Just Forever (Brighton U #2)

Lake

LAKE

Nobody in their right mind would ever mistake me for an optimist. Call it the result of life lessons, common sense, cynicism—take your pick. It’s always simply made sense to me to be prepared for the worst.

Put it this way—if you live in Tornado Alley and invest in a concrete shelter, people will nod with approval and call it a smart decision. In a way, my admittedly pessimistic outlook on life is a concrete shelter for my mind.

And I have been reinforcing it for a long-ass time. The walls are thick, comprised of solid concrete, skepticism, and animosity. There are no windows. The door has been bolted shut and secured with a heavyweight padlock. No one comes in without my express permission, which effectively limits visitors to the few close friends I have.

Three. That’s the perfect number of friends, and I will stand my ground on that.

This is how I like it.

It makes sense.

Really, it’s the reasonable way of doing things.

I look around the bar at the sheer number of people milling around. A hint; it’s more than three. By a lot.

Yeah.

I’m not sure why I’m here.

There are people everywhere, standing around, drinks in hands, bowls of potato chips being passed around, and boxes of pizza on every available surface. Somebody’s turned up the music and people are in that in-between state of swaying to it but not quite dancing.

I have this weird urge to start narrating my life like I’m starring in a movie.

‘Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.’

That type of thing.

Let’s face it, if this was a movie, I wouldn’t know where to even start explaining things. Plus, it sounds ridiculous enough that I figure whoever would come to see that movie would walk out halfway through while muttering, “These people are insane. This would never happen in real life.”

My eyes find Ryker all the way across the room from me. He’s got a beer bottle in hand, and he’s deep in conversation with Hayes and a couple of his other teammates. Or ex-teammates by now. It’s been a year since he graduated and became a part of the Brooklyn Blades. Officially and on paper. There was still the broken femur to deal with, and I know just how apprehensive Ryker was about his chances of actually making it to the NHL. How, even with all that optimism he portrayed to the world, on the inside, he was all caution. Optimistically cautious, because this is still Ryker we’re talking about, but cautious nonetheless.

But now here he is. Four months of rigorous physical therapy and recovery later. Most of his first season spent in Hartford, skating in the AHL, being his impressive self. So then when the Blades’ center was injured, Ryker was called up. The rest is history because ever since he got his shot, he’s been playing like his life depends on every single game. But now we’re finally both in New York. In a few weeks, I’m starting med school, and Ryker has training camp starting in the middle of September.

It’s a lot of change. Change, which just so happens to be a concept I’m not generally great with.

Yeah, fine. Not great is an understatement.

I’m terrible at change.

But…

My gaze lands on Ryker again, and I catch myself smiling. Involuntarily! It’s horrible. No, I’m just saying that. I actually love smiling because of Ryker.

Fuck me, I’m just ruined.

“Christ, that whole moony-eyed happiness is just nauseating.” Kelly’s exasperated voice is filled with eye rolls, but there’s a teasing light in his eyes when he throws a glance at me over the rim of his glass.

“This is a good way to not get invited next time.”

Kelly snorts into his cup. “It’s Ryker’s birthday party. The dude likes me. Trust me, I’ll be invited.”

I look around the bar. It’s so full of people that I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some kind of fire safety violation. “I don’t think half the people in here were invited, to be honest.”

Kelly shrugs, unconcerned. “Word got out. You’re the one who’s shacking up with the popular boy. What else did you expect?”

Yeah.

That.

I did do that.

And I didn’t stop there.

Oh, no.

I married him.

Also, fun fact, I married him way before I ever shacked up with him. Or slept with him. Or fell in love with him.

Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.

Let’s rewind a bit. To simpler times, if you will, which was about two years ago, give or take a few months. I was in college—junior year—trying to somehow get by and admittedly not entirely succeeding, when Ryker swooped in to save the day.

Handsome.

Funny.

Smart.

Perfect.

Ryker James.

Ryker, who’s also kind of, sort of my stepbrother. Or at least he used to be, once upon a time. I’m honestly not sure how those relationships change when it turns out your father isn’t really your father and disowns you as a result and then gets married again and?—

Let’s just say the family tree is a bit of a mess as a result. Lots and lots of unpruned branches. Obviously, what that chaos desperately needed was some more complications added to it, so long story short, Ryker and I got married.

In secret.

For money.

How’s that for making everything even messier?

I’m not even done yet.

Because then we slept together.

And—no, I’m still not done, thank you for asking—then we fell in love.

I send another glance Ryker’s way and try not to look like I’m swooning. It should be easy, seeing that I’m really not a swooner, but I break my rules and patterns for Ryker all the time. Always have.

I lean against the wall. Ryker looks up and meets my gaze across the bar like he can feel me. The smile on his lips is intimate and private. Just for me. Just a taste of what’s to come later once we’re alone again.

I lift the beer bottle to my mouth, take a slow sip, and lick my lips as I lower it. His lips twitch, and he narrows his eyes the tiniest bit.

And I chuckle softly.

Flirting silently across the room has never been this loud or this exciting. Butterflies flap in my belly. Like always.

I’ve stopped trying to figure out why that is.

Thing is, on paper, Ryker and I don’t fit. At all.

On paper—and that paper is a mile long—there are dozens of reasons why we don’t make sense.

He’s a math nerd hiding in the body of a jock, whereas pickpockets zero in on me in a crowd because I have the strong air of that person who gets winded after half a block of running.

He gets hit on wherever we go, and half the time, he doesn’t even realize people are salivating over him and not just being friendly without any hidden agenda.

I scowl a lot. He can make conversation with anybody. I’m awkward as fuck, so I prefer to shut my mouth and cross my fingers it’ll come off as mysterious.

He sees the good in people, expects the best of them, and always finds the silver lining.

I… scowl a lot.

He’s ridiculously in shape and ridiculously handsome with his black hair, impossibly bright silver eyes, and the megawatt smile that appears on his face whenever he sees me.

It’s not exactly subtle, which isn’t ideal. Ryker’s not out, and nobody—except a few select people—knows we’re in a relationship at all. Kelly, and our three other friends, Rachel, Sawyer, and Hayes. That’s about it. Even they only know about the relationship and not about the marriage.

I don’t love lying to any of them, it’s just that it’s easier to keep some things to ourselves. And that’s how it’s going to stay. For how long? I don’t know. Until Ryker is done playing, I guess? I’m honestly not sure, and I’m also doing my best to just live in the moment for now. There are way too many uncertainties, so if I really begin to think about how precarious a situation we’ve put ourselves in, I won’t ever get any sleep.

Because it’s not just about coming out with Ryker. It’s also that he’s married. To me. And it’s not that I think the two of us are that newsworthy. Well, to be fair, I’m not newsworthy. At all. I’m just a random college student.

Ryker… Ryker is not regular anything. And yeah, nobody chases him down the street like he’s a boyband member in the early 2000s, but he does get recognized every now and then, even though we live in New York, which means we’re enjoying relative anonymity, and New Yorkers generally don’t give a fuck. Still, Ryker’s a bit too good of a player and a bit too hot as a person for his own good, and his agent is determined to get him out there as much as possible, which again, isn’t ideal.

I very consciously block that path of thinking. There’s nothing I can do about any of this because I honestly don’t know how this situation turns out in the end, which means for the time being, we live in the now.

Plus, it’s not like there’s any point worrying about the future when I have enough things to stress about now, too.

“If you squeeze that any harder it’ll explode.”

I snap my gaze back toward Kelly, and he nods at the beer bottle I’m clutching in my hand before he rolls his eyes, pries my fingers loose, and takes the bottle away.

“What happened to that dopey smile from a minute ago?”

I send a smile his way that’s more a grimace than anything else.

“Is this meant to scare off little children?”

I roll my eyes. “Among other things. It’s a multifaceted smile. Also, if people see me smile too much it’ll give them the wrong impression.”

He finishes off my beer and quirks his brow at me. “The impression that you know how?”

“I like to keep some things to myself.”

“Isn’t that from a song or something? Are you gonna have your big musical number now?”

“I’ve been practicing.”

Kelly nudges me with his elbow. “What’s wrong with you tonight? Because you look worried.”

I need another beer, but I can’t because a hangover is the last thing I need tomorrow.

“We’re having lunch with Ryker’s mom tomorrow,” I say, unable to hide my sour tone.

“So?” he asks. “You’ve done that before.”

“This time the lunch comes with a side of Ryker coming out to her.”

“Ah.”

“Here’s your chance to give some sage words of advice.”

“About?”

I hold my arms out. “I don’t know. About how to make this easier. It just feels like one of those moments that calls for emotional intelligence, and fuck knows I don’t have any. I’m like a bulldozer. I go right over everything and cross my fingers there’ll be pieces to pick up later.”

“If I have ever given you the impression that I have a soft touch, tell me now or there’ll be blood.”

I ignore him. “What do I say if it goes badly? Or if it goes well, for that matter?”

Kelly snorts and holds up a finger toward the bartender, who moves over to us and hands Kelly another beer.

He takes a sip. “Do you really need advice on what to say if things go well?”

“Have you met me?”

“So, yeah, if things go well you say ‘hey, I’m happy for you and shit,’” Kelly says smoothly.

I steal his bottle and take a sip of my own. “See, I never would’ve thought to add the shit.”

“Amateur.”

I chuckle when he elbows me in the side. “Just be supportive either way.” He eyes me thoughtfully. “How likely is it that his mother will lose her shit?”

I consider that for a bit, even though I’ve already thought about it over and over again from every angle and am about ninety-eight percent sure of the answer. It’s just that those two percent are the scariest ones of all.

“Pretty unlikely,” I concede.

“Problem solved.”

“Oh, well, good. I feel better.”

He laughs. The bartender comes over again and leans on the counter. His eyes move up and down Kelly, appraising him with a slow grin.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“Depends,” Kelly says. “What else is on the menu?”

I watch the two of them flirt for a little longer before I leave them to it and make my way through the crowd toward Ryker. He and Hayes are now chatting with a couple of girls. They have short skirts and very high heels, and I almost manage to ignore the pang of jealousy. Almost.

It helps that Ryker watches me approach, a secret smile on his lips that’s there just for me.

I go and stand next to him. Close but not too close. It’s a careful balancing act, and even after all this time, I’m still not very good at it.

“So?” Hayes says, throwing his arm over my shoulders. “How’s New York been treating you so far? Excited about med school?”

“Uh…”

I open and close my mouth without saying anything for way too long.

“He thinks he’ll jinx it if he says it’s going well,” Ryker says.

My mouth drops open indignantly. “That’s almost slander. I’m not superstitious. It’s stupid.”

Ryker grins at me. “Sure you aren’t.”

“I’m not!”

He keeps grinning at me, but what the fuck? I’m not superstitious! I’m just not.

“I’ve seen you knock on wood.”

“If you’ve ever seen me knock on wood it’s exclusively because I was checking the integrity of the structure.”

“How safety conscious of you,” Ryker drawls. A teasing light makes his eyes sparkle. I grin back and hold my middle finger up.

People laugh around us, and I’m faintly aware of them, but most of my attention is on Ryker and only Ryker. It’s ridiculous. Concerning, even. But I’ve mostly stopped worrying about how far in over my head I am with this. There’s no point. It’s not going to make me love him any less.

I think I’m ready to receive my husband of the year award now, because that was obviously hella romantic.

The people around us seem to divide into pairs, with different conversations going on all around us. Ryker leans closer until our sides are plastered together. I look down at my feet and try to bite back my smile so I won’t look so damn obvious.

“How’s the birthday boy?” I ask.

“Enjoying myself,” Ryker says.

His pinkie slides over the back of my hand. It’s dark and crowded enough here that I’m not too worried. Slightly paranoid, sure, but these days I always am. Far more than Ryker, but I keep reminding myself this is new for him. I’m the first boyfriend he’s ever had. First love. First husband.

There have been girlfriends before me, but once there’s more than one dick in the relationship things get more complicated, and I don’t think Ryker truly gets just how much more.

I want to keep it that way.

I like that Ryker sees the good in people and expects the best from life. One of us should.

I know it sounds like a stupid goal, but stupid or not, I want him to keep that optimism, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure he doesn’t have to witness firsthand just how ugly people can be to each other.

I shake my head to clear it. This is not an evening for serious thoughts.

“I have a present for you,” I say.

His eyes light up. “Another one?”

Our heads are so close together now that I can feel his breaths moving over my skin.

“Well, you have been a very good boy,” I say.

“Unless you’ve decided you’re now Santa, that’s Christmas.”

“I’m practicing.”

He laughs, his smile luminous in the dim light of the bar, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So? What did you get me? Hand it over.”

“Sure. If you want to scandalize all these people. Otherwise, I suggest we wait until we get back to our hotel.”

He sucks in a breath and a curse escapes his lips before he sends me a glare.

“Oh, good. A hard-on is what I wanted. How did you know?”

“An educated guess. I’ve gotten to know you a tiny bit over the past few years.”

His pinkie wraps around mine for a moment and squeezes. My heart jolts in my chest. It tends to do that when I’m near Ryker.

“Oh? And what have you learned so far?”

“Eh, just some basic stuff,” I say flippantly. “Favorite food and color. Things like that.”

“It took you over ten years to figure out my favorite food and color?”

I grin at him and lean closer. “And the fact that you really like it when I have your dick in my mouth.”

He sighs and aims his gaze toward his crotch pointedly. “It was just starting to go down.”

“It’s a good thing I fixed it, then.”

He sends me a heated look. “Can we get out of here already?”

“You’d think. I’m not sure you’re supposed to leave your own birthday party while it’s still going on.”

Ryker purses his lips sourly. “We should start a new tradition.”

“You’ll manage.”

“Okay. Can I have a preview of my present instead?”

I pat him on the cheek and push myself off the wall I’ve been leaning against. “Patience is a virtue. Or so I hear.”

“That’s just the kind of bullshit people say to make themselves feel better in a crap situation.” He sounds adorably annoyed and just the right amount of desperate and needy.

We’ve been together for two years by now, and somewhere in the back of my mind I have this voice of reason that keeps telling me things won’t stay like this. That the butterflies will calm down and the need to be near him will become less overwhelming. So far it all just seems to get more intense, as if the more I get to know him, the more firmly we anchor ourselves to each other.

“Meet me in the back,” Ryker says. The look he gives me isn’t subtle at all. Heat flares in my chest.

I’d tease and argue, but who are we kidding? I don’t have it in me to refuse.

“Five min—” I start to say, but then there’s a loud shout and Ryker is engulfed in what is probably supposed to be a hug but looks more like an attack when Soren throws himself at my boyfriend. I’m pretty sure he passed drunk about three drinks ago, but that’s never stopped Soren. He manages to wrap Hayes into the same hug he’s currently giving Ryker and is also reaching out for me, but I take a quick step back.

I’m not a small person. At least when it comes to height. I’m pretty much as tall as Ryker and his teammates. But as tall as I am, compared to Ryker and his hockey buddies, I’m downright skinny. Not by normal people standards. By those, I’m aggressively average in every way. Not disgustingly in shape, but not so scrawny a gust of wind would knock me over or anything. Ryker, Soren, and Hayes fall decidedly under the disgustingly in shape category, which means they’d probably accidentally squash me if I got stuck in the middle of that hockey player sandwich.

“You wound me, ,” Soren calls.

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

I smile when I look at them. Soren was drafted last year and plays in the AHL. The three of them have packed schedules with training and travel and games, so they don’t get to see each other that often anymore, but they’re also the kind of friends where the distance hardly seems to matter, and when they see each other every few months, it’s as if no time has passed at all.

The party continues after that and grows increasingly raucous until we’re kicked out somewhere around one a.m.

Ryker’s eyes burn as he looks at me up and down. All subtlety has flown out the window, but I’m buzzed enough that I don’t care too much. I just want to get him naked somewhere in private as quickly as humanly possible.

I’m just getting my hopes up when Soren squeezes between me and Ryker and throws his arms over both our shoulders.

“We’ll continue this at my folks’ place. They’re out of town on a cruise, and they have a pool. Party!” He shouts the last word right into my ear, and I wince at the volume, even though I’m laughing at the antics.

“I’m sure your parents will love that,” I say. I’m not a hundred percent sure if I’m trying to persuade him that it’s a bad idea because I’m selfish and want Ryker all to myself, or if I’m just being my boring, reasonable self, who is always inclined to focus on the worst-case scenario.

Soren doesn’t care either way. “They’ve been meaning to renovate. My brother-in-law’s in construction, and he’s bound to want to suck up to them.”

Okay then.

Soren moves on to the next group of people, and Hayes sighs right behind us. “I better go keep an eye on him, or he’ll start inviting complete strangers to come with us.”

Ryker turns to me. “Quick. Pretend you’ve come down with something, so we have to leave right the fuck now.”

It’s tempting. Tempting to the point where I’m already pondering which disease I’ve suddenly contracted. I’m a medical student. I know all the best ones. But then my gaze lands on Soren and Hayes, and my shoulders slump because I already know I’m going to be a good boyfriend about this.

“You only get to see them a couple of times a year,” I say. “You see me every day.”

“No, I don’t.”

I’m not going to lie, the grumbling is adorable.

“You do now,” I say.

We were in a long-distance relationship for a year while I was finishing my senior year of college and Ryker was in Hartford and then in New York. It was really hard to go from seeing each other whenever we felt like it to only seeing each other once a week and sometimes not even that.

“Come on,” I say. “We’ll make an appearance. An hour. And if we can’t sneak out, I’ll pretend I’m having a stroke, and you can heroically carry me out the door.”

He eyes me for a bit before he bobs his head up and down sharply. “One hour,” he says.

“It’s a deal.”