Forever My Girl (2 page)

I pin Katelyn’s order on the board next to the rest of the orders. I have to treat her like any other customer even though this is one I wish I wasn’t filling.

Deep breaths
, I tell myself as I start the first order. There are forty corsages and boutonniere’s to make today and all I want to do is smash the roses between my palms and throw them out the door.

Door chimes break my concentration.
Time to put on a happy face
. Jenna is walking toward me, coffee cups in hand. I wipe my hands on my green apron and meet her at the counter.

“Thank you,” I say just before sipping the hot liquid. The way to my heart is definitely through a caramel latte.

“I knew you needed it. I could sense your deep desire when I was in line.”

Jenna is my part-timer and all over friend. She moved to Beaumont three years ago to escape an abusive husband and fit in instantly with me and Katelyn.

“How are you holding up?” she asks. I shrug, not really wanting to talk about things right now. I need to get through the day. As word starts to spread old classmates will be coming back and, as vain as it sounds, I want to look good. I don’t want to look like I just got dumped because that is what most of them remember anyway.

“I just…” I hide my eyes behind my hand. “I don’t have memories that don't involve Mason. I don’t know what’s going to happen on Monday when I open and he’s not here to buy Katelyn’s flowers. He’s done that for over ten years.”

“I’m so sorry, Josie. I wish there was something I could do for you guys.”

“Just being there for Katelyn is enough. I’ll handle my own feelings.”

Jenna comes around the counter and gives me a hug before going to put on her apron. I’m thankful for her help, especially today. Maybe I can pawn off the funeral arrangements and focus on the happy.

But then again, maybe not.

Standing out front, staring into the shop is Mr. Powell. He looks lost. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Jenna as I slip out the door. The weather is breezy with a chill in the air. Definitely not your average Fall day here.

“Mr. Powell,” I say, reaching out to touch his arm. He lost his wife last year to cancer and now his son – I can’t imagine.

“Josephine.” His voice is broken, horse. His eyes are hollow and bloodshot. “I was just walking and when I looked into the window here I remembered the first time I had to take Mason to get flowers for Katie. They were going to some dance and I was going to drive them.” He shakes his head as if he’s not sure if he’s making it up or if he doesn’t want to remember anymore.

“That was a long time ago, Mr. Powell. Do you want to come inside and I’ll call Katelyn for you? Maybe she can come pick you up.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to bother Katie. She has enough to worry about than to babysit her father-in-law.” He stops speaking suddenly, his eyes glaze over. I look around to see what, if anything has caught his attention. “Am I still her father-in-law?”

My hand covers my mouth but it can’t muffle my cry. “Of course you are,” I whisper. “She’s your Katie, you’re the only one who gets to call her that, ya know. She loves you as if you’re her own father.”

Mr. Powell looks at me and nods before walking off. I want to follow him and make sure he makes it home or wherever he decides to go, but I stand frozen on the sidewalk watching him walk away.

Mason will never know the impact he’s had on everyone in Beaumont.

When I make it back into the shop, Jenna is pulling the roses for the funeral sprays. I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to ask her. She just knew. I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her, hugging her, thanking her for being a good friend.

Orders come in like crazy, most of them for Katelyn or for the service. I keep my delivery boy busy today and each time he walks in he’s smiling from ear to ear. I can’t imagine why. Most people don’t tip when they receive flowers for a funeral, unless of course, you’re Mrs. Bishop, Katelyn’s plastic stuck-up mom who is everything that the word 'proper' stands for.

Jenna and I work side by side. I try not to pay attention, but can’t help but look over every few minutes. The arrangements are turning out beautifully. I’d like to think that Mason would be impressed.

“When are you going to say yes to Nick?”

I threaten to stab Jenna with my shears. “He asked again the other night,” I say as I pull some baby’s breath to cut.

“What number is that?”

I shrug. “I lost count.”

Jenna tosses down her shears and places her hands on her hips. “What the hell are you waiting for? He has a good job, he loves you and he takes care of Noah. Not too many men want to play daddy when it’s not their kid.”

I try to hide my smile, but she punches me in the arm. “You said yes?”

I nod which causes her to jump up and down. She pulls my hand forward and frowns when she sees I’m not wearing a ring. “We're going wait until everything calms down. It’s not time to celebrate, ya know? We both lost our friend and even though we’re happy and in love, Katelyn and the kids mean more to us than telling everyone that we're finally getting married.”

Jenna wraps her arms around me, holding me tight. “He’ll make you happy, Josie.”

“He already does,” I reply when she steps back. I can already see the wheels turning in her head and this just solidifies what I said to Nick; we need to elope.

She turns back and starts working again. “Do you think he’ll adopt Noah?”

I drop my shears onto the ground, barely missing my foot. I clear my throat. “I… I’m not sure about that.”

“Why not? He’s been raising him since he was what, three?”

I bite my lip and just nod at her. “We’ve never discussed it and I really don’t want to talk about Noah’s dad right now.”

She looks at me and smiles. “Okay,” she says, but I know she’ll ask again.

I haven’t thought about Noah’s dad in years. No, that’s not true. More like hours and even more so since Mason died. I don’t know if he knows about Mason or even cares. I just hope he doesn’t show up here.

CHAPTER 3

LIAM

I rode at night to avoid people following me. I slept during the day and made it home in seventy-two hours.

Home.

What a strange word. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived in a hotel. They’re easy, peaceful with top notch security. I never have to leave if I don’t want to. I have someone that does my grocery shopping and laundry. When something breaks, someone's there to fix it and my guests are screened.

The weather is colder than I remember. I hope my maid packed me the appropriate clothes. Sam is having a new suit sent to my hotel. She wanted to come with me for moral support, but I declined. I don’t need her. I don’t want her here. Just in and out I told her. Except I left a few days earlier than scheduled because I need time to see
her
.

Even if it’s just to look at her from across the street, I need the extra time to remind myself why I gave up college and her dreams to spend countless days in a cramped studio and sleepless nights traveling in a bus across the country. I need the vision of
her
to drive the point home that I made the right decision for me, regardless of how much I hurt her.

I need to know if she’s moved on, I hope that she has. How many kids does she have and what does her husband do for a living? I only hope he treats her better than I ever did because she deserves it and so much more.

Pulling into the Holiday Inn just outside of Beaumont, I shut off my bike before the manager comes out to tell me I’m disturbing the peace. With the kickstand down and my helmet off, I slip on a pair of fake eyeglasses and pull a baseball cap down low. I know word will spread once I step foot into Beaumont, but for a few days I’d like to be anonymous. I slide my arms into my weather proof guitar case and unhook my bag from the back of my bike.

The walk to the lobby is painstakingly long. This hotel isn’t far off the highway and the noise is very present. This is most unassuming hotel and one people wouldn’t think to look for me. I remember when I told Sam to book my room here I thought I killed her with just the words of a three star
Notel
Motel. Yet here I am walking into a commoner lobby with the TV blaring and stale coffee sitting in the pot next to this morning’s donuts.

“How can I help you?” The clerk is speaking even before I’m in the door. Her voice is high-pitched and annoying; a sharp and painful reminder of nails across the blackboard. Her hair is pulled back so tight that her face has no option but to smile. Her lips are painted Hollywood red. I want to hand her a Kleenex and tell her that guys in Hollywood really don’t go for the whole lipstick thing because it’s evidence.

But I don’t. I don’t say hi or even smile at her. I just want to get to my room and maybe sleep a little. “I need to check in,” I tell her. I hand her my driver’s license and wait. My fingers start tapping on the counter as she types my name into the computer. Each time she looks up at me and smiles, I want to step back. Someone ought to tell her that she wears too much make-up and if she pulls her hair any tighter she’ll be bald.

“Is Mr. Westbury your dad? He’s the professor for my poli-sci class,” she asks with a hopeful gleam in her eye. I shake my head no even though the answer is probably yes. I wouldn’t know since he hasn’t spoken to me since I dropped out of college.

“Oh, well that’s too bad. He’s a really great professor.”

“Lucky you,” I say. Her face deadpans at my lack of enthusiasm.  

“If there's anything I can do for you just let me know,” she says back in her high-pitched annoying and very childish voice. She sets the keycards down on the counter and asks me to fill out the car registration slip. I write down only the pertinent information, avoiding the make and model of my bike. They don’t need to know.

I pick up the key cards and head to the elevator. When I step in, I look at the card and sigh. I’m on the sixth floor, the highest one they have, but not high enough for me. This will have to do and it’s only short term. I’m just here to say goodbye to Mason and stare at
her
for a bit before returning to my life.

The hallway reeks. That is the first thing I notice when I step out of the elevator. That and the ugly ass carpet lining the halls. I despise the smell of stale smoke. I push into my room, dropping my bag onto one of the double beds. I walk over to the sliding glass door, throw open the thick dark curtains and stare out at the lights of Beaumont. I flick the latch and open the door, stepping out into the chilled air.

   The sound of breaking glass causes me to look left. Immediately, I wish I hadn’t because just off in the distance is the water tower Mason and I, along with a few others, used to climb after our games. We’d take a case of beer up there, leave the girls down at the bottom and see who could hit the bed of my truck with their empty bottles.

“Looks like someone is carrying on our tradition,” I say to no one.

“Mase, come down here. I’m lonely,” Katelyn yells up at him.

The laughter between us and the girls is just enough to keep a constant flow of noise in the air.

“I love you baby,” Mason yells through cupped hands.

“I’m going to marry that girl and make beautiful babies with her.” We start laughing, but I know it’s true. Katelyn walks on water where Mason is concerned. I know the feeling. I look down and see the silhouette of my girl standing by my truck, my letterman jacket making me jealous because it’s wrapped around her. But this is tradition.

“I know man,” I say, patting him on the back.

“Double wedding,” he shouts as I spew my beer out into the open air.

“Dude, you’re a dude. You aren’t supposed to talking about weddin’s and shit.” Jerad says before chugging his beer.

Mason shrugs. “When you love someone, you just know.”

Nothing is the same and everything could’ve been just like it was planned out. Mason’s not supposed to be gone. If anything, it should be me. I screwed up the plan.

I step back into the room, closing the door and pulling the curtains closed. When I look at the bed, it’s mocking me, telling me I’m uninvited. It doesn’t want me as much as I don’t want it.

I can’t stay here. This room is going to suffocate me. I get rid of my disguise and grab my jacket and helmet. Maybe riding will clear my head, but then again, maybe not. The last time I went on an unplanned road trip I made a life-altering decision.

The red exit sign above the staircase is more inviting than the elevator. I slam my shoulder into the door and rush down the stairs, sliding down the railing just like I did when I was younger, something I haven’t done in a long time.

My helmet is on before I reach the lobby. The last thing I want is the receptionist tart getting any ideas about who I am. My luck, she’d let herself into my room, lie on the bug infested bedspread and wait for me to claim her.

I’ll pass.

“Do you need a wake-up call?” she asks as I rush through the lobby. Is she serious? I pull out my phone and look at the time, it’s after midnight.

I shake my head. “I’m good,” I say as I throw open the door and head for my bike.

There is nothing like the roar of an engine. The vibration alone comforts me. I spin the throttle before kicking my bike into gear and tear out of the parking lot. I can feel her watching me, I’d bet anything she’s licking her lips with excitement.

With no destination in mind I stick to the back roads. The less traffic the better. Just me and the road and the looming sun threatening to rears its ugly head for yet another day of bullshit.

I’m shocked when I hit the Beaumont line. Well, not really. I’ve been thinking about this town non-stop since I learned about Mason. The town is quiet, wrought iron lights lighting the path through the streets.

Nothing has changed.

I slow down as I make my way through town. Turn left, turn right and end up on the street I grew up on. When I stop in front of my childhood home, one light on outside and one on inside, I know my dad’s awake.