Page 6 of Forever & Always You

Nicole and Sasha smirk as Mark snorts in amusement just as a few of his friends saunter over to join us.

All eyes are on me and I fight back the sting of brewing tears because I know what’s expected of me in order to survive not only the rest of prom, but the final few weeks of high school.

So, this is it—the ultimate moment where I finally have to decide what I value more: my social status, or my friendship with Austin.

And it is so, so easy for me to choose, and for that, I think I’ll hate myself forever.

“That drink’s for me? That’s hilarious,” I sneer, taking a step toward Austin as my peers watch on in sadistic glee. “Why are you telling people we’re here together? You’re a stalker. A creepy, weird, obsessive stalker. Stop telling everyone I’m your date.”

And God, how it kills me, the way Austin’s blue eyes well with torment.

I betray him all the time, every single day, when I laugh at him in class and ignore him in the cafeteria, but it’s different this time.

This time, I purposely put him in a situation that had no positive outcome. My moral compass is smashed to pieces.

“Gabby .?.?.” Austin whispers in a fragile plea. Our eyes are locked, and he is begging me, begging me not to do this to him, to have his back just this once. He has forgiven me so many times for my behavior, for my rejections and cruelty, and yet I still can’t do it.

I still can’t be the best friend he deserves.

“Take your drinks and get out of here. Maybe try prom again when you actually grow into that old suit,” I tell him with a dismissive wave, but my cheeks are blazing with the heat of everyone’s attention on me, eager to hear exactly how I’ll put Austin Pierce in his place.

“Look around, Austin. It’s senior prom, and you’re ruining the vibe.

You’re not like the rest of us and you definitely don’t belong on this dance floor. You’re nothing.”

Austin gapes at me, and I want to throw myself into his arms, hug him tight, and tell him I’m so, so sorry. Laughter fizzes around us, but I just feel so cold and empty inside. Suddenly, Mark steps around me and snatches the drinks out of Austin’s hands.

“No, don’t!” I cry, but my attempt to grab Mark’s arm is futile.

He throws the drinks over Austin and the laughter filling the dance floor now erupts into a roar. Everything begins to spin, because it’s just too much. The packed crowd around us, the DJ blasting pop music, the piercing laughter. My ears are ringing.

“Get out of here, Scruffy Austin,” Mark sneers, pointing to the door as he settles back by my side, hand snaking its way around my waist once again.

Austin stands there so hopelessly, so defeated, shirt soaked with fruit punch and the tips of his ears red with humiliation.

There is only one person he looks at, and it’s me.

I’m the only one who can fix this for him.

I can see it in his eyes, the tiny, tiny glimmer of hope that I’ll make this right for him, but I’m not brave enough to sink with him.

So, I turn my back on him, both literally and figuratively.

I pull Mark with me across the dance floor, my throat choked, my eyes burning, laughter echoing in my ears, and if only I knew Austin Pierce would never speak another word to me ever again, maybe I’d have chosen to sink, after all.

*

The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway yanks my focus back to the Pierce Wealth Management office around me.

My pulse races so fast from my final memory of Austin that it throbs painfully beneath my skin, and I feel like I’m breaking out in a sweat as two men enter the reception area and shake hands goodbye. One of them is Austin Pierce.

My gaze fastens on him, and I wonder if this is what people mean when they say it feels like seeing a ghost from your past. My chest tightens and I’m pretty certain there’s no air in my lungs for a solid minute.

Was he always that tall when we were kids?

He towers a few inches over his already tall client, and his light gray suit is crafted perfectly around his body.

Custom tailored with a crisp white shirt underneath and a baby-blue tie that matches his eyes.

His blond hair fades in length down to the nape of his neck, not a single hair out of line, and the heavier top layers are styled with gel.

He’s .?.?. hot. Fuck. I don’t recall ever thinking of my Austin as hot.

As his previous client leaves, he turns toward me and says, “Miss .?.?. Buck?”

Okay, fine. Carly Buck is a stupid name. But I’ll be damned if I allowed him the chance to refuse to even see me when he heard the name Gabrielle McKinley. Does it send shockwaves through his core the same way his name does mine? Or am I just a blip of his youth, slowly erased over time?

“Yes, that’s me. Carly Buck.”

Our eyes meet, and no visible shock races across his features like I expect it to.

Maybe I think too highly of myself. Maybe I’ve been long forgotten, just a girl never worth remembering, and now I’m not sure how to progress with this plan.

Austin smiles politely, revealing a set of whitened teeth that definitely weren’t so red-carpet straight seven years ago.

“How are you doing today?” he asks, stepping forward and offering out a hand.

“Good,” I croak. I slip my hand into his and his handshake is firm, confident. My Austin was never confident. But was he ever really my Austin to begin with?

“Come on through.”

Following Austin to his office is like trying to drag along two cement blocks attached to my legs.

What’s the point in seeking redemption from a man who doesn’t even recognize me?

As we pass the fire escape, I contemplate throwing in the towel and dashing out of here, alarms blaring after me.

But it also seems entirely selfish to disrupt the office, so I remain committed to the cause.

I know from Pierce Wealth Management’s website that this firm was only founded a year ago, starting in a shared office block before recently moving into this new private building, and the faint smell of fresh paint in Austin’s personal office proves it.

The walls are bright and white, the black decor matches that of the lobby, and a huge window overlooks downtown Wilmington on this gorgeous sunny morning.

There’s a model of a dark green Porsche 911 on a shelf, exactly like the actual dark green Porsche 911 my father once drove. Grief nips me, but I suppress it as best I can and take a seat in the leather chair in front of the desk, because right now I have business to attend to.

“So, you founded this firm?” I ask, attempting small talk. It would be rather rude and abrupt to immediately throw at him: “Hey, it’s Gabby, remember me? Your best friend who made your life hell and betrayed you? Fancy forgiving me? Pretty please?”

“Yes, and although we are new in the industry, we are growing at an incredible speed and have a wealth of high-net-worth clients who are very confident in our knowledge and advice,” Austin explains, circling around from behind me after closing the door.

He unbuttons his suit jacket and sits opposite me across the desk, sinking into an executive recliner.

The smile he gives me is not only coy, but really fucking perfect.

He definitely had Invisalign or something.

“I’ve brought on two associates so far and, of course, Helen, our receptionist, who keeps things sailing smoothly.

Please don’t let my limited experience dissuade you from working with me. I’m very good at what I do, Miss Buck.”

He’s only a month older than me, but he’s so .

.?. grown. A mature adult with his shit together.

A far cry from whatever sorry state I’m currently in.

The confident, refined way he speaks quite frankly makes me question whether my own mental growth has been stunted in some way.

My vocabulary extends to curse words and sarcasm and nothing more.

“Oh, um, that’s okay. I believe you,” I say, because obviously I did not come here for actual financial advice.

Nervously, I play with the ends of my hair and wonder if maybe he’d recognize me if my hair was pin-straight and still severely damaged from taking a hot iron through it every day before school.

I haven’t tamed my natural blond curls in .

.?. well, too long. My hair is wild and full of too much volume, but I’ve been rocking the low maintenance look for a while now.

Mascara is about as much makeup as I’ll ever wear these days.

“I have some money I’m not sure what’s best to do with. Can you help?”

“I can talk you through our client agreement and devise a comprehensive financial plan based on both your short- and long-term goals if working with us is something you’d be interested in.

Roughly what kind of figures are we dealing with?

” Austin questions, sitting forward, hovering a ballpoint pen over a notepad.

I think of my checking account and fight the heat that blazes across my cheeks. “Eight hundred bucks and some change.”

Austin’s right eyebrow arches. He sets his pen down and sits back in his chair, interlinking his hands together on the desk.

“Unfortunately, we only work with clients who have an investment portfolio of at least half a million. I’m not going to be of much use to you, but your bank can help get you started with a simple savings account. ”

He rises from his chair, buttons his suit jacket again.

Oh, shoot. He’s going to ask me to leave. Panic floods through me and I jump to my feet, pressing my hands down on his desk, willing his eyes to meet mine.

“Austin,” I say, my voice cracking.

His blue eyes narrow with the weight of a thousand unspoken words as he presses his hands against the other side of the desk to mirror me. Challengingly, he says, “ Gabrielle .”

My jaw slackens. The sound of my name on his lips is like a punch to the gut.

“What the fuck? You knew all along?”

Austin cocks his head to the side, all the warmth in his features replaced with that darkening sense of contempt I’d been so prepared for.

“Carly Buck. Really?” He snorts, and I feel rage bubbling inside of me over the game he’s just played.

“I don’t know why you’re here, Gabrielle, and I certainly don’t give a fuck, either.

Eight hundred bucks to invest? C’mon. You’re missing some zeros there. Quit wasting my time.”

He moves to the door, swinging it open and standing back. His demeanor has made such a one-eighty, it’s giving me whiplash.

“Austin, please, I’m not here to mess with you,” I beg, remaining rooted by the desk. He’ll have to drag me out of here before I leave willingly. I’m committed now, and I’ll be damned if I’m leaving here without forcing my apology down his throat.

Austin sighs with indifference, like I’m merely a minor inconvenience in his day. “Get out, Gabby.”

The way he says Gabby does painful things to my chest. I was always his Gabby. My full name was only ever used for formalities, like pinky promises and signing that silly little contract.

“Close the door. Give me five minutes,” I plead, physically begging with my hands. “ Five minutes, Austin, and after that, I’ll walk out of here and you’ll never see me again. I promise.”

He can’t feign detachment anymore, because now the emotion sets in and the betrayal of the past flashes across his face like a scar. “Your promises mean nothing.”

My guilt is so pronounced it may as well be acid burning my insides. “Austin .?.?.”

Jaw clenched tight, he pushes the door open even wider. “Gabrielle, I mean it. Get out of my office before I really lose it here.”

This is a disaster. It’s very apparent that after seven years, the dust has settled. I shouldn’t have kicked it back up again, because Austin does not want my excuses and he certainly does not want my apologies. He wants me out of his office and out of his face.

“Okay,” I say in defeat, holding my hands up in surrender.

His eyes follow me across the office like a sniper locked in on its target, fierce and threatening, daring me to make one wrong move. But I get it. I shouldn’t have come.

I lower my head as I pass him and tension pulses in the small gap between us.

It was far too optimistic of me to assume he’d ever want to hear another word come out of my mouth, so although I may not have achieved what I set out for, I take solace in knowing he’s doing great for himself.

I didn’t fuck up his entire life and set him down a doomed path, I just ruined his high school experience—though even that is too much.

As I leave Austin behind, I pick up my pace. There’s a serious lack of oxygen in this building and I crave a gulp of fresh air. The fire escape is even more tempting this time around, but I propel myself down the hallway, hightailing it away from Austin.

As I sharply round the corner into the lobby, I clatter into something.

More specifically, Helen from the front desk.

We butt heads with a gasp, and in my haste to recoil, I trip over my own feet and promptly topple straight into the coffee table, a cascade of glass shattering around me.