Forever Kinda Love

  formatted by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs

  Butterfly Pieces (coming 2015)

  Life’s. Little. Surprises.

  The last thing seven-year-old Carrigan "Ace" Casper foresaw was an eight-year-old Heath Lovelly walking into her life the day her mother died. From that moment on, Heath sticks by her side, slowly becoming her strength, her confidant, and her entire world. What she doesn’t know is, she's his saving grace, too.

  Ten years later, Ace is handed another crippling challenge that threatens everything in her almost perfect life. Only, this time, she doesn't turn to Heath, hiding the truth instead. But Heath knows Ace too well and won't back down easily. He's ready to do whatever it takes and will stay by her side until she accepts that their love is the kinda love worth fighting for.

  Will he be her forever triumph or her unexpected downfall?

  Two lives.

  One story.

  And an unexpected journey to falling in love.

  To failures. To those that never give up. And last, but not least, to finding your Forever Kinda Love.

  HEARTBREAK.

  They say it’s the worst kind of death, because the pain has a way of leaching everything out of you.

  Hope.

  Fear.

  Love.

  Everything.

  But that’s not the worst of it. No, the cruelty lies in watching someone you love beaten down, one layer at a time, until there’s nothing left of them but a shell. I know. I’ve watched my loving father become a heartbroken machine since Mom died.

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a tortured second before I push harder, pouring every single ounce of willpower into propelling me forward, focusing on my speed, the target ahead, and nothing else.

  My lungs are burning—my body went numb a mile back—but I don’t mind, because this is what I need, what I want. My breathing comes in uncontrolled gasps as my legs work hard, pushing beyond my exhaustion.

  I pause at the top of the hill, looking down over the ocean, taking in the breathtaking view of early morning in Pine Cove, Georgia. Mom and I had spent countless hours here every Sunday.

  But not anymore. Now, she lives in my memories. Memories tainted by the horrific images of her final moments.

  I bend over, resting my elbows on my knees, taking a minute to breathe. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm and straighten. The sun rises over the horizon, a layer of soft orange streaking across the sky.

  Checking the time, I descend down the hill and hear a familiar voice call out:

  “Hey!”

  A wide smile—the kind that would scare even the crazy cat-lady—plays across my face, and butterflies dance in the pit of my stomach. I turn around slowly, schooling my features into a non-crazy grin.

  Heath jogs down the coastline, kicking up sand behind him. Dimples break out at the corners of his smile, and I’m pretty sure I’m daydreaming. He’s beautiful—not the boy-next-door kind, but a perfect mixture of charm and muscle that’d make every girl at our school shiver. The kind of guy I’d want to marry, if he wasn’t my best friend, that is.

  His hair seems darker than usual and is an unkempt mess—just the way I like it.

  “Hey,” he says again, breathlessly, coming to a stop before me and taking a sip of water from the bottle in his hand.

  He walks past me, stretching his arms over his chest, hugging himself. He pivots, turning toward me before he flops on the sand, his legs extended to the sides, his hands reaching for me. I mimic him, taking his hands into mine and setting my feet against his. I pull him toward me, helping him stretch.

  “So, I heard a little rumor.” His voice is steady and in control, even though his nose is inches from the sand.

  “Yeah?” I grunt when he pulls me toward him. “Like what? Wait, don’t tell me. . . they now have Spiderman lacrosse sticks?”

  He chuckles in a deep, groggy tone. “Something like that.”

  I look up through my lashes, eyeing him curiously.

  He lets go of my hands, jumping up, a wide smile etching across his face. He pulls his long-sleeved outer shirt over his head, revealing a form-fitted, neon-green tank.

  “Was your plan when you bought that shirt to blind anyone that looks at you?” I tease, seeing spots from staring at the bright fabric.

  “Admit it, you can’t take your eyes off me,” he says, taking off in a jog, tucking the long-sleeved shirt into the right hip of his pants.

  “With a shirt like that . . . ?” I retort, jumping to my feet. “It’s hard to look at anything else.”

  “Whatever. Let’s go, lazy ass!” he yells over his shoulder, chuckling.

  With a shrug, I sprint down the shoreline to catch up to him. We run side by side for a while, not saying a word. Usually, I enjoy getting lost in my thoughts while I run, but right now, I’m wondering what he heard. Was it another rumor about us, or had he gotten into Yale like he was hoping?

  He falls behind me when we swerve onto a narrow trail leading back through the scrub grass, the quickest way to my house. “Did I ever tell you that pink and black looks nice on you?”

  “Shut it, douche!” I say, trying to keep the lead. “And whatever it is, I’m not doing it.”

  “I didn’t asking for anything.”

  “Yet!” I scoff, keeping my sight trained ahead. “I know you, Heath.”

  “No, really. I think you have a nice ass. Must be all this running.”

  I chuckle. “My answer is still no.” I throw a quick glance at him over my shoulder. I don’t know what he really wants, but if he’s trying to buy his way into getting a favor, it isn’t going to work. Besides, it’s probably some stupid party Lisa’s forcing him to go to, and he wants me to tag along like a third wheel.

  I shoot another glance behind me.

  He grins at me with a wink. “Rrrreally nice ass.”

  I turn my gaze forward again, shaking my head in disbelief. Heath doesn’t see me like he does other girls. But he knows when he starts talking that way, I feel self-conscious. He says he’s trying to bring me out of my shell. But I know that’s BS; he just likes to see me squirm.

  And squirm I do. I become acutely aware of every flaw-filled inch of my body. Suddenly, I’m wishing I’d worn more than my tight-fitted running attire—sweats, sweats would be awesome!

  Once the path widens, he falls into step beside me, and I relax a bit. When my house comes into view, he slows his stride to a non-existent jog. He removes the neon-green tank and wipes it across his face, then down his half-naked body. I can’t seem to keep from noticing his gorgeousness . . . the way sweat clings to his six-pack abs and drips into the deep V beneath his pants. Those lean, muscular arms . . .

  A flush of heat attacks from within, and I’m very certain it has nothing to do with the ten-mile run. I suck in a deep breath and let it out. What the hell was that?

  I look away as Heath brings the bottle to his lips, taking a gigantic swig of water. He then nudges the half-empty container toward me. “Want some?”

  I grab the bottle from his hands, placing it against my lips, and down two huge gulps. “Thanks.”

  He snatches it back and winks, then takes another long sip.

  “So, you never told me what the rumor was,” I say, unattractively breathless.

  He cocks his head and smiles. “That we’re less than four months away from somebody’s birthday.”

  “Heath—”

  His voice is steady, even though we’d run a good five miles together. “Don’t ruin this for me, Ace.”

  I stop dead in my tracks. “Ruin it for you?”

  “Well, yeah.” He leaves it at that.

  I shake my head in disbelief and stalk past him toward the house. He follows.

 
“Don’t be a buzz-kill, Ace. I’ve complied and done exactly as you asked for the past ten years.”

  I scoff. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

  He’d never done anything close to what I’d asked. He’d thrown me surprise parties with far too many people when I would have rather been alone in my room, or maybe with him.

  He narrows his eyes and silently watches me for two heartbeats. “I try not to. I’d rather hear you talk. Since I’m an awesome best friend and all . . .”

  “Oh. My. God.” I snort. I can’t help it. Even when we fight, he finds a way to make me laugh.

  He grabs my elbow and turns me around just as I make it to the mailbox in my front yard. He touches my cheek, his thumb running lazily over it. “Please.”

  The way he looks at me, with those round, puppy-dog eyes and his eyebrows pinched together, I don’t know if I can deny him. And he knows it. That’s why he’s using his secret-weapon look. I always concede to that look.

  “It’s your eighteenth birthday, and I want to celebrate you.” He lowers his head and stares me in the eyes, not blinking. “You can spare one night for me, can’t you?” His voice dips, becoming gentler, softer, eroding any hope I had at denying him.

  I groan in pretend exasperation and nod.

  He pulls his hand back and smiles. “Good.”

  “But nothing too excessive, okay?” I wiggle my finger, hoping I look as assertive as I sound.

  He opens his mouth—for one of his smart-ass remarks, I’m sure.

  Grabbing the edges of my sleeves in my fists, I cross my arms over my stomach and tilt my chin up. “I mean it, Heath.”

  His eyes meet mine, and then he shrugs, taking off.

  “See you in two!” he yells over his shoulder.

  I shake my head and turn to go inside.

  I SHUT THE FRONT door behind me, eager to rid the beads of sweat sticking to my skin in a warm shower. But I catch Dad heading into the kitchen, so I follow him instead. We barely speak to each other anymore, but that doesn’t stop me from craving his presence like a deprived child.

  We fall into our morning rhythm: he makes breakfast—eggs and toast—while I pour our drinks, make a bowl of fruit, and set the table.

  And wait.

  Our kitchen isn’t much, but it has a feeling of warmth and love. Everything in it reminds me of Mom. From the white, ceramic-tile backsplash, to the awful, pink countertop that makes me think of bubble gum. Nothing has changed in the past ten years. Maybe it’s Dad’s way of preserving her.

  I turn my gaze to the photo of Mom, Dad, and me sitting beside the range. I’m in the middle, and they’re kissing my cheeks. The picture is blurry, but something about that day was memorable, and Mom had insisted we frame it.

  So we did.

  Guilt tightens my chest, making it hard to breathe. That used to be our happy, perfect family. Now, we’re nothing more than two people living under the same roof.

  I practically jump out of my skin when Dad asks, “Salt and pepper?”

  Same question, different day. “Yes, please.” I walk our plates over, and he silently fills them with food.

  “So,” he says when we finally sit down to eat.

  I shove my mouth full of eggs and chew lazily. “So . . . ?”

  “Only four months of high school left. Excited?” he asks.

  I gulp down some OJ. “I guess so.”

  “Any plans for college?”

  Am I in some kind of Twilight Zone? I nod. “I applied to a few; haven’t heard back from any.” I don’t tell him that I’m starting to doubt if further education is in my future. Most people at school already know where they’re headed after graduation—most are either going to college or on some other adventure.

  Me? I’m not sure what I want.

  “Hmm.” He scrapes the last of the food from his plate and shoves it in his mouth before leaning back in his chair. “I’m sure you’ll get accepted soon enough.”

  There’s sadness in his response, like he’s afraid I’m going to leave too, and I feel the urge to assure him I’m not going anywhere.

  “Dad.” I reach for his hand.

  He looks up, his tired, empty eyes locking with mine.

  I cringe, pulling my hand back. Maybe he can’t wait to get rid of me. “I-I’m going to a party next weekend. Is that okay?” I hold my breath. As much as I love my dad, I haven’t asked him for permission for anything since I was twelve.

  He hesitates, his eyes widening in surprise. “With adult supervision?”

  Seriously? “No,” I respond honestly.

  Even with no ground rules, or parental guidance, I have yet to get into trouble. I’ve been on the honor roll my entire high school life, and I volunteer every opportunity I get. I’m even on the cheerleading squad that’s been unbeatable since my sophomore year.

  He stands and walks toward the sink, empty plate in hand. A faint smile appears and disappears so quickly that I question if it was just my imagination.

  He turns around, and a wary smile—the kind you throw to make people think you’re happy—plays on his mouth. “Do you need me to come supervise?”

  “No!” I say, much too quickly and a decibel too loud. “It’s just a bunch of people from school getting together, most likely to get drunk. There might even be cops involved at the end.” I try to make light of the conversation.

  “Will Heath be there?”

  I want to crawl under the table and hide. But I don’t. “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  I blink. So, if Heath goes, it’s okay? “Just ‘okay’? There’s going to be boys, underage drinking, and probably some adult activities without adult supervision.”

  He gives me a quizzical look, then an honest-to-god, genuine smile. “Don’t get drunk. Don’t get pregnant. And drive home safe.”

  I choke back a snort, but a little bubble of giggle escapes. “Done, not a chance, and done.”

  Dad rubs the back of his hand over the nape of his neck. “Ace . . .”

  I bring my eyes to him. “Yeah . . . Dad?”

  “Nothing,” he says and turns, heading toward the living room.

  And just like that, everything is back to normal.

  Tiny steps, Ace. Tiny steps.

  With a sigh, I head toward my room to get ready for school.

  THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP.

  My chest tightens, strangling my breath as my vision tunnels on the red-blotted tissue in my hand. I can’t seem to stop staring at it.

  I don’t understand. I’ve had nosebleeds for a few years now—stress-triggered every time—but I’ve never seen it this bad. I glance at the pile of bloody paper in the waste bin. They’re getting worse; it took me half a roll of toilet paper before the damn blood stopped.

  I blow into a fresh tissue to check one last time. It’s clean. Throwing the tissue on top of the rest, I place my palms on the counter and lean against it for support. I close my eyes and try to calm my racing heart with a few deep, even breaths.

  “I didn’t know it was a skip school day.”

  I yank my hands back in surprise, hitting my left wrist on the vanity’s countertop as I whirl around.

  Damn it!

  Cradling my arm, I scowl at Heath. He stands in the doorway in his fashionably torn, dark jeans and white, button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. For a moment, I find myself staring, taking in his beautiful presence. Heath is a gorgeous man, no doubt. His full, bottom lip curves up, creating a small dimple in his left cheek.

  He’s totally letting me check him out.

  He struts lazily toward me, his feet somewhat dragging. “If you’re done drooling, we might want to get going.”

  His hazel eyes connect with mine. I’ve never seen eyes more stunning than his, so expressive and gentle. It’s like they speak to me more than any words ever could. But, then again, that might also be because of our promise to always be honest with each other.

  “Seriously, you gotta tell me, are w
e skipping today? ‘Cause I’m itching to go to the zoo.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not ruining my perfect attendance.”

  He reaches for my hand and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me. I smile up at him. I love that he’s openly affectionate with me in ways he never is with anyone else. But after nearly ten years of friendship, I wouldn’t expect anything less.

  I’m his confidant. He’s told me his innermost secrets—things no one else will ever know. Not even his so-called best friends. But what does that make me? We never put a label on what we are. We just are.

  He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Such a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes . . . it says that he needs me as much as I need him. Sometimes, it scares me how much my world revolves around him. I feel an unfamiliar flutter in my chest as he stares at me, and I can’t tell if it’s fear, or something else.

  I clear my throat and place my hands over his chest. Reluctantly, I push back and head into my bedroom.

  I rummage through the drawers on my desk, then under it.

  Heath chuckles. “What did you lose this time?”

  I look over my shoulder, arching an eyebrow. “I didn’t lose my English Lit paper. I just put it somewhere safe. Very safe. Obviously.”

  “I swear, your room is messier than mine,” he teases. “Do you have pigs living in here? Wait, no, even pigs . . .”

  “Shut up, jerk!” The ends of my mouth curve up. “Haven’t you heard? Organized chaos is the new ‘it’ thing around here.” I finally spot what I’m looking for, under a pile of books and Campbell’s soup cans. “Ah-ha!” I grab my ten-page paper and brandish it in the air with a triumphant smile. “See? I told you I’d find it.”

  “Whatever.” He grabs the duffel bag filled with my cheer stuff, shoulders it, and walks to the door. “I swear, Ace, if we’re not in my Wrangler in two minutes, we’re skipping.”

  Laughing, I walk past him. “I can carry my own stuff, you know. And stop trying to get me to skip school.”

  “I need the workout,” he responds, placing his hands on my shoulders and walking me down the hallway. “Besides, with all the books you carry around, you’re gonna get a hunchback before you graduate. And I don’t think you want all the guys to run away from you when you become the Hunchback’s long-lost sister, do you?”