Our Forever Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Elena Matthews

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.authorelenamatthews.co.uk

  Cover Designer: © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com

  Cover Photography: Sara Eirew, www.saraeirew.com

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To my dipshit, Sammy Lomax, who has yet to read one of my books. Get reading, you pussy!

  And to my person, Vikki Ryan. Without you, I’d be clinically insane.

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  I met the love of my life when I was five years old. For some people, it could take a lifetime to find the one, but for me, I managed to find the one at an age when I couldn’t comprehend the meaning of love.

  Christopher was my best friend from the moment he asked, “Hey, Jo, do you want to play hide-and-seek with me?”

  Even at five years old, it was hard not to be mesmerized by him.

  Eventually, as the years went by, he captured my heart more and more. He was alive with personality, adventure, and wisdom. But what I loved most about him was his brain and the intelligence that rose from him. Be it mathematical equations, Shakespeare metaphors, or complex science, he’d know the answer before any kid in our class could blink. He was smart, kind, protective, and the best friend a girl could ask for.

  I was unnoticeably falling in love with him.

  It wasn’t until my sixteenth birthday, seeing him in only his bathing suit at the local water park, when I realized I was truly, madly in love with him. He came out of the changing room, stepping out into the blinding hot sunshine, and the moment I locked eyes on him, it felt as if lightning had struck me.

  From that moment forward, my heart and soul belonged to him. He was no longer just my best friend; he was my everything.

  After my epiphany, I could barely think straight when I was around him. My body would run hot and cold with the barest of his touches. I would be flushed and nervous, and I couldn’t hold a conversation with him without stuttering. It was incredibly awkward, and for a short time, I thought our friendship was lost forever. After a while, things eventually resumed to normal when the genius graduated two years early and headed to college while I finished my last two years of high school. It wasn’t until he came home from college one weekend that he declared his love for me.

  He took me to our favorite spot by the river, underneath the maple tree that we’d adopted as ours years previously, and said, “You’re my best friend, but I want you to be more. I want you to be my forever.”

  And that was the start of our forever.

  By the time I graduated high school and was set to head off to college, he had earned an Armed Forces Health Professions Scholarship to pursue his dream of becoming an Army doctor. His mind was a special thing, so much so that he completed college and medical school in eight years.

  I had my reservations about him training to become an Army doctor, something that could have dangerous repercussions, but he wanted to give back to his country, and I supported him one hundred percent.

  Those eight years were a whirlwind experience for us as a couple, but we made it work. With hundreds of miles keeping us apart for the most part, it was incredibly hard, but we loved each other, and that was all that mattered.

  Before we knew it, we were both staring, wide-eyed, at a positive pregnancy test.

  Our son, Junior, was born eight months later, and we had four amazing months as a family before Christopher was deployed to Afghanistan. However, what I didn’t realize when we said good-bye was that it was our final good-bye. The bittersweet kiss we shared, with our son in my arms, was our final kiss. Hearing him say, “I love you,” then was the final time I got to hear those beautiful words pass his lips. It was the final moment I had with my boyfriend, my soul mate, my entire world.

  I had no idea how final those moments were until an officer turned up at his parents’ house while I was changing our son’s diaper in the living room and told his mother that her son had passed away.

  That day, something inside me died.

  Five years later, I’m still struggling, knowing my Christopher no longer exists in my world. I have to live the rest of my life, trying to come to terms with the fact that my best friend is incapable of breathing the same air I do, that the pattering heartbeat I used to spend hours listening to in the early hours of the morning after we’d made passionate love is now a nonexistent sound. I hate that he’s missing our son growing up—our son who is the very epitome of Christopher with his emerald-green eyes, his charming humor, and his loving big heart.

  I have a lifetime of memories with Christopher, but we should have had a lifetime more.

  Our forever should have been forever, but unfortunately, forever doesn’t exist.

  At least not in my world.

  “Are we there yet?” comes the question from my six-year-old son for what seems like the millionth time.

  I suck in a deep breath, trying to cool my temper that has been tested since the moment we began our journey from Dallas.

  “Junior, babe, seriously, my head’s going to explode if you ask that question one more time. We’ll be there soon, I promise,” I say, briefly glancing at him in the rearview mirror before focusing back on the road in front of me.

  “But I’m bored,” he drawls, enunciating the last word bored in a way only a child can do when the attitude has begun to seep through their pores.

  Lord, give me strength.

  “Why don’t you read me something from your Kindle?”

  He’s obsessed with reading, and incredibly, he’s reading books that are third-grade material. He recently finished reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. He’s so smart, and I love how he takes after his father in that department.

  Christopher.

  A sharp pain erupts against my chest at the thought of him.

  God…I miss him.

  Thankfully, I don’t have time to dwell on the pain that’s taken residence in my barely beating heart since the moment I lost him as Junior’s voice breaks through my inner turmoil.

  “The battery died.”

  Okay, so giving him the option to play a video game is also out of the question.

  “Um…” I rack my brain, trying to figure out a way to tire him or distract him enough to stop his whining so that I can continue our journey in peace and quiet.

  “Oh! Let’s play I Spy!” I announce a few moments later.

  “Mama,” he responds in an unimpressed tone, “I’m six. I’m too old to play that game. Plus, it’s boring.”

  I roll my eyes. Since when are six-year-olds too old to play I Spy? I loved that game. In fact, I secretly still do.r />
  “Look, we won’t be driving for that much longer. How about we listen to some music?”

  “Fine,” he sighs. “But I want to listen to ‘Happy.’”

  And, for the next fifteen minutes, I get to listen to Pharrell Williams claim how frigging happy he is—on repeat. Eventually, Junior’s constant complaining wears him out, and I’m able to continue the final leg of the journey in heavenly peace.

  The reason for Junior’s grouchiness is not only because he’s been stuck in the car for two hours, but also because we’re moving to Austin.

  I lost my job six months ago, and I struggled to find another one. I’m an event planner, and jobs in the Dallas area have been incredibly tough to come by. I’ve been doing freelance work here and there but nothing with a steady income. I have a six-year-old to feed, so I can’t be scrimping and scraping, wondering where my next paycheck will be coming from.

  Luckily, after a tedious job search, I came across the perfect job. The only downfall was that it was two hundred miles away. It wasn’t an easy decision to make once I’d had my interview and been offered the job. I had to look at school options, places to live, and possible childcare since I was a single parent. Also, I had to decide if I wanted to take Junior away from everything he’d ever really known since he was born—away from his grandparents and especially his father’s roots.

  Christopher was the reason I almost declined the offer. How could I move away from the place that held every one of my memories with him? But what the company was offering me was an opportunity to give my son the life he deserved, and that was all that mattered to me. I would put Junior’s needs and wants over mine every single time even if it meant wrenching my own heart out in the process.

  After a short while, I finally pull up outside the apartment complex that will become our temporary home, noticing the moving van waiting for us. I was given a short time frame to find living accommodations, so I decided to rent an apartment for a few months before looking for a house. That way, Junior and I can search for our perfect home, with a huge backyard and a white picket fence, and maybe we could even get a Golden Retriever or a Labrador to greet us at home every day. Junior would love it. Ever since his uncle Tyler—Christopher’s brother—bought his wife, Mia, a puppy last year, Junior has been obsessed with having a dog.

  “Junior, babe, we’re here,” I announce as I unclip my seat belt.

  I pivot my head to see him rousing from sleep. A cute little frown is etched along his face as he is heavily blinking.

  I round the car and open the passenger door, watching as he tiredly exits the car, yawning. I clasp my son’s hand in mine and head inside where the landlord meets us with the keys, so we can begin our new future in Austin. It’s daunting, to say the least, but after five years of being in a town where people only looked at me with sympathy and pity, it feels liberating to start afresh where nobody knows my life story.

  The moving guys begin transporting everything into our fourth-floor apartment, and it’s not until the last item has been brought inside when I finally take in the surroundings of my new home. The living room is spacious with a semi-open kitchen to the right. It’s stylish with hardwood floors and IKEA-style light fixtures, but it has a homely feel with the ivory walls. The kitchen is fitted with traditional cabinetry, slick countertops, and a multifunctional kitchen island with a built-in sink. The two bedrooms interconnect with the bathroom; one bedroom is more spacious than the other. It’s cute, and the place will look livable once the boxes have been unpacked.

  Junior and I spend the next few hours unpacking, much to his disdain, and when we get to the box marked Christopher’s Things, I begin to have second thoughts of moving…of moving away from him. As the agony of missing him hits me like a tidal wave, I take a Stanley knife to the tape and rip open the box.

  I need to feel close to him.

  Below me sits twenty years’ worth of memorabilia—photo albums, T-shirts, and small knickknacks—that were special to only him, so they’re items I can never throw away.

  Junior picks up a photo album, and I have to push down the lump at the back of my throat as I watch him sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking at his dad’s life in a series of photographs. He’s looked at these photographs a million times, yet he never seems to get enough of them. Where I have a lifetime of memories, Junior has only these photographs, which only form make-believe memories for him, and I hate that he can’t remember his father. It kills me.

  Junior’s giggles fill my ears, and I shift closer until I’m sitting beside him, looking down at the photograph that always makes him laugh. My laughter follows.

  “Daddy looks so silly here.”

  He’s pointing at a picture of Christopher and me when we were probably about eight years old at a charity event where you could throw cream pies at adults for a dollar apiece. Being my mischievous self, I pretended to throw the pie in the direction of the adult, but at the last second, I changed my mind and tossed the pie in Christopher’s face. The picture was taken moments later, showing Christopher covered in whipped cream while my head was thrown back in hysterical laughter.

  I love this picture. We were utterly carefree without a worry in the world. We didn’t know a life marred by death, heartache, and misery existed. I sometimes wish I could go back to a time when my head was filled with innocent, naive notions of fairy tales and happily ever afters. I want to rewind my life to when heartache didn’t reside in the deepest parts of me, a heartache that continues to kill me from the inside out, making it hard for me to take a steady breath, day in and day out.

  He died five years ago, and the pain of his death still lives within me. It’s excruciating. It’s nauseating. It’s heart-wrenching. Every morning, I find myself reliving the same nightmare when the realization of not waking up beside him hits me like a strike of lightning, and the mourning pain is just as agonizing as it was all those years ago.

  Junior and I continue looking at the pictures that make up my entire childhood until adulthood, and I delve into the story behind each one to help Junior understand what was happening. My emotions become heightened when I come across a picture of all three of us, just months before Christopher got deployed. It was taken when Junior was only days old, and I don’t think I ever saw Christopher look so happy. His smile is that of a proud father.

  “Do you miss him?” Junior asks.

  My heart clenches at his question. Wincing, I give out a smile, brushing my fingers through his soft hair. “Every day, baby.”

  He seems thoughtful for a moment as his eyes roam over his father in the picture. “I miss him, too,” he says sadly.

  I hate to hear any kind of sorrow expressed in his voice. He’s too young to know this kind of sadness, but unfortunately, growing up without his dad gave him an early pass to feel the raw emotion, and he now understands it so well.

  It’s the reason I try to hide my despair from him because a child of his age doesn’t need to be clouded with darkness.

  Although now, with my bottom lip trembling, it’s hard to hide my emotions from him, especially when he says, “It’s okay to cry, Mama. I cry sometimes.”

  I blink back the tears that threaten to fall.

  I pull him onto my lap and press a kiss on his temple as I give him a gentle squeeze. “How did you get so smart?” I ask as I gaze into his emerald-green eyes that are identical to Christopher’s.

  I loved Christopher’s eyes. It was like staring into an endless sea-green ocean. One single glance into his crystal-green hues, and I was convinced he could see every one of my hidden secrets. Every time I look into my son’s eyes, I love that I see Christopher. It’s the universe’s way of keeping his memory alive.

  “You tell me I take after Daddy.”

  “You sure do.”

  Whenever I’m in the presence of my son, smiling becomes as easy as breathing. When I’m alone is when it becomes difficult, impossible almost.

  “Well, if I have to take after anyone, I’m gla
d it’s him.”

  A single tear escapes my eye, but this time, it isn’t because I’m overwhelmed with sadness. It’s because I’m so proud to have Junior as my son.

  After we lost Christopher, Junior was my saving grace. I don’t think I would have survived if it wasn’t for him. I would have given up a long time ago.

  “I love you to the moon and back,” I say with a smile.

  “I love you to the universe and beyond,” he replies with a sparkle in his eyes.

  Every time I hear those words, it seriously makes my insides turn to goo. This is our thing, and it’s always with me declaring, I love you to the moon and back, and Junior responding with, I love you to the universe and beyond. It’s been this way since he could string words together.

  He shifts off me and begins to place the items back in the box. I stand up and grab my phone from the counter, seeing it’s just after seven p.m.

  “You must be hungry, bud. Shall we order a pizza?”

  “Yes!” he exclaims with a fist pump.

  If there’s one thing I know about my son, it is that he loves pizza. He’d live on it if I let him.

  And, with that, I search on my phone for the nearest pizza place.

  Once I’ve ordered a fourteen-inch pepperoni pizza with a side of breadsticks for my greedy boy, we both clean up and change into our pajamas. Lounging on the sofa, I have a glass of much-needed wine, thankful that I thought of packing a bottle of my favorite chardonnay, as I watch a random episode of Chicago Fire. Junior has his head resting on my lap, getting lost in the world of fiction with his newly charged Kindle.

  These moments are what I live for. After a long day at work, coming home to this is what helps push me through the depression I’ve spent the last five years battling. Quality moments with Junior are my light at the end of the tunnel. Even if it’s only for a couple of hours, I grasp on to those hours with both hands and make the most of my light because, once he goes to bed, the light is soon swallowed up by darkness, and despair comes at me full speed.