The Forever Girl Read online

  Unluckily, it was Walker, and her chest tightened, restricting air. Chin up. You’ve got this. But her heart was tripping all over itself as her eyes soaked up the sight of him. No current bullet holes, at least that she could see, which had relief rolling through her. Nothing but that long, leanly muscled body, the one that still played a starring role in all her secret fantasies. She’d even tried replacing him with Liam Hemsworth, but it hadn’t worked.

  Walker looked at Dillon on the couch. “Hey, you’re in the same spot as you were last time I saw you.”

  Wait, they knew each other?

  “Funny,” Dillon said. “So funny.”

  Walker hugged Heather, then pulled back to look at her face. “You’re better,” he said.

  “Yep, flu’s all gone, thankfully.”

  And he and Heather had seen each other? What’s going on?

  Caitlin took her turn at hugging Walker, squeezing so hard he grunted, but he let her hold on for as long as she wanted. “You need another haircut already,” she said, reaching up to ruffle his dark hair, making him laugh and shrug.

  Caitlin too? Maze stood there feeling . . . stupid. And a whole bunch of other things that reminded her of being a kid. Once, in a long-ago foster home, she’d been woken up by a nightmare and had gotten out of bed—a big no-no in that house. She’d wandered into the living room to find the entire family watching TV, eating ice cream, and playing games. She’d felt so unimportant, but worse than that, she’d felt invisible, unwanted, like she was someone no one remembered existed.

  Shrugging that off, she decided to obsess about other things. Like how it really pissed her off that Walker was even better looking now at almost thirty than he’d ever been. He was six feet plus of solid perfection, smelling deliciously male and rocking a rough five o’clock shadow and finger-tousled hair that gave him an undeniable bad-boy look that had always drawn her in.

  Caitlin was still hugging Walker, and honestly? Maze had to fight the urge to do the same. Then she remembered the last time she’d been in his arms, which had been amazing but had also been immediately followed by the harshest heartbreak of her life, and the urge vanished.

  Jace came out of the kitchen with Sammie wrapped around him like a monkey, which reminded her that he was her pretend boyfriend for the weekend. Probably not great for the role if she got caught mentally jumping another man’s bones.

  Jace set Sammie down and she immediately began to run in circles, apparently enjoying the sound of her voice as she sang gibberish.

  Walker hunkered down to Sammie’s level and she stopped on a dime to smile at him.

  “Wow, you got big,” he said.

  “Big!” she repeated jubilantly, and went back to running in circles.

  Walker rose back to his full height and finally looked at Maze. Her first urge was to do the same as all the other females had and fawn over him, dammit. Her second urge was to throw something at him.

  He’d made sure to stay a part of everyone’s life but hers.

  She tried really hard to not do stupid, immature shit anymore, but she definitely felt a regression coming on and turned to Jace. “Hey, honey,” she said in her best sex-kitten voice. “Need anything?”

  Jace stepped closer and smiled down at her face—his mischievous smile, not that anyone but her knew that. “No, baby. I’m good,” he said, and gave her a little pat on the ass.

  Her back to the rest of the room, she narrowed her eyes.

  He just grinned. “How about you, baby? Can I get you anything?”

  A lobotomy would be great. She looked away from him, and her eyes—the traitors—sliced back to Walker.

  He was watching her in that quiet, assessing way he had.

  Dammit. He’d always had a high bullshit meter, and she didn’t need it going off here. So she took a deep breath, accessed her genuine affection for Jace, and went up on tiptoes to brush a kiss to his jaw.

  “How about I get you all drinks while you guys put your stuff away in your rooms?” Caitlin asked. “What does everyone want?”

  “My usual,” Dillon said, still on the couch.

  Walker sent the guy a look that should’ve had Dillon losing control of his bladder. “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “Is there a problem with your legs that keeps you from getting your own damn drink?”

  “Actually, yes. Sprained my ankle. Ask me how.”

  Walker shifted his expression to his patented don’t make me kick your ass look.

  Dillon wisely shut up.

  Maze picked up her bag and handed it to Jace. “We’re upstairs, second bedroom on the left. You okay for a few? I’m going to help Caitlin.”

  Jace eyed Walker, who was also heading into the kitchen. “Sure,” he said. “You go help Caitlin.”

  “Jace . . .”

  “Don’t worry, Maze. I get it.” He leaned in closer. “But you skipped a bunch of pieces to the puzzle when you dragged me up here to pretend to be in love with you, including the fact your once-almost-husband would be here, so you owe me a long bedtime story later.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Hmm.” But he gave her a reassuring smile. “Later, Maze.”

  “Thanks.” And this time when she kissed his cheek, it wasn’t for a role; it was in gratitude.

  She moved into the kitchen and found . . . great . . . only Walker. Suddenly her heart didn’t fit inside her rib cage, and she realized she’d only been fooling herself about moving on. She hadn’t moved on at all. She’d been faking it, even to herself.

  Normally, he had a good five inches on her, but she was in boots today. Kick-ass boots with three-inch heels, which she’d worn on purpose in case she had to go toe-to-toe with him. She peered into those sky-blue eyes of his, the ones that could be ice or fire depending on his mood. Given the chill she felt now, it wasn’t exactly a mystery as to how he was feeling. She let a beat go by and then another, hoping Caitlin would materialize, but as it turned out, a few seconds with a man who’d seen you naked felt like years. Deciding she wasn’t up for this, even with her boots, she turned to go.

  “Chicken?” he asked, voice low. Taunting.

  She turned back, eyes narrowed. “Never.”

  That got her the genuine Walker smile, which made her blow out a sigh.

  “Look,” she said, “we’ve been doing such a great job of avoiding each other, why stop now?”

  “I’m not avoiding you,” he said.

  “Fine. I’m avoiding you.” She craned her neck. The kitchen was freshly renovated and homey and warm, but no high-strung, mastermind blonde named Caitlin anywhere. “Where is she?”

  “In the wine cellar.”

  “There’s a wine cellar?”

  He shrugged. “It’s that, or she got smart and is running for the hills.”

  He’d already had her full attention, but at this, she put her own emotions aside as protective feelings welled up inside of her for Caitlin. “Why? Do you think she’s making a mistake marrying Dillon?”

  He didn’t answer this. He wouldn’t. Walker believed in letting people make their own mistakes without commentary or judgment. He’d certainly been witness to plenty of hers.

  “You don’t like him?” she pressed.

  Again, nothing, but there was a grim set to his mouth now.

  “You don’t,” she whispered, and leaned against the counter, worried. “Do we need to step in? Kill him and hide the body? What?”

  “You’ve been gone for three years,” he said in a mild tone, but the censure was in the words themselves. “What does it even matter to you?”

  Here was the thing about guilt: she already carried so much of it, there was nothing he could say to make her feel worse than she already did. “We fought the last time I was with all of you,” she said. “I upset everyone. I thought it was best to give you all the gift of time away from me. You are welcome.”

  He shook his head. “At least be honest. You found it easier to walk away tha
n to stick. You always have. You only connect and stay connected if you’re chased. And that’s some serious bullshit right there, Maze.”

  God, the way he said her name. It brought up more of those memories she’d buried deep for her own sanity. “I’m not the one of us who disconnected,” she said.

  “And there you go rewriting history to suit yourself again.”

  She frowned at the fighting words because oh, hell no. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Stepping close, he braced his hands on the counter on either side of her hips, caging her in as he lowered his head to look her in the eyes. “You know damn well what happened in Vegas. And it sure as hell wasn’t me doing the disconnecting.”

  At the unwanted memories involving rum, Walker, and a quickie wedding simply because she’d wanted so desperately to belong to someone, her breath hitched, and suddenly she was afraid she’d lose it in front of him. At least their Elvis impersonator officiant had never filed the papers, so there was that. She sucked in a big breath. “I don’t remember much about that night.”

  This made him frown as he searched her gaze for honesty. Since she couldn’t give it, she turned away and said, “Okay, how about this . . . we do each other a favor and leave the past in the past where it belongs. Let’s just get through this weekend for Caitlin, okay?”

  Pulling her back around, he stared at her for a long beat before finally shaking his head, disgusted, possibly at the both of them. “Fine.”

  Annoyed by his tone, the one that said maybe she was an unfathomable pain in his ass, she poked a finger into his pec, hard. “Fine.”

  Catching her finger, he tugged until she stumbled against him. And in that brief second when she had no balance, not physically or mentally, he caught her and held her steady.

  Just like he used to do.

  She froze, and so did he, and their eyes locked on to each other. She wanted to shove him. She also wanted to yank his head close and put her mouth on his. Confused, she closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and spoke quietly but firmly. “Look, in a few days, this’ll be over and we can forget that we had to see each other again. Until then, we have a truce. We work together for Caitlin’s sake. Nothing more. No talking . . .” Remembering the feel of his hands on her, she added, “And no touching. After the wedding, you go your way and I’ll go mine. Deal?”

  Something flashed deep in his eyes as they stood staring at each other. A beat went by. Two. And then, still standing too close, he finally broke the silence. “We’re going to have to talk eventually, Maze.”

  She shook her head. “No.” She’d messed up once, big time, by letting her walls down and falling for him. But that part of her life was in the past and that’s where it would stay. “Not a chance.”

  Just then, Caitlin came back into the room loaded down with six bottles of wine. “I brought everything,” she said as Maze surreptitiously shifted away from Walker. “Red, white, rosé . . .” She finally looked up, then paused.

  Maze smiled, like nothing to see here . . .

  “Did I miss something?” Caitlin asked.

  “Nope.” Maze shook her head. “Not a thing.” She glanced over at Walker, who was looking at her like she’d yet to make a single decision he approved of.

  Well, he could join the damn club then, because she often didn’t approve of her decisions either, but for better or worse, no play on words intended, they had a truce, and that was a relief.

  Chapter 3

  Walker’s man of honor to-do list:

  —Survive the weekend.

  Walker Scott had never been a huge people person, so the fact that he was doing nothing but peopling for the next few days didn’t exactly thrill him. The only thing that made it tolerable was that, for the most part, it was his people. Luckily, he didn’t have many. In fact, he could count them on one hand and they were all here in the cabin. Caitlin, Heather . . . Maze—though he hadn’t been face-to-face with her for three years.

  And yet here they were, standing in Caitlin’s kitchen, staring at each other. Problem was, looking at Maze had always been like looking into the sun. Heart-stopping and . . . lethal.

  And she’d brought a boyfriend . . .

  Good times ahead.

  The sound of a cork popping had him turning in time to see Caitlin taking a swig right from one of the bottles of wine. She swiped her forearm over her mouth and offered him the bottle.

  He took it, but instead of drinking from it, he set it down out of her reach. “What’s going on, Cat?”

  She sighed and seemed to relax slightly at his use of her nickname. “Nothing.”

  “Come on,” he said. “You’re never anything but calm and in charge.”

  “Calm? I’m not calm. Name one time I’ve been calm.”

  That was an easy one for him. “The day your parents started fostering me. Even though at seventeen you were only one year older than me, you still took me by the hand and told me that I was yours now and that it was all going to be okay.” He shook his head at the memory. “I was shaking in my boots.”

  She snorted. “You’ve never shaken in your boots, not a single day of your life.”

  She was wrong. He’d been given up at age two. CPS had rehomed and rehomed him like he was a dog at the shelter. Not a puppy, because everyone wanted a puppy, but a complete-with-disciplinary-problems adolescent dog.

  No one ever wanted to keep those.

  By the time he’d landed at the Walsh house, he’d been scared plenty, his biggest fear being that people would always be able to walk away from him. “Shaking in my boots,” he repeated. “But not you. You commandeered my stuff and unpacked me even though I never unpack, anywhere. Before I knew what was happening, you took me apart—just like my backpack—and civilized me.”

  Maze snorted. She’d hitched herself up and was sitting on the counter, taking a swig out of the forgotten wine bottle. Her hair was longer than it’d ever been, falling past her shoulders in wild fiery-red waves that were as uncontained as the woman herself. She was in faded Levi’s that fit like a second skin and some seriously hot boots, both showing off her mile-long legs. Her soft scoop-necked tee said: SHE BELIEVED SHE COULD, BUT SHE WAS REALLY TIRED SO SHE DIDN’T.

  Everything about her sitting there with a dare me expression on her face teased at his memories of her. He might’ve been moved by that, but she’d been one of those who’d been able to walk away from him.

  “‘Civilized’?” she echoed, brows raised.

  “Okay, so ‘civilized’ is probably a stretch,” he admitted. “Human then. She made me human. Michael too. He used to make me hold his hand, told me he was nervous about whatever it was we were doing. Didn’t realize until years later that I was the shaky one and he had my back. At nine.” His voice thickened. “He had a way of reaching right inside someone and squeezing their heart for every emotion in it.”

  Cat drew a deep, shaky breath and nodded.

  Thinking about Michael was hard enough. Speaking about him was almost impossible, and Walker too had to take a deep breath. “Actually, you all made me human.”

  “Same,” Maze whispered. “You’ve done so much for us, Cat, always. But something’s wrong, I can feel it. I want to help.”

  “You’ve had a funny way of showing it.”

  Maze looked stricken for a beat, then nodded, owning it. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve got a lot to make up for, so please let me.”

  Cat sighed. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I mean, am I overreacting to everything and wanting to kill people? Yes. Do I maybe need professional help? Also yes. But I’m a stressed-out bride, so whatever.” She pointed at Walker. “You. You never seem to show when you’re angry or frustrated and never overreact about anything. What’s your secret?”

  His secret wasn’t any secret at all. For most of his younger years, showing anything had brought him nothing but trouble. “Anger and frustration are unproductive emotions,” he said. “Let them go.”

  “Seriously? T
hat’s it? That doesn’t help me at all.”

  “Because you’ve never let go of anything,” he said.

  Cat tossed up her hands in frustration. “Duh.”

  He let out a low laugh. “Try this. When you feel yourself ramping up, count to five. Chances are, you’ll have lost the murderous urge by then.”

  “One, two, three, four, five,” she said quickly, and then shook her head. “Nope, I still want to shake you both.”

  Walker shrugged. “Better than wanting to kill us.”

  Maze looked surprised. And insulted. “Us? What have we done?”

  “I’m not sure,” Caitlin said, “but something was going on when I walked in here. It seemed like you were about to fight.”

  Walker knew better than to react, but Maze couldn’t seem to help herself. For all she’d been through—and she’d been through a lot, through hell, even more so than him—she still wore her heart on her sleeve, which was maybe his favorite thing about her. She sucked in a breath, then seemed to realize that she’d given herself away with the sound, so she rolled her eyes.

  “Nothing’s going on with me, but you’re right.” She jabbed her thumb in his direction. “He’s been annoying since he arrived.”

  Walker laughed; he couldn’t help it. “You do know that you still wrinkle your nose when you lie, right?”

  Maze rubbed her nose and glared at him.

  “See, neither of you is denying it,” Caitlin said, hands on hips. “Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I want it fixed. Now. Before my wedding. You can consider it one of my wedding presents, but to be clear, I still want real presents.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Maze said. “There’s nothing—”

  “Maze, you can’t even look at him. And he hasn’t stopped looking at you.”

  So much for being stoic and impenetrable. But she was right. He couldn’t stop looking at Maze. Mostly because he wanted to wrap his hands around her neck. Sometimes he also wanted to squeeze. But other times he just wanted to slide those hands north into her hair. Or south, to slowly peel her out of those sexy jeans and remind her why they’d been magic together the one time she’d let her walls down with him.