Page 22 of When Forever Falls Apart

“Why did you stay?” I ask in a whisper.

“It wasn’t always bad,” she admits with a sigh. “What your father and I had at the beginning was amazing.”

“But then he changed…”

“He did.”

“And then you had me,” I say.

“Yes. You were a surprise, but a good one.” Mom releases a soft laugh, then follows with, “What’s on your mind, honey?”

My eyes wander around the room again. “I hate seeing this house so…”

“Empty?”

“Yeah,” I lie, but the truth is, the past crept up on me and buried emotions are running rampant. To see this place alive again would be a dream. But some things are unattainable. My family lived a charade and all the moments I thought were happy memories were just facade to cover the truth.

“Mom, I should go. I came here to grab some things, then I’m staying at Eva’s.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I love you. You know that, right?”

For the longest time, my mother was an unhappy woman who shadowed my father. To hear her express her love for me still surprises me to this day.

“I know. I love you too, Mom.”

The call ends and I shake my head, trying to cast off the heavy weight of those memories as I begin tossing extra clothes into my bag. I choose whatever I can find, knowing I’m one step closer to freedom and ready to escape the echoes that linger in these walls.

“Are you telling me that’s all that happened?” Billie is on her second margarita, and it’s showing. Her voice has gotten louder, not to mention her cheeks are now flushed. “You’re supposed to get over someone by getting under someone else.”

“I did let a guy plant a kiss on my neck. Does that count?”

Billie throws her head back laughing. “Since when are you so vanilla?”

I take a sip of the margarita, then say, “My standards have changed.”

“Oh, great. So now you’re even pickier?”

“Excuse me.” I grin, throwing a peanut at her. “You’re the pickiest person I know. You’ve overtaken Eva. Mind you, she picked my brother, so maybe her bar was never that high.”

“Yeah, sure. You have to say that since he’s your hot brother. Aston Beaumont is up there at the top.”

A groan escapes me. “Moving on. What’s happening with your love life?”

“A whole lot of nothing.” Billie sighs, then continues, “The store has been so busy. Between that and some babysitting jobs I’ve taken up at night to earn some extra cash, the only guy I hang out with is Elliot.”

“Right, Elliot. I keep forgetting he’s here.”

A server approaches our table, effortlessly balancing two margaritas on a tray. Billie appears to know her as they chat about a party they both attended. I listen, barely, opting to people-watch instead.

My gaze wanders lazily across the dimly lit bar. My attention is suddenly snagged as a figure strides in wearing a sleek motorcycle helmet that glints under the dim lighting.

As the door swings shut with a soft thud, the man brings his hands to his neck, fingers deftly searching for the latch beneath his chin. I watch, engrossed, as he releases the strap and the helmet eases away, revealing his face. Shadows play across his features, making it difficult to see, so I lean forward.

“Oh, Elliot is here,” Billie exclaims.

“That’s Elliot?”

Billie raises her hand, waving across the bar to welcome him to our table. “Elliot, over here.”