The Problem With Forever

Chapter 2

One thing I quickly learned after my first period was that the row of seats in the back of the classroom was prime real estate. Close enough to see the chalkboard, but far enough away that there was a good chance the teacher wouldn’t call on you.

I got to each of my AP classes before anyone else and snagged a desk in the back, blending in before I was even seen. No one talked to me. Not until just before lunch, at the start of English, when a dark brown–skinned girl with sloe-colored eyes sat in the empty seat next to me.

“Hi,” she said, smacking a thick notebook on the flat surface attached to the chair. “I hear Mr. Newberry is a real jerk. Take a look at the pictures.”

My gaze flickered to the front of the classroom. Our teacher hadn’t arrived yet, but the chalkboard was lined with photos of famous authors. Shakespeare, Voltaire, Hemingway, Emerson and Thoreau were a few I recognized, though I probably wouldn’t recognize them if I didn’t have endless time on my hands.

“All dudes, right?” she continued, and when I looked back at her, the tight black curls bounced as she shook her head. “My sister had him two years ago. She warned me that he basically thinks you need a dick to produce anything of literary value.”

My eyes went wide.

“So I’m thinking this class should be a lot of fun.” She grinned, flashing straight white teeth. “By the way, I’m Keira Hart. I don’t remember you from last year. Not that I know everyone, but I think I would’ve at least seen you around.”

Sweat covered my palms as she continued to stare at me. The question she was throwing out was simple. The answer was easy. My throat dried and I could feel heat creeping up my neck as the seconds ticked by.

Use your words.

My toes curled against the soft leather soles of my flip-flops and my throat felt scratchy as I forced the words out. “I’m... I’m new.”

There! I did it. I spoke.

Take that, everyone! Words were totally my bitch.

All right, perhaps I was exaggerating my accomplishment since I technically only spoke two words and repeated one. But I was not going to rain on my own wow, because talking to new people was hard for me. Like as hard as it would be for someone to walk naked into the class.

Keira didn’t seem to notice my internal dumbassery. “That’s what I thought.” And then she waited, and for a moment I didn’t get why she was looking at me so expectantly. Then I did.

My name. She was waiting for my name. Air hissed in between my teeth. “I’m Mallory...Mallory Dodge.”

“Cool.” She nodded as she rocked her curvy shoulders against the back of the chair. “Oh. Here he comes.”

We didn’t talk again, but I was feeling pretty good about the sum total of seven words spoken, and I was totally going to count the repeat ones. Rosa and Carl would.

Mr. Newberry spoke with an air of pretentiousness that even a newbie like me could pick up on, but it didn’t bother me. I was floating on a major accomplishment high.

Then came lunch.

Walking into the large, loud room was like having an out-of-body experience. My brain was screaming at me to find a quieter, easier—safer—place to go, but I forced myself forward, one foot in front of the other.

Nerves had twisted my stomach into knots as I made it through the lunch line. All I grabbed was a banana and a bottle of water. There were so many people around me and so much noise—laughter, shouting and a constant low hum of conversation. I was completely out of my element. Everyone was at the long square tables, huddled in groups. No one was really sitting alone from what I could see, and I knew no one. I would be the only person sitting by myself.

Horrified by the realization, I felt my fingers spasm around the banana I clenched. The smell of disinfectant and burnt food overwhelmed me. Pressure clamped down on my chest, tightening my throat. I sucked in air, but it didn’t seem to inflate my lungs. A series of shivers danced along the base of my skull.

I couldn’t do this.

There was too much noise and too many people in what now felt like a small, confined area. It was never this loud at home. Never. My gaze darted all over, not really seeing any detail. My hand shook so badly I was afraid I’d drop the banana. Instinct kicked in, and my feet started moving.

I hurried out into the somewhat quieter hall and kept going, passing a few kids lingering against the lockers and the faint scent of cigarettes that surrounded them. I dragged in deep, calming breaths that really didn’t calm me. Getting farther away from the cafeteria was what calmed me, not the stupid breaths. I rounded the corner and jerked to a stop, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a boy not much taller than me.

He stumbled to the side, bloodshot eyes widening in surprise. A scent clung to him that at first I thought was smoke, but when I inhaled, it was something richer, earthy and thick.

“Sorry, chula,” he murmured, and his eyes did a slow glide from the tips of my toes right back up to mine. He started to grin.

At the end of the hall, a taller boy picked up his pace. “Jayden, where in the fuck you running off to, bro? We need to talk.”

The guy I assumed was Jayden turned, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped dark hair as he muttered, “Mierda, hombre.”

A door opened and a teacher stepped out, frowning as his gaze bounced between the two. “Already, Mr. Luna? Is this how we’re going to start this year off?”

I figured it was time to get out of the hallway, because nothing about the taller boy’s face said he was happy or friendly, and the deep scowl settling over the teacher’s face when Jayden kept walking made him look like he wanted to cut someone. I hurried around Jayden and kept my chin down, not making eye contact with anyone.

I ended up in the library, playing Candy Crush on my cell phone until the bell rang, and I spent my next class—history—furious with myself, because I hadn’t even tried. That was the truth. Instead I’d hidden in the library like a dork, playing a stupid game that only the devil could’ve created, because I seriously sucked at it.

Doubt settled over me like a too-heavy, coarse blanket. I’d come so far in the last four years. I was nothing like the girl I used to be. Yeah, I still had some hang-ups, but I was stronger than the shell of a person I’d once been, wasn’t I?

Rosa would be so disappointed.

My skin grew itchy by the time I headed to my final class, my heart rate probably somewhere near stroke territory, because my last period was the worst period ever in the history of ever.

Speech class.

Otherwise known as Communications. When I’d registered for school last spring, I’d been feeling all kinds of brave while Carl and Rosa stared at me like I was half-crazy. They said they could get me out of the class, even though it was a requirement at Lands High, but I’d had something to prove.

I didn’t want them stepping in. I wanted—no, I needed to do this.

Ugh.

Now I wished I had employed some common sense and let them do whatever it was that would’ve gotten me excused, because this was a nightmare waiting to happen. When I saw the open door to the class on the third floor, it gaped at me, the room ultra-bright inside.

My steps faltered. A girl stepped around me, lips pursing when she checked me out. I wanted to spin and flee. Get in the Honda. Go home. Be safe.

Stay the same.

No.

Tightening my fingers around the strap of my bag, I forced myself forward, and it was like walking through knee-deep mud. Each step felt sluggish. Each breath I took wheezed in my lungs. Overhead lights buzzed and my ears were hypersensitive to the conversation around me, but I did it.

My feet made it to the back row and my fingers were numb, knuckles white, as I dropped my bag on the floor beside my desk and slid into my seat. Busying myself with pulling out my notebook, I then gripped the edge of my desk.

I was in speech class. I was here.

I’d done it.

I was going to throw myself a freaking party when I got home. Like an eat-fudge-icing-straight-out-of-the-freaking-can kind of party. Hardcore.

Knuckles starting to ache, I loosened my death grip as I glanced at the door, sliding my damp hands across the top of the desk. The first thing I saw was the broad chest draped in black, then the well-formed biceps. And there was that tired notebook that looked seconds from falling apart, tapping against a worn-denim-clad thigh.

It was the boy from this morning, from the hallway.

More than curious to see what he looked like from the front, I raised my lashes, but he had turned toward the door. The girl from the hallway, the one who stepped around me, was walking through it. Now that I was sitting and sort of breathing, it was my turn to check her out. She was pretty. Very pretty, like Ainsley. This girl had pin-straight, caramel-colored hair that was as long as mine, past her breasts. She was tall and the tank top she wore showed off a flat stomach. Her dark brown gaze wasn’t focused on me this time. It was on the guy in front of her.

The expression on her face said he gave great full frontal, and when he laughed, her pink lips split into a wide smile. Her smile transformed her from pretty to beautiful, but my attention swung away from her as tiny hairs rose all over my body. That laugh... It was deep, rich and somehow familiar. A shiver crept over my shoulders. That laugh...

He was walking backward, and I was rather amazed that he didn’t trip over anything, actually somewhat envious of that fact. And then I realized he was heading toward the last half circle. Toward me. I glanced around. There were only a few seats open, two on my left. The girl was following him. Not just following him. Touching him.

Touching him like she’d done it a lot.

Her slim arm was extended, her hand planted in the center of his stomach, just below his chest. She bit down on her lower lip as her hand drifted farther south. Golden bangles dangling from her wrist got awful close to the worn leather belt. My cheeks heated as the boy stepped out of her reach. There was something playful about his movements, as if this dance was a daily routine for them both.

He turned at the end of the desks, stepping behind the occupied chair, and my gaze tracked up narrow hips, over the stomach the girl had touched, up and up, and then I saw his face.

I stopped breathing.

My brain couldn’t perceive what I was seeing. It did not compute. I stared up at him, really saw him, saw a face that was familiar yet new to me, more mature than I remembered but still achingly beautiful. I knew him. Oh my God, I would know him anywhere, even if it had been four years and the last time I’d seen him, that last night that had been so horrible, had changed my life forever.

It was too surreal.

Now the reason why he’d popped in my head this morning made sense, because I’d seen him, but hadn’t realized it was him.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t get enough air into my lungs and couldn’t believe this was happening. My hands slipped off the desk, falling limply into my lap as he dipped into the seat next to me. His gaze was on the girl who took the seat next to him, and his profile, the strong jaw that had only been hinted at the last time I’d seen him, tilted as his eyes moved over the front of the room, across the wall-length chalkboard. He looked like he had back then, but bigger and with everything more...more defined. From the eyebrows darker than the mix of brown and black hair and thick lashes to the broad cheekbones and the slight scruff covering the curve of his jaw.

Goodness, he’d grown up in the way I’d thought he would when I was twelve and started to really look at him, to see him as a boy.

I couldn’t believe he was here. My heart was trying to claw itself out of my chest as lips—lips fuller than I remembered—tilted up, and a knot formed in my belly as the dimple formed in his right cheek. The only dimple he had. No matching set. Just one. My mind raced back through the years, and I could only think of a handful of times I’d seen him relaxed. Leaning back in the chair that seemed too small for him, he slowly turned his head toward me. Eyes that were brown with tiny flecks of gold met mine.

Eyes I’d never forgotten.

The easy, almost lazy smile I’d never seen on his face before froze. His lips parted and a paleness seeped under his tawny skin. Those eyes widened, the gold flecks seeming to expand. He recognized me; I had changed a lot since then, but still, recognition dawned in his features. He was moving again, leaning forward on his seat toward me. Four words roared out of the past and echoed in my head.

Don’t make a sound.

“Mouse?” he breathed.

Chapter 3

Mouse.

No one but him called me that, and I hadn’t heard that nickname in so long, I never really thought I’d hear it again.

And I never in a million years dared to hope that I’d see him again. But here he was, and I couldn’t stop staring. None of the thirteen-year-old boy he’d been remained in the guy in front of me, but it was him. It was those warm brown eyes with golden flecks and the same sunbaked skin, a trait from his father who’d possibly been half white, half Hispanic. He didn’t know where his mother or any of her family had come from. One of our...our caseworkers had thought that his mother might have been a mix of white and South American, maybe Brazilian, but he would most likely never know.

Suddenly I saw him—the him from before, from when we were little and he’d been the only stable thing in a world of chaos. At age nine—bigger than me, but still so small—he’d stood between Mr. Henry and me in the kitchen, like he’d done too many times before, as I’d clutched the redheaded doll—Velvet—he’d just retrieved for me. I’d held her close, trembling, and he’d puffed out his chest, legs spreading wide. “Leave her alone,” he’d growled, hands curling into fists. “You’d better stay away from her.”

I pulled myself out of the memory, but there were so many of him coming to my rescue for some reason or another until he couldn’t, until the promise of forever had been shattered, and everything...everything had fallen apart.

His chest rose deeply, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “Is that really you, Mouse?”

Vaguely aware of the girl on his other side watching us, I saw her eyes go as wide as mine felt. My tongue was useless, which for once was strange, because he...he had been the one person I’d never had any problem talking to, but that had been a different world, a different lifetime.

That had been forever ago.

“Mallory?” he whispered. Turned completely toward me, I thought for a second he might climb out of his chair. And that would so be him, because he wasn’t scared of doing anything. Never had been. As close as we were, I saw the faint scar above his right eyebrow, a shade or two lighter than his skin. I remembered how he’d gotten it and my chest ached anew, because that scar symbolized a stale cookie and a shattered ashtray.

A guy in front of us had twisted around on his stool. “Yo.” He snapped his fingers when he didn’t get a response. “Hey, man? Hello?”

He ignored the guy, still staring at me like a ghost had appeared right in front of him.

“Whatever,” the kid muttered, twisting toward the girl, but she, too, ignored him. She was focused on us. The tardy bell rang, and I knew the teacher had entered, because the conversation in the room was quieting.

“Do you recognize me?” His voice was still barely above a whisper.

His eyes continued to hold mine, and I spoke what turned out to be the easiest word I’d ever said in my life. “Yes.”

He rocked back in his chair, straightening as his shoulders tensed. His eyes closed. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his palm against his sternum.

I jumped in my seat as the teacher smacked his hand on the stack of texts piled on the corner desk, forcing my gaze forward. My heart was still acting as if an out-of-control jackhammer had gone off in my chest.

“All right, all of you should know who I am since you’re in my class, but just in case some of you are lost, I’m Mr. Santos.” He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “And this is speech class. If you’re not supposed to be here, you probably should be somewhere else.”

Mr. Santos continued to speak, but the blood rushing through me drowned out his words, and my thoughts were too caught up in the fact that he was sitting next to me. He was here; after all these years, he was right beside me like he’d been since we were three years old, but he hadn’t seemed happy about seeing me. I didn’t even know what to think. A mixture of hope and desperation swirled inside me, mixing with bitter and sweet memories I’d both clung to and longed to forget.

He was... I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed against the lump lodged in my throat.

Textbooks were handed out, followed by a syllabus. Both sat on my desk untouched. Mr. Santos went over the type of speeches we’d be writing and delivering throughout the year, everything from an informative speech to one that would be based on interviewing a fellow classmate. While I’d been seconds away from full freak-out mode when I’d walked into the class, the prospect of having to give multiple speeches in front of thirty people was now the furthest thing from my thoughts.

I stared straight ahead, realizing that Keira was also in this class, sitting in front of the guy who’d tried to get his attention at the beginning. I wasn’t sure she’d noticed me when I entered the class. Then again, maybe she did and didn’t care. Why would she have? Just because she spoke to me in one class didn’t mean she was lining up to be my BFF.

My lunch fail seemed like it happened years ago. Each breath I took I was aware of. Unable to stop myself, I tucked my hair back as I glanced to my left.

My gaze collided with his, and I sucked in an unsteady breath. When we were younger, I could always read his expression. But now? His face was completely impassive. Was he happy? Angry? Sad? Or as confused as me? I didn’t know, but he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was staring.

Heat infused my cheeks as I averted my gaze, and somehow I ended up looking at the girl beside him. She was staring straight ahead, lips pressed in a thin, firm line. My gaze dropped to where her hands were balled into fists, resting on top of the desk. I looked away again.

Maybe five minutes passed before I caved and peeked at him again. He wasn’t looking in my direction, but his jaw was working, causing a muscle to thrum in his cheek. All I could do was gawk at him like a total idiot, incapable of much more.

When he was younger, anyone could tell he’d grow into someone with heart-stopping looks. He had the framework for it—big eyes, expressive lips, and defined bone structure. Sometimes that had been a...a really bad thing for him. He had received all kinds of attention. It seemed like Mr. Henry had wanted to break him like he was fine china. Then there were the men that roamed in and out of the house. Some of them had... They had been too interested in him.

Mouth dry, I shut those thoughts off. I shouldn’t be so shocked by how attractive he’d turned out, but as Ainsley would say, he was stupid-hot.

While Mr. Santos was passing out index cards for some reason I’d missed, the guy in front of us turned around again, his sea-moss-colored gaze direct. “You good for after school?”

I couldn’t help it. My gaze flickered to him. Lips taut and arms folded across his chest, he nodded curtly.

The guy raised dark brows before he glanced in Mr. Santos’s direction. “We need to talk to Jayden.”

Jayden? I thought about the boy I’d almost plowed over in the hall.

The girl looked over, head cocked to the side.

“Got it, Hector,” he replied, voice clipped, and I was struck by how deep his voice was now. A moment passed as his chin tilted toward me.

Flushing, I looked away, but not before I caught Hector’s curious green gaze flicker to me. The rest of the class was an exercise in stealing glances at him, as if I needed to see him to remind myself that he was seriously sitting there. I wasn’t really good at being furtive, because I was pretty sure the girl on the other side of him, the girl that had been touching him quite familiarly on the way into the class, caught me about half a dozen times.

As the minutes ticked by, my stomach began to churn around the ever-increasing knots that were forming. Anxiety circled like a viper waiting to attack with its crippling venom.

Pressure closed my throat, a steel vise squeezing until it eked every last breath out of me. An icy burn crawled up the back of my neck and then splashed across the base of my skull. My next breath hitched, and I felt it—the flash-flood feeling of losing all control.

Breathe.

I needed to breathe.

Curling my fingers into my palms, I forced my chest to rise and fall evenly and willed my heart to slow down. When I had been in therapy, Dr. Taft had drilled into me the fact that I wasn’t losing control of my body when this happened. It was basically all in my head, sometimes triggered by a certain loud sound or a scent that would throw me back in time. Sometimes, I wasn’t even sure what was triggering it.

Today I knew.

The trigger was sitting right beside me. This panic was real, because he was real, and the past he symbolized wasn’t a product of my brain.

What would I say to him when the bell rang and school was over? Four years had gone by since that night. Would he even want to talk to me? Or what if he didn’t want to talk to me?

Oh, God.

What if my being back here wasn’t something he’d hoped for or even thought about? He had... He had taken a lot of crap for me, because of me. While there were good moments over the course of our ten years together, there had been a lot of bad. A lot.

And it would... Yeah, it would suck if he got up and walked out of class without saying another word, but that would be better in a way. At least now I knew he was alive and appeared to be physically unscathed, and he seemed to be familiar with the girl on his other side. Maybe she was his girlfriend. That meant he was happy, right? Happy and whole. Knowing he was okay meant I could officially close that chapter of my life.

Except I’d thought I’d already closed the chapter. Now it was reopened, flipping all the way to the beginning.

When the bell rang, protection mode kicked in, like it had oh so many times in the past. I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing. An old instinct reared its head like a sleeping dragon, an instinct that I’d spent four years beating into submission, but had already caved to once today.

Standing, I scooped up my book and grabbed my bag off the floor. My heart slammed against my ribs as I darted around our seats, and I didn’t look back, didn’t give him a chance to walk away first. My sandals smacked off the floor as I hurried down the hall, easing past slower-walking students as I shoved the textbook into my bag. I probably looked like an idiot. Well, I felt like an idiot.

I burst outside and into the hot sun. Chin down, I followed the path to the parking lot, hands trembling as I opened and closed them, because it felt like the blood had stopped at my wrists. The tips of my fingers tingled.

The silver Honda gleamed up ahead, and I drew in a ragged breath. I would go home and I would—

“Mallory.”

My pulse spiked at the sound of my name, and my steps faltered. I was feet from my car, from escape, but I turned around slowly.

He stood beside a red truck that hadn’t been there when I parked this morning and that I hadn’t even noticed on my mad dash to my car. In the sunlight his hair was more brown than black, and his skin deeper, his features sharper. There were so many questions I suddenly wished I could ask. What had he been doing for four years? Did someone finally adopt him? Or was he moving from one foster home to the next?

Most important, was he safe now?

Not all group homes were bad. Not all foster parents were horrible. Look at Carl and Rosa. They put the awe in awesome. They’d adopted me, but before them, this boy standing before me and I had not been lucky. We’d been fostered by the worst kind of people who somehow managed to pass inspection. Caseworkers were underfunded and understaffed, and most did the best they could, but there were a lot of cracks to slip through, and we’d fallen right through one in the worst way.

Most foster kids didn’t stay in the system or one house longer than two years. Most kids were reunited with parents or adopted. No one besides Mr. Henry and Miss Becky had wanted us, and I still couldn’t figure out why they wanted us and yet treated us so badly. Our caseworkers came and went with the frequency of the seasons. Teachers in school had to have seen what we’d been going through at home but none risked their jobs to step in. The bitterness of being overlooked and stepped on for so long in an overburdened and broken-down system still clung to me like a second skin that I wondered if I’d ever shed.

But there was good and bad in everything. Had he finally found some good?

“Really?” he said, his fingers tightening around the old notebook he held. “After everything, after four years of not knowing what the hell happened to you, you just show up in fucking speech class and then run away? From me?”

I inhaled sharply as I lowered my arms. My bag slipped off my shoulder, hitting the hot asphalt. Shock flowed through me, but in the back of my mind, I wasn’t surprised that he’d caught up to me. He never ran. He never hid from anything. That had always been me. We had been yin and yang. My cowardice to his bravery. His strength to my weakness.

But that wasn’t me anymore.

I wasn’t Mouse.

I wasn’t a coward.

I wasn’t weak.

He took a step forward and then stopped, shaking his head as his chest rose and fell unsteadily. “Say something.”

I struggled to get the word out. “What?”

“My name.”

I wasn’t sure why he wanted me to say that, and I didn’t know how it would feel to say it again after all this time, but I drew in a deep breath. “Rider.” Another breath shuddered through me. “Rider Stark.”

His throat worked and, for a heartbeat, neither of us moved as a steamy breeze tossed strands of hair across my face. Then he dropped his notebook to the pavement. I was surprised it didn’t burst into dust. His long-legged pace ate up the distance. One second there was several feet between us, and in the next breath he was right there in front of me. He was so much taller now. I barely reached his shoulders.

And then his arms were around me.

My heart exploded as those strong arms pulled me against his chest. There was a moment where I froze, and then my arms swept around his neck. I held on, squeezing my eyes shut as I inhaled the clean scent and the lingering trace of aftershave. This was him. His hugs were different now, stronger and tighter. He lifted me clear off my feet, one arm around my waist, the other hand buried deep in my hair, and my breasts were mushed against his surprisingly hard chest.

Whoa.

His hugs were most definitely different than they were when we were twelve.

“Jesus, Mouse, you don’t even know...” His voice was gruff and thick as he set me back on my feet, but he didn’t let go. One arm stayed around my waist. His other hand fisted the ends of my hair. His chin grazed the top of my head as I slid my hands down his chest. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

I rested my forehead between my hands, feeling his heart beat fast. I could hear people around us, and I imagined some were probably staring, but I didn’t care. Rider was warm and solid. Real. Alive.

“Hell, I wasn’t even planning to come to school today. If I hadn’t...” His hand unclenched from my hair, and I felt him draw a strand out. “Look at your hair. You’re no longer a carrot top.”

A choked laugh escaped me. When I was younger, my hair had been an orangey-red mess full of ratty knots and unruly waves, and thank God, the tone had calmed down somewhat. A visit to a hair salon had helped. The knots and waves were still up for debate whenever it was humid.

Rider drew back just enough that when I blinked my eyes open, I found him studying me. “Look at you,” he murmured. “You’re all grown-up.” His hand left my hair, and a fine shiver danced along my spine as his thumb swept across my lower lip. The touch startled me. “And you’re still as quiet as a mouse.”

My spine stiffened. Mouse. “I’m not...” Anything I was about to say died a fiery death, because his thumb had tracked its way across my cheekbone, the pad of his finger callused and rough, but the caress tender.

My gaze tracked up to eyes I’d never thought I’d see again, but he was really here. Oh my God, Rider was here, and so many thoughts bounced around. I could only grab hold of a few of them, but memories surfaced like the sun cresting a mountain.

One night I’d woken up, frightened by the booming voices coming from the dark downstairs. I’d snuck into the room next to mine, which had been Rider’s, and he’d let me crawl in bed with him. He’d read to me then, from a book that I’d loved, a book that Rider called “the stupid rabbit story.” It always made me cry, but he read to me to distract me from the shouts filling up the small, broken-down row home. I’d been five, and from that moment on, he’d become my entire world.

Rider suddenly stepped back and grabbed my right arm. As he lifted it, he turned it over and pushed the sleeve of the thin cardigan up. His brows knitted as he frowned. “I don’t understand.”