Forever Together (Forever Love #2) Read online

  "Cindy?" Luke calls in a sing song voice and it brings be out of my own head.

  "Huh?" I shake my head in a bid to lift the fog.

  "I said how’s college going?"

  Well, I definitely need to answer that with a lie. What else can I say really? "Oh, it's hell. I'm pretty sure I flunked my sophomore year, I’m living with a pentagram loving psycho and I’m about as popular as Perez Hilton at an Oscars party." Yeah, I’m sure that'll go down really well. I can just imagine my Mom now, keeling over by the stove before taking me prisoner. I'd be tied to the couch watching Grey's Anatomy and being spoon fed apple pie. Hmmm, actually that doesn’t sound too bad. There are definitely worse things than being force fed my Mom’s famous and utterly delicious apple pie.

  "Erm, good?" Yeah because phrasing it as a question totally doesn’t make it sound as if I’m lying.

  "You on drugs?"

  I don’t react, I don’t even move. Did I just hear that right?

  "What?"

  "Are you on drugs?"

  "No, what the hell, Luke?"

  "Sleeping around? Have you become some kind of groupie to a band?"

  My eyes resemble what I’m sure are saucers right now. Have I missed something while I was zoning out?

  "No." I answer, narrowing my eyes.

  "Are you pregnant?" Oh, now that’s the final nail to the coffin. I don’t know whether to glare at him or to look down at my stomach. Do I seriously look pregnant? I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that apple pie last night. A moment on the lips, a life time on the hips after all.

  "Have you lost your ever-loving mind?" I can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me and it causes a blush to creep up my neck. I don’t have one of those cute blushes that tinge the cheeks and make girls look adorable either, oh no. No, my blush is all patchy and resembles some kind of eczema.

  "Just asking." He shrugs. "Mom was worried about you."

  "MOM!" I bark.

  "No, I never said you were pregnant, or on drugs, or a groupie. Luke, stop teasing your sister." My Mom glares at him with pursed lips.

  "Ok, I’m just kidding little one." He holds his hands up in surrender before ruffling my hair which just irks me even more. I definitely no longer feel guilty for not seeing the annoying jerk for months.

  Shoving Luke’s stupid words to the back of mind, I settle into an easy conversation with the rest of my family. Aiden tells me all about his job at the hardware store and how his boss is constantly "riding his ass". It’s definitely not a picture I want have in my head of old Mr. Creed. I’m actually kinda shocked he’s still alive never mind working there, the guy is like a hundred years old.

  After a good ten minutes of listening to my sister tell me about her job, I’m starting to feel like a therapist. Avery has so many complaints about Annabelle’s, from the constant sour-faced customers to the lousy tips. Of course, I'll take anything that keeps the conversation topic away from me.

  "So, what happened with you and Brady earlier?" It’s weird because the minute she says it; I’m thinking how good a sister she is to not mention me crying like a baby earlier.

  Everyone’s heads snap up like they’re attached to a wire or something. It'd be funny if it wasn’t so embarrassing.

  "You saw Brady?" The hope in my Mom's eyes makes me want to bury my head in my hands and scream in frustration.

  "Uh huh. She ran outta there like the Grim Reaper was on her ass." As Avery starts recounting the story of how I hightailed it out only to be chased by Brady, the feeling that I felt in the coffee shop comes back in full force.

  I don’t want to talk about this and I one hundred percent don’t want to hear about it. Christ, I already lived through it only a few hours ago. And yeah, maybe there’s a snarky little voice in the back of my mind telling me that actually I just don’t want to face it. That I’m too busy burying my head in the sand yet again. That voice can take a hike though.

  We all practically inhale my Mom's delicious gumbo and all the while I’m batting off questions concerning Brady left right and center. I feel like something's missing though. I don’t know if it’s because it’s quiet or at least more quiet than usual, but I just can’t put my finger on it.

  "So, are you going to be seeing Brady again?" Luke asks while my Mom mentions having to pick Bailey up from her friend’s house at the same time.

  BINGO! Looks like the mystery is solved. No wonder I thought it was quiet. It's because my bratty, loud and incredibly spoilt baby sister isn’t standing on a chair singing or showing off her latest terrible dance moves. Basically anything that makes her the center of attention. And now I feel like a class A jerk for hating on a six-year-old.

  "Cindy, are you even listening to me? I asked if you're planning on seeing Brady again." Luke says with wide eyes as if I’m an idiot.

  I completely ignore his question though I so want to answer it. I want to say no, that I’m not gonna be seeing Brady at all and that there’s no reason for me to. My mouth doesn’t seem to want to utter the words though, it’s gone into complete lockdown. Instead of answering him with the only answer my mouth seems willing to give, that I will be seeing Brady again, I focus on my Mom who's just about to reach into her purse for her car keys.

  "I'll pick Bailey up Mom." I pipe up, resulting in Luke narrowing his eyes.

  "Don’t worry honey, I've got it." My Mom replies.

  "Don’t be silly, you’ve been cooking so I'll go and pick up Bailey and Luke can do the dishes. Oh, and Avery can dry." I say it as if it’s the best idea I've ever had. HA! I’m sure next time Luke will keep his silly questions to himself and Avery will keep her big mouth shut.

  "Well, if you’re sure."

  "Yep." I jump out of my seat and grab my own purse from the countertop.

  "Er, Mom? Where is Bailey's friend?" I ask, ignoring a raised eyebrow from Luke, probably concerning his ignored question.

  My Mom rattles off the address and I rush out of the door, slamming it behind me. I’m not too proud to admit that I hesitate a little before getting into my rental. It’s a nice car and a good drive but it kind of smells of cheese puffs. I hold my breath for the first five seconds on getting in, the only successful way to prevent my stomach from turning over. I shouldn’t be too judgmental really considering the car I drove through High School.

  Yeah, it’s amazing that my Dad can build houses with his bare hands but can’t seem to pick a good car. Of course, when he turned up with a second hand Pontiac Aztek for Luke I thought it was hilarious. Karma got its own back a few years later when I inherited the ugly ass car. I’m not even overreacting when I say it's hideous either. Not only was it voted one of the worst cars ever, but also the ugliest. I should know, I collected the information for Mission get a new car, in my senior year. At the time, my Dad insisted it was a cool car because it was Walter White's car in Breaking Bad. My Dad had never watched an episode in his life at this point so when he tried to say that it must be a popular car and owned by a cool dude in a TV show, he actually had no idea he was talking about a middle-aged meth cook. His face when he did find out was kinda worth it though.

  When the garbage truck finally died, unfortunately two days after graduation, I was surprised to feel disappointment. Mainly that Aiden wouldn’t get to inherit the hunk of junk because there was no way it would have made it to LA. I barely drove it anyway during the last few months of its life since Brady put me out of my misery and drove me everywhere, saying that there was no way I could be expected to drive the second class dumpster truck anywhere.

  I wind the window down fully in a bid to air the car out. I know it won’t work but at least with the fresh air blowing in my face, it may take my mind off the smell. I start it up and pull out into the deserted street. I know this town like the back of my hand so I know exactly where I’m going. I doubt it would even take me half an hour to get from one side to the other. I navigate the streets, the only sight of anyone is the children riding their bikes and playing curby, the beginn
ing of sunset bathing everything in an orange glow.

  Yeah, I know exactly where I’m going which is why I’m shocked that on turning a corner, only about one minute from my destination, I slam on the brakes, a screeching sound filling up the quiet street of some of the nicer homes in town. I don’t know what possesses me to do it, it's involuntary though. The car comes to a complete stop in front of the gates and I can barely see the house from where I've haphazardly parked. Just like the rest of this town, I’d know this place with my eyes closed. I should do considering how much time I've spent here. I practically lived here at one point as soon as my parents allowed me to spend the night out.

  I know that the long drive will lead to the biggest house I'll probably see in reality. I know that it’s got windows from foundation to roof. I know that the back yard is like some kind of oasis with its huge pool and dozens of deckchairs that I've spent countless summers tanning on. I also know that it’s the place where my heart was ripped out. The memory of that day, when everything basically went to shit still haunts me. I bite the inside of my cheek in an attempt to control my emotions. There’s no point getting all upset now. It’s over. Done.

  Now I’m alone I can finally ask the question that has been plaguing my mind since I saw him earlier. If it’s so done, then why does my heart still beat out of my chest at just the thought of him? Why does my skin still tingle when he touches it? And why does it feel as if my relationship with Brady Cooper is anything but over?

  Chapter 6

  Brady

  The sound of a door slamming shut jars me from my nap. At least I think it was a nap. I coulda swore it was dark when I dozed off but judging by the light streaming in through the ten thousand fucking windows in the place, I'd say I slept for a lot longer than I expected. Hell, it’s the first time I slept for more than a couple of hours at a time in months. I was having a damn good dream from what I can remember as well until somebody rudely woke me up. Seriously, what kind of asshole goes banging around while a guys trying to sleep?

  That brings me to my next thought which has me sitting straight in my seat. I’m the only one in this house. my parents are in New York until whenever the fuck they feel like coming back. And I know for a fact the banging wasn’t me. Holy shit!

  I glance around for some kind of weapon cause let’s face it, I can throw down and put dicks in their place as well as the next guy, but the Bradymeister is no match for someone swanning about the place with an AK47. No way. Just as I’m about to reach for my Mom's very old and very expensive vase that takes center stage on the coffee table, the sound of clicking has me stopping in my tracks. Now either the intruders are damn crossdressers, or my parents are home.

  My Mom breezing into the room as if she hasn’t just given me a near fucking heart attack solves the mystery. Her hair is as perfectly done as always. The light blonde hair, out of a bottle obviously, is held in some perfect bun low on her head. She doesn’t look anywhere near her forty-two years but injecting shit into your face will do that. I don’t get what the obsession is, it makes me wanna shudder the thought of some quack sticking a needle in my face.

  "Brady, darling." My mom quickly walks on over and takes a seat next to me before squeezing me in a hug.

  "Hey Mom, I wasn’t expecting you." My voice is still scratchy from sleep.

  "Well your Father has a meeting in Savanna in a few days so we thought we'd head home early."

  My Father, yeah right! She can call him that as much as she pleases and she can have him sign a dotted line that gives me a surname, but that douche is most definitely not my fucking father. No, my father's a drunk that kicked the bucket in his own vomit when I was two. My mom’s good looks managed to get her a rich husband who was willing to settle down in her hometown as well as take on a brat. I still think the only reason he did that is because the guy ain't got the juice to pop any kids of his own out.

  I don’t tell my Mom that I think her husband's a jackass that’s doing his secretary. I've seen the way Sandra slutface fucking looks at him and I don’t trust his ass one bit anyway so I have no doubt he’s giving her reasons to look at him like that. If I had proof, I'd knock his teeth out, but I'll bide my time.

  "Sweetheart, we have to leave in twenty minutes for our brunch meeting." Speak of the devil! Old Bob comes striding into the room, his immaculate three-piece suit hasn’t even got a speck of dust on it. Shit, if I wear a suit, the fuckers all creased up and probably got a ketchup stain on after half hour. "Brady, I wasn’t expecting you to be up this early. It's not even noon yet." I let out a fake ass laugh at his little dig. "Have you done those spreadsheets I asked you to?"

  Ah and there we go. One of the reasons I left good old Hollywood was because old Bob here offered me a job. At the time it was better than the endless classes and shitty parties. Seriously, who knew that college was nothing like in 'Bad Neighbors'? The fraternities were filled with entitled dicks and the football team had about as much chance of reaching the Championship as Elvis does, even six feet down in the ground.

  "Yes." I sigh. I did them in an hour while I was waiting for the pizza to arrive the other night. Whoever says Papa Rayman’s pizza place is "the fastest pizza in Georgia" is a liar.

  "Good. There’s a list of things I need you to do. After all, I’m not paying you for nothing am I?" That’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s paying me for nothing because I'll do his shitty spreadsheets and fill out his thousands of forms when I damn well feel like it. I don’t say that though as I don’t think I can face my Mom's tears and squeaky sobs this early in the morning.

  "Ok, well have a nice brunch." I say, bopping outta the door and making my way up the stairs.

  "Oh, Brady, don’t forget the company’s fourth of July barbeque next week. It would be best if you don’t turn up in sweats." He says the word as if they’re the most disgusting thing on the planet. I'd tell him to go fuck himself if my Mom didn’t look like she’s five seconds away from some kinda anxiety attack.

  "Sure thing."

  I trudge my way up the stairs, feeling Bob's glare on my back as I do. What my Mom sees in the douchebag I'll never know. The guys got a stick up his ass a mile long. Hell, what he sees in my Mom I'll never know. I mean, she’s a good looking woman and from the pictures I've seen from when I was little she was a complete knockout, but how she went from being married to some drunk that worked in a junkyard to marrying a millionaire blows my fucking mind. He’s some hotshot businessman that came to Georgia from Boston and works in a high-rise building and she was a waitress that worked in the local diner and was born, raised and married in Franklin. She even went to school with Tucker's Mom who is about as far from refined as you can get. I don’t think I've ever heard a woman swear like a sailor as much as she does, which was entertaining as hell when we were younger and she was dragging Tuck in by his ear while calling him a "Fucking little shit." Just the memory alone has me chuckling to myself.

  I walk into my room and whip my clothes off in record speed, feeling all hot and uncomfortable after sleeping in them all night. I usually sleep naked as the day I was born so I’m surprised I even stayed asleep in clothes. I go into the walk in closet that’s almost as big as my room. When my Mom designed this house she must have thought that we were all gonna be drowning in clothes with how big the closets are. I can imagine Blondie being in heaven in here because let’s face it, the girl should go to one of the meetings in the town hall for addictions. She'd be standing up in one of those circles and announcing "Hi, my name is Liv and I’m addicted to shopping and spending every fucking penny that I have in Neiman Marcus."

  The closet is only filled with clothes on the one side. I’m a guy and I’m a fucking hot guy at that so whenever I get to walk about shirtless, I’m happy. I don’t need ten thousand button down penguin shirts or hundreds of slacks. I'd rather chill out in a pair of sweats and no boxers because let’s be honest, no guy likes a sweaty ball sack. The other half of the closet has my weights as I've gotta keep these
guns in tip top shape, as well as a few football trophies. I grab myself some worn grey sweats and a t-shirt to take in the bathroom. Now the parental committee are home I can’t be walking around the place with my butt on show, I'd love to see Bob's face if I did though.

  I head through the door next to the closet into the ensuite. It’s a man’s bathroom that has even more clothes on the black tiled floor than the bedroom does. I forgo the huge Jacuzzi tub since I’m not a bath man no matter how much Cindy tried to turn me into one. It didn’t matter how good those salty thingies she stuck in felt or that perfumey shit she seemed to tip in by the gallon, the only thing that ever made a bath good was if I had a naked and wet Cindy sitting at the end, or even better, on top on me. Hell yeah!

  "Don’t worry old Mr. bathtub you'll get some use soon enough." I ignore the feeling of craziness at talking to a bathtub and open the screen door to the walk in the shower.

  It’s clean because I may be a guy, but I’m not a slob, I don’t wanna get into a dirty shower but the black tiles are covered in smears from where the sprays naturally dried. Who the hell has time to be polishing a fucking shower? Not me. The way I see it, just squirt some bleach in the tray and jet wash the shit outta it. Problem solved.

  I jam my finger on the button and wait the two seconds for the water to start pummeling down. Stepping into the cubicle with the two heads, front and back spraying onto me starts to relax my muscles and wake me up from the fuzz I've been in since opening my eyes. Why anyone would pick a bath over this is a damn mystery. Who wants to sit in a bath for an hour until their skin gets all wrinkly like their Grandma's and then come out with blotchy red skin that itches to fuck? Crazy people, that’s who. Cindy never used to come out like that. Oh no, she came out all rosy cheeked and soft skinned.

  Man, just thinking of her makes my heart beat faster and big boy Brady downstairs harden up. It’s been six months since I last got laid since no other woman could get a reaction out of me. Shit, just the thought of somebody else makes my dick wanna shrivel th fuck up. It makes my heart crack a little too. The thought of never having her in my arms again, of never kissing those pouty lips of hers, it makes me wanna go all Tasmanian Devil and smash the place up.