Page 41 of Forever Then

Silence settles again before I ask if he thinks Drew and Reagan are okay.

We speculate for a while about what could have happened as our memories search for any clues from the past few weeks that we might have missed.

Did something happen to somebody in her family?

Something with work? Is she pregnant? Sick?

We both text my brother, but don’t immediately get a reply.

Phones set aside, we rest deeper into our embrace. The sky turns a soft magenta as the sun melts into the horizon, reflecting off the red earth all around. Tufts of purple clouds dot the tips of the mesas in the distance.

“Can I ask you a question?” Connor kisses my temple.

“Mmhmm.”

He squeezes me tighter. “What if Drew doesn’t accept this?” His voice is tense with worry. When I turn my face up to his, a set of troubled eyes move over me.

I flip myself over and straddle his waist. With my palms framing his face, I pull his full attention to me.

“Hey,” I say, my lips softly kissing his. “I choose you and you choose me. The only decision Drew gets to make is whether or not to support us.”

“What if he cuts us out? What if he cuts you out?” This is what he fears the most, what paralyzed him on that balcony three years ago—that he’ll lose a best friend and I’ll lose a brother.

My heart refuses to believe Drew would ever be that cruel. But Connor’s tender, good soul needs validation. I hear his fears and I’ll never dismiss them.

“ If he did then that would be his choice, not the fault of anything we did.” I set his forehead to mine. “As long as we make each other happy, we’re allowed to choose that for ourselves.”

Connor breathes against my neck. I don’t let go until the tension in his shoulders eases and his body settles, relaxing against me.

“Whatever happens, we’re in this together,” I say.

“Together.”

When the sun finally sets and the sky fades to black, we head inside.

I’m halfway across the bedroom when he calls my name from the living room. When I turn to face him, he holds up an envelope branded with the resort’s logo. “This was on the floor in the entryway.”

Someone must have slid it under the door while we were outside. He holds the sealed envelope out to me, but I don’t reach for it. I can’t seem to make my feet move. The small distance between us closes as he pads softly toward me.

“I’m right here with you.” He grabs my hand, places the envelope in my palm and tilts my chin to meet his gaze. “Read it.”

Deep breaths.

I turn it over in my hands. Connor’s hand settles on my shoulder and I tear it open.

The single piece of resort letterhead tucked inside contains a handwritten message—short and to the point.

I read it silently to myself three times.

My thoughts pinball back and forth in my head as I try to absorb the words.

“What does it say?” Connor asks.

I suck in a breath and read.

Ms. Fisher,

A woman by the name of Cheyenne Ortega contacted the front desk this evening and requested we inform you that they’re very excited to see you tomorrow. Per her request, here is her phone number, should you need to contact her.

I look up and Connor’s warm smile greets me like he knew all along this is exactly what would happen. My eyes water. I think I’m smiling, but I’m mostly hyper-focused on the piece of paper in my hands, running my fingers along the edges to ensure it’s real, that this isn’t a dream.

Earlier, I said I wasn’t worried. Still, my emotions get the best of me. I’m lost to a wave of quiet, anxious thoughts and a heart that squeezes in my chest. Connor takes the letter, sets it on the dresser, walks me to bed and peels back the covers.

He moves about the hotel room, flipping off the lights and making sure the door is locked, before he climbs in beside me.

There’s no great wall of pillows between us this time.

We both shift to the center of the mattress until our bodies find each other, limbs intertwining, like it’s something we’ve done a thousand times before.

Connor still wears his sweatpants and t-shirt. “You’re wearing a concerning amount of clothes for a man who says his body is a furnace.”

“I didn’t want to tempt you with too much skin and hard muscle.”

“Says the man who groped me in his sleep last night.”

He laughs as he rolls to his back. I follow suit, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder. My body uses his like a human body pillow, arm across his chest and leg hiked over his hip.

“Maybe I should put on more clothes so you’re not tempted again,” I tease.

He hauls me in tighter to his side. “Hell, no. You’re perfect.”

Several minutes tick by and I’m nearly lulled to sleep, nerves settled, by the steady rise and fall of his chest under my palm. His fingers lazily tunnel through my hair and the world’s nearly gone dark, when he whispers, “Are you asleep?”

“Mmmm. ”

“Is that a yes?”

I snort. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

I tilt my face up to his. “For what?”

“For letting me be the one who gets to share this weekend with you.”

“You know I didn’t invite you, right?”

“ Touche ,” he says. “But you didn’t send me packing so I’m calling it a win.”

I grin, my index finger sketching soft circles over his chest. “I did always want it to be you, though. I mean, I didn’t know if it would ever happen, but whenever I imagined the possibility, it was always with you.”

His body stills beneath me and he weaves his fingers with mine. “You did?”

I nod. “You remember my tenth birthday when I asked you if you thought my birth parents thought about me?” He squeezes my hand and I take in a deep breath.

“I’d never voiced anything about my birth parents to anyone before, but I did with you that day.

I didn’t plan it, but you were there and you were always so nice to me and the gift, I just… ”

He squeezes my hand again. “You just what?”

“I always felt safe with you. Not that I didn’t feel safe with my family, but I don’t know…it felt different with you, I guess.” I shake my head. “Sorry, I know that doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” he interjects, voice low and hoarse. “I get it.”

Something about the way he says it tells me he really does get it.

After a few quiet seconds, he asks, awe and expectancy lacing his words, “So, I was your first choice then?”

I smile into the skin along his collarbone. “Always have been.”

The breath that seeps out from deep in his chest carries years of longing and hope on its release and I squeeze my body closer to his in solidarity. We made it.

He kisses me softly on the forehead, lips idling there. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a good day,” he whispers.

And for the first time in a long time, I fall asleep actually believing it.