,” I tell her. “It’s been a slow day.”
“Ooh honey, consider this your birthday present for the next five years,” she tells me with a wink.
She looks behind me again.
“Make that the next ten years,” she says, giving me a little push in the direction of where the newcomer assumedly just sat down.
I sigh, but can’t help but give her a returning grin. Bethany is the quintessential cougar. Mid-fifties, with the tendency to wear her eye makeup a little too dark, and her hair a little too big, she keeps me laughing on the daily. She’s the only bright spot in this shitty diner I’ve found myself working at. It’s a little hard to get a good job when you’re never around a place long enough to get a degree. Not that a degree from the last place I was at would get me anywhere here. Well, maybe an insane asylum.
I can see the concerned look on the doctors’ faces in my head right now.
“So, you’re actually saying that you believe you’ve just returned from the 1700s.” I have to stop myself from erupting in laughter at that thought. I sober up when I see Bethany’s concerned look.
“Oh sweetie, when are you going to start living in the present?” she asks me sadly.
I can’t help but tear up at her concerned tone. ‘Never’ is the answer, but I can’t tell her that.
“I’m fine, just tired. You know I’ve been working a lot of shifts lately,” I tell her reassuringly. I know she sees right through me, but she smiles at me anyway.
“Go make that fine piece of ass’s dreams come true,” she says, flouncing away in her cheap, leopard heels that are at least five inches tall. It’s a wonder that she can stand on her feet all day with as much as we walk around in this job.
I’m still laughing as I turn and start walking to the new customers. My laugh dies in my throat when I lock eyes with one of the table’s occupants.
Green. That’s what first strikes me. His eyes are so green that they almost glow in his face. I’ve never seen someone with eyes that color before. It reminds me of the green of England, a color so vibrant that I can still see it in my mind even though it’s been almost forever since I’ve been back. The rest of him is just as striking. Sandy blonde hair that’s haphazardly swept off his face like some girl just finished grabbing it in a moment of passion. Lips perfectly full and lush, and currently curled up in a smirk as we continue to stare each other down. He’s beautiful.
And I’m not waiting on his table.
I turn quickly around to see where Bethany went, but she’s already helping another table. I look around the room, trying to see if anyone else can help me out, knowing that it’s an exercise in futility. Bethany and I are the only ones on duty tonight, so unless I want to go drag the crotchety owner of the place out of the back office, I’m going to have to suck it up.
I take a deep breath, put on a fake but polite grin, and walk towards the table.
I’ve been so caught up with Mr. Perfect at the table that I completely miss the fact that the rest of his table is full of other guys. All are good looking in their own way, but none of them hold a candle to the man who is currently still staring at me intensely. I notice that they are all dressed well, something that you don’t see hardly ever in a place like this. We cater more to the down on their luck, rather than the lucky of the population. And this table of men could most definitely be classified as lucky.
“Welcome to Charlie’s. What can I get you all to drink today?” I ask them, keeping my eye contact averted from the veritable force of nature I can feel to the right of me.
The men had been laughing at something before I got to the table, but they’re all quiet and staring at me acutely now. It doesn’t give me pause. I know I’m a beautiful girl. Being loved so completely over the course of my many lifetimes has driven that fact into me.
It would be a slap in all of my loves’ faces to doubt that fact now.
Unlike the decaying bones of my lovers, I never age. Perfectly preserved it seems for time and all eternity, the youthful glow of my early twenties is all I will ever know.
My attention flits back to the table as each man orders a drink. My stomach gives an involuntary clench when the green-eyed god at the table opens his mouth to give his order.
“Water, no ice,” he says, in a voice like chocolate, so rich and deep my cheeks flush.
One of the guys at the table chuckles and I curse my pale skin as I skitter away to collect their drink orders.
The next hour passes in agony. The men are polite, talking quietly amongst themselves as I bring them their food and refill their drinks. They aren’t inappropriate with me, but I feel his gaze on me no matter where I am in the room. It feels suffocating.
It isn’t until after they have paid their bill and left that I can finally breathe again. But I’m also filled with a sense of loss.
The rest of my shift passes with little excitement. I wave goodbye to Bethany as I walk out of the diner. She’s still rolling silverware and I’m tempted to stay and help, but I’ve done my fair share for the day and my feet hurt. I can’t afford a car, and I need every bit of my tips for my bills for the month, so a cab is out of the question. Thus, I’ve still got about a two mile walk ahead of me. I square my shoulders and set out into the brisk, autumn night.
I’m just about to cross the street in front of the diner when a long, sleek, black limo pulls out from somewhere and begins to drive towards me. It’s sorely out of place on this side of town, and I wonder what it’s doing here. Annoyed when it stops right in front of me, I move to walk around it. Suddenly, one of the windows rolls down. Even in the dark, his bright green eyes stand out.
“Need a ride?” he asks.
A ride would actually be wonderful but I’m definitely not getting into a limo, late at night, with someone who seems to be stalking me since he and his buddies left hours ago.
“No thanks,” I say, hurrying to go around the limo. The door opens up and he gets out, blocking my way.
“What can I say to convince you?” he asks, flashing a charming smile.
“Nothing,” I reply. “I’m not in the habit of taking rides from strangers.”
He holds out a hand.
“My name is Liam,” he says. “Now as soon as you tell me your name we won’t be strangers and I can give you a ride home.”
“How long have you been waiting out here?” I ask, ignoring his request for my name.
“Your friend in there was only too happy to let me know what time you got off of your shift,” he tells me with a smirk.
I’m going to kill Bethany tomorrow. If this delicious looking stalker doesn’t kill me first.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I tell him, maneuvering to go around him. Just then there’s a bolt of lightning that flashes across the sky. It’s immediately followed by the crash of thunder. I look up just as the clouds decide to release the torrent of water they’ve been threatening us with all day.
“Just let me give you a ride,” he yells over the pounding rain, holding out his hand.
We’re both getting soaked, and even though I know I shouldn’t, the thought of walking miles in this storm, in the only uniform I have, finally leads to me nodding in agreement.
He seems to sigh in relief, before pulling me unexpectedly towards the limo. I crawl into its plush interior, flinching at the leather seats that are going to be destroyed by the water dripping off my body. He follows close behind me and then shuts the door. We sit there staring at one another in silence.
He pushes his soaking, wet hair out of his eyes, and smiles tentatively.
“Will you give me your name now?” he asks.
“Juliet,” I tell him stiffly.
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
I don’t respond. He’s dangerous, and not just because he’s a stranger. His combination of charm and wickedly good looks is not something I want to deal with right now.
I pause before answering, deciding that I’ll have him drop me off at the Walmart down the street from my dilapidated apartment, so he won’t know where I live. I may have gotten into a limo with the hottie stranger, but I’m not going to be entirely stupid.
I rattle off the address and he seems to give me a knowing look before pressing a button and telling the driver, assumedly through a speaker, where we are going.
“Why did you come to the diner?” I finally ask, after a long silence where the only sound is the rain hitting the roof of the limo.
“I grew up around here,” he says, gesturing to the run-down neighborhood full of dilapidated houses we are passing through.
I look at the clearly expensively tailored suit he is wearing and gesture at him quizzically.
He laughs, a deep rumbling laugh that makes me warm inside despite my best intentions.
“It’s true. Those were my buddies from high school I was eating with. We meet at random restaurants in the area once a month just to catch up. We all made it out of this place, but it keeps us humble to have a monthly reminder of where we came from.”
“Hmmm,” I say non-committedly. He just winks at me in return.
We sit in silence until the limo gets to the Walmart parking lot that sits at the address I gave him. He looks out the window.
“I’m not leaving you here,” he says firmly.
“I’m not letting you see where I live,” I toss back at him in just as stern of a tone. “After all, you did wait for me outside of the diner for hours. That definitely qualifies you for scary stalker status.”
He flashes me the first real smile I’ve seen on him and my heart involuntarily flutters. Stupid, traitorous heart.
“Does it lessen the stalker status if I tell you I went back to work until the time your friend said you would be getting off?” he asks.
I pretend to think about it.
“No, not at all,” I tell him, opening the door out into the pouring rain before he can stop me.
Much to my dismay, or delight if I’m being truthful, he gets out behind me.
“I’ll walk you then,” he yells over the pounding rain.
I’m sure I look like a drowned cat by this point.
“Why are you here?” I finally ask, dismayed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I clearly don’t want anything to do with you. Why are you being so persistent? Is this some kind of game?”
He looks at me for a moment before answering.
“I’ve never seen someone so sad before,” he says. “Something about you made it so that I couldn’t leave you alone.”
For some reason I’m crying. I’m grateful for the rain and the dark night because at least my tears won’t be obvious to this infuriating stranger. Infuriating because I feel a pull towards him. A pull I am determined to avoid at all costs. I’m barely hanging on as it is. I’m literally always one step away from not being able to come back from the sorrow that is my constant companion. I won’t survive one more time. I don’t even know how I’m still standing right now.
“Please,” I tell him, my voice choked with tears. “Leave me alone. There’s no good ending to this story for either of us.”
“You need a friend,” he said. “I can be that for you. I won’t ask for anything else.”
“You’ll fall in love with me,” I tell him stubbornly and perhaps insanely.
“It’s possible,” he says with a wry grin. “But friends are allowed to be in love with each other. I believe it’s called ‘unrequited love.’ There’s quite a few books about it.”
The words hang between us. What happens if I fall in love with him back?
“I just want to make sure you get home safely,” he says softly, holding up his hands in front of him as he approaches me slowly, like I’m a wounded animal that could run away with any sudden movement.
I let him lead m
e back into the limo. I give him my address, and we sit silently for the rest of the trip. We’re both soaking wet and I’m grateful for the heater as I had begun shivering shortly after we got back into the car.
We pull up to the battered apartment complex I call my home. His face pulls into a frown as he looks at it. Luckily for this friendship he’s proposing, he says nothing. I may not have much, but I work hard for what I do have.
“Do you work tomorrow?” he asks, as I put my hand on the door handle to leave.
“I’m off,” I say after a pause.
“There’s a party...” he starts. “Very casual,” he continues quickly when I start to shake my head automatically. “Just a few friends. You could meet people.”
“How do you know I don’t already know people,” I say snottily.
“You can meet more people,” he amends, although the look on his face says he knows I’m completely full of shit. Bethany is the closest I could call a friend, and she’s old enough to be my mother...if we’re counting the age I look and not the age I actually am.
“Pick you up at seven?” he asks.
We stare at each other for a long moment before I finally open the limo door and step back into the rain.
“Okay,” is all I say before I walk towards my apartment.
I feel his eyes following me all the way to my door.
Read the rest of Juliet’s story here on Amazon and KU.