Always Forever Read online

  Always Forever

  by Cheryl McIntyre

  Always Forever

  Cheryl McIntyre

  Copyright Cheryl McIntyre 2014

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without prior written permission by the author except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real persons, events, or places are used fictitiously. The characters are the work of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons living or deceased, events, or locales are coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status, as well as ownership of products referred to in this work of fiction. The uses of these trademarks have not been authorized, nor are they associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover photo by Vince Trupsin

  Cover model David Ratcliffe

  Cover design by Joe Handlon ([email protected])

  Edited by Dawn McIntyre Decker

  July 2014

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue Misty

  1 Misty

  2 Kellin

  3 Misty

  4 Kellin

  5 Misty

  6 Kellin

  7 Misty

  8 Kellin

  9 Misty

  10 Kellin

  11 Misty

  12 Kellin

  13 Misty

  14 Kellin

  15 Misty

  16 Kellin

  17 Misty

  18 Kellin

  19 Misty

  20 Kellin

  21 Misty

  22 Kellin

  23 Misty

  24 Kellin

  25 Misty

  26 Kellin

  27 Misty

  28 Kellin

  29 Misty

  30 Kellin

  31 Misty

  32 Kellin

  33 Misty

  34 Kellin

  35 Misty

  36 Kellin

  37 Misty

  38 Kellin

  39 Misty

  40 Kellin

  41 Misty

  42 Kellin

  43 Misty

  44 Kellin

  45 Misty

  46 Kellin

  47 Misty

  48 Kellin

  49 Misty

  50 Kellin

  Epilogue Kellin

  About author

  Read chapter one of Sometimes Never

  Summary Before Now (Sometimes Never 2)

  Summary Long After (Sometimes Never 3)

  Other books by Cheryl McIntyre

  Acknowledgments

  I have the most amazing, supportive family. I love you all so much. Thank you to Sean, for keeping the kids entertained and happy while I spent sixteen-hour days writing. To my three beautiful children for somehow remembering who I was when I finally emerged from the writing cave with a complete book. To my mom for sharing her story-telling genes with me and never demanding them back even when she didn’t exactly like what I wrote. To my sister, Tammy, for not only creating, but also running and maintaining my website for me. And to my nephew, Carson, for inspiring the Jell-O shot scene. Have you learned to trust Jell-O again?

  To my editor, who also happens to be my sister, Dawn, for not only editing, but for editing A LOT, and quickly. For all your awesome ideas. And for all your time spent away from your family while you focused on Always Forever. Pass on my apologies to my bother-in-law, my nephew, and my niece for occupying so much of your time. I’m done now. (By which I mean FOR now—until the next book.)

  To Vince Trupsin for taking breathtaking photos. To David Ratcliffe for allowing breathtaking photos to be taken of him. To Joe Handlon for creating an awesome cover.

  To my beta readers and authors besties, Sunniva Dee and Beth Michele. You inspire me and make me want to be a better author. I appreciate your friendship more than I can ever express. I love our conversations and I pine away for your books. You ladies rock and I love you both dearly.

  Bloggers. Oh, bloggers, bloggers, bloggers. Do you know how truly spectacular you are? There are too many to mention, but know I adore each and every one of you who have been there to encourage me and support me. It’s your dedication to books, and that support of authors, that make the writing world go ‘round. Thank you for being awesome.

  A special thank you to Holly’s Red Hot Reviews for a great cover reveal. You never let me down.

  And readers. You gorgeous, beautiful, incredible readers. Thank you for picking up my books. Thank you for reading them. No author would ever succeed without you.

  Let’s make this always a forever. ~Kurt Halsey

  Prologue

  Misty

  “What?”

  I heard him—every single sweetly uttered word—but I need clarification. Or verification.

  Or another glass of wine.

  It’s warm in this room. Stuffy. Stifling. Sweat beads above my lip and beneath my hair uncomfortably. An open window and a cool breeze would be nice right about now.

  Luke’s lips twitch with amusement, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges. In this moment, I feel our age difference.

  “I said: Will you marry me?”

  “I heard you,” I breathe behind my trembling fingers, causing Luke to chuckle. My eyes shift from his smile to the small pale blue box resting on the table in front of me. The white silky ribbon is tied in a perfect bow. I wonder fleetingly if there’s a special Tiffany’s class the sales staff is required to attend just to learn how to tie these bows.

  He’s waiting for a response and I know I need to give him one. I open my mouth to say something, but my throat suddenly closes up, prohibiting me.

  Walters. Luke’s last name is Walters. If I say yes, I’ll be Misty Walters, which is so close to Misty Waters. And that’s just…ugh.

  Of course, it’s not like I have to take his name. I could stay a Handlin. Or I could hyphenate. Maybe he could take my name…

  “Misty?” He laughs again, nervous discomfort twisting the normally pleasant melody into something that fills my stomach with dread.

  It’s so damn hot in here.

  I watch silently as he tugs one side of the ribbon. The loops pull free, floating to the table, and he removes the lid, exposing the small black velvet box inside.

  A box inside another box. Why do they feel the need to do that? It seems wasteful.

  “I knew I was going to ask you this question after our first date,” he says softly, stirring me from my wandering thoughts. “I don’t know if it was because I couldn’t get you off my mind once I dropped you off that night or if it was the way you powered through the basket of hot wings while cheering for the Buckeyes. It might have been the jersey and jeans you wore while I was dressed in khakis and a sweater, ready for a romantic dinner. Or possibly because you were—and still are—the prettiest girl I’ve ever had the fortune to lay eyes on. I fell in love with you that night. And every day since has just been leading us here.”

  He pops the box open—the second one. Light reflects off of the princess cut ring. It must be at least two carats. Maybe three. I’m guessing this is a twenty-thousand-dollar ring. Probably more.

  Holly shit, that’s big and sparkly.

  I don’t know what to say.

  Luke is thirty. He’s established with a great job, condo, cars, and all the expensive toys men love. He’s at that point in his life where he’s prepared to settle down. Get married, have children.

  I’m still in school. I share an apartment with three other people and can barely make rent. I’m only recently able to drink—legally. I’m not ready to marry a man I’ve known for just ten months.

  Am I?

  Luke is great. He’s smart, funny, attractive, and h
e’d make a wonderful husband.

  And this ring is so big and pretty.

  “Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”

  I’m looking directly at him, but I don’t see him. I see myself standing at a crossroads. One path leading me toward a bright, secure future. The other full of shadows, questions, and ghosts from my past.

  We were supposed to be celebrating the end of finals. Not changing our lives. I should have known something was coming when he insisted on staying in and cooking for me.

  He never cooks.

  “I don’t know,” I finally choke out.

  Luke’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion, and I can’t blame him. He’s a catch—he couldn’t possibly have anticipated my reluctance. Any woman in her right mind would jump at this opportunity.

  “I don’t understand,” he murmurs.

  “I need time. I need to think about it.” I need air. And more alcohol.

  “What is there to think about?” he asks. The skin between his brows pinches into a white line. “Either you love me and want to marry me—or you don’t.”

  “I do love you. It’s not that.” He releases a breath as if he’d been holding it in wait of those words. The muscles in my throat tighten as if I’m being choked, but I keep going, trying to explain whatever this is I’m feeling inside.

  “This is just fast. I’m only twenty-one. I still have another year of school. And…” I shake my head, my hair swinging across my back. Nine years never felt like much of an age difference. Not until now. Now it’s the space between planets.

  I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. How can I possibly say yes to the most important question I’ll ever be asked without knowing if I’m missing out on a once in a lifetime love?

  “Is this about ‘sowing your wild oats’?” Luke questions, his eyes flicking over my face. “Because if that’s all this is—if that’s what you need—I can handle that. You’re young. Take the summer, go crazy. Get whatever you need to get out of your system, and then give me your answer.”

  I take a sip of wine, the bittersweet liquid doing nothing to sooth my dry, aching throat. “You want me to go wild. For the summer.”

  He nods, gently snapping the box closed. “I want you to say yes. But I want you to feel good about it when you do. Whatever is holding you back, take care of it.”

  I laugh lightly. “And if what’s holding me back is a deep rooted desire to participate in an orgy?”

  He smirks at me, his full lips curving upward wickedly. “Do it, because once this ring is on your finger, nobody else is allowed to touch you.”

  “What if I’m secretly a lesbian?”

  “You enjoy my cock too much for that, but if you feel the need to experiment, now’s the time.”

  “What if I have feelings for another man, but our timing has always been wrong? What if I can’t marry you until I know without a shadow of a doubt that there can never be anything between this man and me?”

  His eyes narrow as he looks back at me, pinning me in place with his probing gaze. “The fact that you’re sitting here with me and not him tells me he either doesn’t exist, he’s a fool, or he’s completely insane. Either way, I feel good about my odds.”

  It shouldn’t, but that stings. Because Kellin is most certainly real and he’s probably saner than I am.

  1

  Misty

  Three years ago—The Wedding

  This room smells musty and unused. The light streaming in through the window highlights the dust floating and dancing through the air. I don’t want to breathe it, but can’t stop taking in large lungfuls of air in an attempt to fight off my queasy stomach.

  Anxiety.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous in my life. My palms are damp, my fingers trembling. I suck in another breath of stale air, wishing I could be as relaxed as the bride.

  My stepsister, Annie, hands me a glass of water. I’m afraid I’m going to drop it as I bring it to my lips, taking a large gulp.

  It’s not water.

  The liquid slides down my throat in a hot trail. My eyes land on a half full bottle of vodka sitting open on the ornate wooden table in the corner.

  I gag and throw my hand over my mouth in hopes of keeping down my breakfast. Moisture blurs my vision and I frantically wave my free hand, trying to fan the tears away before they can destroy my make-up. Other than a few sips of champagne on special occasions, I don’t drink. Taste isn’t the only reason why, but it tops the list.

  “It’s time to put the dress on,” Annie trills excitedly. She brushes her long blonde ringlets over one shoulder and wiggles the hanger holding the wedding gown.

  Hope holds up a finger as she tosses back a drink of the retched liquid I nearly regurgitated. She takes it like a pro, as if she shoots vodka every day. Her only tell is the small hiss that follows. “Not yet. I want to change my tampon first. I have no idea when I’ll get another chance.”

  Annie scrunches up her nose causing a crease to form between her blonde brows. “Ew.” She glances over at me and I shrug, still attempting to air-dry my eyes. “You haven’t done anything traditional for this wedding. No rehearsal dinner—no rehearsal whatsoever. A male maid of honor. And now this. I can’t believe you didn’t take precautions,” she continues. “There’s birth control that allows you to have less periods. Most women skip the month they’re getting married.”

  “I didn’t do that,” Hope replies matter-of-factly. Her dark hair sways with her movement as she shakes her head.

  “Obviously,” Annie shoots back.

  “Can we discuss this later?” I murmur. Battling nausea is much easier when everyone around is getting along.

  “Or not at all,” my brother, Guy, adds from across the room where he sits, ankle propped on his knee, thumbing through an old magazine. He sweeps the hair from his eyes as he looks at Hope’s reflection in the mirror. “Nobody wants to hear the details of what will surely be a gory consummation.”

  My stomach rolls. That visual didn’t help matters.

  Hope tugs a tampon out of her bag. “It won’t be that gory. It’s my last day. And trust me, Mason won’t mind anyway.”

  “No,” Guy sighs. “Just no.” He snaps the magazine closed, kicking up more dust motes. I step back out of the sunlight. I know I’m still breathing the dirty air, but it’s easier when I can’t see it.

  My brother drops his foot to the floor, his long legs sliding out in front of him. “Why do I need to be in here again?”

  “Because you’re my best man of honor,” Hope throws over her shoulder before disappearing into the small bathroom.

  Guy’s head falls back against the chair, and he releases a low groan.

  “Don’t even start your shit,” Annie hisses. Her eyes narrow into a glare. “I don’t know why she chose you as her maid of honor—”

  “Best man of honor,” Hope calls from behind the bathroom door.

  “But,” Annie continues as if she wasn’t interrupted, “for whatever reason, she wanted you over a more conventional choice—over a wiser, more suited choice—so you need to own the title.”

  “Don’t be jealous, Annie,” he breathes, shooting her a wide grin—all teeth and gums. “It’ll give you premature wrinkles.”

  Annie arches a brow, staring Guy down. He chuckles, unaffected, and reaches for another magazine.

  “I’m not jealous. Just annoyed that I’ve done everything the maid of honor is supposed to do while you act clueless about everything.”

  “Or as anyone else would put it,” Guy replies, still staring down at the magazine, “jealous. It’s all right. It happens. Not everyone is capable of this level of awesomeness.”

  I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. My brother is funny, but Annie is kind of scary sometimes. She’s gotten better since she started dating Chase, but there are still moments when I find myself holding my breath in anticipation of an Annie bomb.

  A heavy silence fills the room. She closes her eyes and I can te
ll she’s counting to ten—a trick she uses to calm herself.

  Annie counts a lot.

  “I’m late,” Hope’s friend, Lucy, says as she bursts through the door, bringing the scent of peanut butter with her. Her little girl is latched on to one side, the diaper bag, purse, and dress hanging off her opposite arm. “I’m so sorry. Emari had a blowout right before we left. I had to re-bathe her and find a new dress for her to wear.”

  There’s a quick round of greetings as Lucy drops everything onto the chair next to Guy and sets Emari on his lap. The little girl grins and offers him a bite of the peanut butter sandwich she’s munching on. He pretends to nibble a corner and she giggles.

  “You’re getting potty-trained this summer,” Lucy adds, tickling Emari under the chin.

  “She’s only two,” Guy says almost defensively, tucking her closer to his chest. “Give the kid another year.”

  “I’m tired Guy,” Lucy utters. “I’ve been tired for the past two years. I need a reprieve from something. I’m sick and tired of cleaning poop. And I’m so over buying diapers.” She pauses, giving him a desperate look as she swings her long golden locks off her shoulders. “Unless you’re volunteering to take over diaper duty?”

  Guy snorts. “Honorary uncles don’t do diaper duty.” He chuckles, catching the bad pun. “Diaper doody—classic.”

  Lucy’s shoulders sag in defeat. “It was worth a try.”

  Hope emerges from the bathroom with her sweatpants in hand. She tosses them in the direction of her bag. “I’m getting married today,” she whispers slowly.

  “We know, honey,” Guy says. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “No,” Hope breathes. “I’m getting married. Today.”

  “In forty-seven minutes,” Annie adds. “But not like that.” She nods at the button-up shirt Hope’s wearing. It’s a few sizes too large and I’m guessing it’s Mason’s. I hope it’s not the one he needs for today.

  Thinking of Mason makes me automatically think of his brother and how I’ll be seeing him today, finally. Talking in person again. Dancing. Having fun. And maybe, hopefully, so much more. My stomach rolls with the thought. I’ve been counting down the days as anxiously as Hope and Mason have, and it’s finally here. My Kellin time.