Yours Forever

  PIATKUS

  First published in the US in 2015 by Bear and Gunner Publishing, LLC

  First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Piatkus

  Copyright © 2015 by Joya Ryan

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ISBN 978-0-3494-0720-3

  Piatkus

  An imprint of

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK Company

  www.hachette.co.uk

  www.piatkus.co.uk

  Dedication

  To Anna,

  Thank you for your support and believing in this book and this series.

  You are truly wonderful.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you Anna, Grace, Tara, Clara, and the amazing team for all your hard work on this book. Thank you Jill Marsal for being the best agent in the galaxy. Thank you E-book formatting fairies for the wonderful edits. Thank you to my incredible family and friends for supporting me. Special thanks to Cary and Brittany for all your support. You both are made of pure awesome!

  Chapter 1

  A gust of winter air hit my face so hard it felt like God had reached down and slapped me. The cold hurt. Hurt so deep that hugging my black jacket around me did nothing to ward off the intense chill.

  The creak of my father’s casket being lowered into his grave pierced my ears as I watched it gently sway and wobble, the flowers atop shaking as it descended further and further into the ground.

  Everyone was leaving. Turning and walking back to their cars. They’d likely go back to my step-mother’s house for mini sandwiches and talk about my father as a friend or colleague.

  Not me. I simply stood. Alone. No one looked at me. No one even attempted to make eye contact. They all just walked away.

  The burning in my stomach was the only thing that reminded me this wasn’t a dream. Wasn’t a nightmare even. It was real. Last week, my father, my house, and my soul were ripped from me. Whoever said the truth will set you free clearly had never experienced such truth. Like the truth that I’d fallen in love with two men, only to be betrayed by both. Or the truth that my step-brother was violent and walking free.

  I absently ran my fingertips along my cheek where he’d hit me. It was mostly healed. But the memory stuck. I didn’t know if I was number from the Colorado cold or from shock. Shock I hadn’t quite kicked yet. Despite having a little time to get used to these new truths and facts, it still hadn’t sunk in. I’d stopped counting the hours, because it was too much to think through. All I knew was that it was days ago my father died. Days ago, I’d watched my house burn to the ground. Days ago, the last part of my heart had been torn from my body and I’d lost the second man I’d ever loved.

  Alone.

  I was all I had left. And I really wanted to demand a recount.

  “Lana Case?” a balding man with thick-framed glasses asked.

  “Yes?” My voice was little better than a croak.

  “I’m Greg Simpson, the attorney for the Case-VanBuren estate.”

  I nodded. Of course, my father and step-mother would have an attorney. His name had come up a few times over the years. Greg had been a part of the “Case-VanBuren union” since my father married my step-mother, Anita. It was no surprise he was here. Especially since the reading of his will was set to happen in the next hour.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. I wanted to be polite. To say thank you, but my mouth refused to move. Just like the rest of me.

  Anita and Brock played the part of grieving family well as they headed my way. The short manicured grass squished under my heels and I couldn’t decide which instinct to trust, flight or fight. Unfortunately, neither came. And I stood. Still.

  “We better be on our way,” Anita said to Greg, not sparing me a glance. Not that I wanted one from her. “I didn’t think you’d show up, Lana,” she snapped my name like spitting poison from her lips. “What with those charges you pressed, I would assume you were far too afraid to be near my son.”

  Her tone was light, yet challenging. Any moment, she’d adjust her oversized black hat and start studying her nails like the fact that her son had assaulted me was no big deal. Brock had muscled his way into my home, hit me, and would have done far worse if I hadn’t gotten away. He had posted bail and was out of jail for now, but I wouldn’t cower away.

  For once, the numbness worked to my advantage. No matter how afraid I was, I’d never let it show, especially to Brock and Anita.

  “I look forward to discussing this matter more in front of a judge.”

  Brock scoffed and crossed his arms. “You think this assault charge will stick against me? You invited me into your home, and from what I recall, you tripped and fell.”

  He was such a snake. He was the epitome of plain. From his dull brown hair to his dead eyes, he was impotence dressed up in an expensive suit. The way he wove lies so easily was more terrifying than his appearance. Because Brock was nothing if not convincing. But he wouldn’t get away with it this time. I’d filed the paperwork, given my statement, and now I had to wait. With the holidays and general slow speed of court cases, it wouldn’t be until after the New Year that we’d stand before a judge. It would be his word against mine, but I had a couple firemen on my side who had witnessed the aftermath. They may not have seen Brock hit me, but they saw me run from the house screaming for help. Holding on to that fact gave me more strength.

  “I guess we’ll see who the judge believes then.”

  “Or, we could settle out of court,” Anita said. Brock went to argue, but she shot him a look before refocusing on me. “Why don’t we come to an arrangement just between us? No need to drag this mess out longer than it needs to be.”

  I tried not to show my surprise. Anita wanted to settle out of court? The only reason she’d do that is if she knew I’d win. Brock would finally get punished for hurting me, and they both knew it.

  “How much will it take, Lana?” Greg asked. “I’m sure we can come to a reasonable sum.”

  My chapped lips parted and stung instantly from the cold. They were trying to buy me off. While I was running low on funds, and currently had no house, I had enough for the cheap motel I was in, and hopefully enough to make it a couple more weeks until the insurance money from the fire came in. This was bigger than money. It was holding Brock responsible for what he’d done.

  “No amount of money will change my mind. You hurt me.” I looked Brock dead in the eye and tried not to tremble from his vicious stare back. “It’s time you take responsibility for that.”

  A low snarl broke from him, but Anita cut him off quickly.

  “Surely, you must want something,” she asked, annoyance coating her words.

  There was only one thing I did care to discuss. “My father carried a picture in his wallet,” I said, forcing my voice to carry enough steadiness. Anita and Brock this close to me made sickness rise in my gut. My cheek still hurt from where the bastard hit me, and he wasn’t even trying to hide a smile at his handiwork. It was all I could to not flinch at the memory of his fist crashing over my cheekbone. Or any o
f the other awful memories he’d left me with.

  No. Stay strong. Stay present.

  “You’re not getting near your father’s wallet,” Anita scoffed.

  “I don’t care about anything else. I just want to know if he has that picture still. It’s of me and my mother and him.”

  Anita raised a brow. “Why would he have that?”

  “He always carried it,” I said again. “And after my house burned down, it’s all I have left of my family.” Venom laced my veins, since I wasn’t sold on the fact that they didn’t have something to do with it. Brock may have been spending the night in jail when the flames went up, but the VanBurens weren’t innocent. Not in much of anything.

  Anita leaned in and rasped, “You lost your family a long time ago.”

  I tried not to let that sting, but it did. Because she was partly right. I’d lost my sense of family, my father, years ago. Only now, he was physically gone from the world.

  With an exasperated sigh, she said, “Fine, if I find the picture, you’ll drop the charges?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “This isn’t a bargain. I just want the photo.”

  It was of no use to her, and even though I knew it was a long shot, I had to try for it.

  Anita’s eyes met Greg’s and she said, “Let’s go.” Before she turned, she finished with, “I guess this is goodbye, Lana. No reason we need to see each other again.”

  “Until court,” I said.

  She scowled. “Unless you change your mind about the charges against Brock.”

  “I won’t.”

  While I would love nothing more than to never see either one of them again, I would happily show up to plead my case against Brock when the time came. I could wait. I’d been waiting a long time, a few more weeks or even months was nothing.

  Anita and Greg began walking away, but Brock took one step toward me. His cold breath hit my face and I stifled the need to vomit.

  “I haven’t heard from Erica,” he said.

  “Then maybe you should take a hint. She left you.”

  “Yes, and don’t think I’ve forgotten who’s to blame for that.” His eyes narrowed on me, and as much as I hated it, that familiar fear rose up in my chest. It took all my effort to beat it back down. “If you think she’ll testify against me, you’re wrong.”

  For a split second, a look of worry flashed over his face. He was scared. Because he knew, just like I did, that if I called Erica, she would testify on my behalf for the breaking and entering. She may not have known the kind of man Brock was at the time, but she’d realized quickly after he’d broken into my home and fled. Fled in a car she was driving. Which made her an accomplice. The single reason I wasn’t going after Brock for that as well. I would never want to put Erica in that position. If the DA went after Brock for the breaking and entering, they’d likely tie Erica into it as well. She was a single mother who got caught up with the wrong man and didn’t know what he was doing. I wouldn’t let her go down for that. So, the assault charges against Brock would have to be enough.

  “Blame me all you want, this time, there’s no getting around the truth,” I said. My gumption was wearing thin, and I just wanted to be away from him. Masking my fear took a lot of energy. But I tried. I would try forever.

  “Brock,” Anita called. “Let’s go. We don’t want to delay the reading of the will.” I frowned and Brock just smiled and headed towards his mother. “Oh, don’t worry, Lana,” she said loudly. “You’re not in the will. So don’t bother coming.”

  I looked at Greg and he shook his head in agreement. “It’s true. Just Anita and Brock are named.”

  I swallowed down the ache in my throat. I didn’t care about material items. Money. Any of it. But my father was dead, and it was the final confirmation that I meant nothing. They didn’t speak another word as they continued on their way.

  I stood, staring, as the last creaking inch of the levy placed my father six feet under. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I looked at it. The police station again. They’d called a couple times asking the same questions. Questions about my father and his life and why he would want to commit suicide. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, deciding to call them back later. All I could tell them was the same thing I’d already said from the start:

  I don’t know.

  Carter Case was many things, but opting out of life early wasn’t his style. Something the police seemed to be in line with, as this investigation into his “suicide” was proving to be extensive.

  But what did I know? I didn’t know my father. Hadn’t for a long time. Maybe Anita was right. I never had a family.

  Yet, as I stood there, staring down at my father laying to rest, I couldn’t turn to walk away. Instead, I stepped closer. A morbidity laced my thoughts as I stared at the ground, looking down at the casket that concealed the one man I once thought would save me from the world. My stomach punched with pain. He had never saved me from the world…and it turned out, I couldn’t save him back.

  But I couldn’t leave him. Not yet.

  A gust of wind kicked up and rustled the flowers on top of his casket. Little flecks of dirt sputtered over the clean roses, and seeing those brown spots hit the white petals angered me. Made tears start all the way from my toes and slowly work up my body, gaining weight until they hit my eyes.

  I sat in one of the many empty white chairs, continuing to stare down at him.

  In the ground. Gone forever.

  Pressing my knees together to ward off the chill, I frowned when a drop of water hit the flowers. Then another. It seemed so vicious. Putting something so alive, so beautiful in the ground only for it to get covered by dirt.

  More water fell from the sky, and I watched it dampen the roses until they wilted from the weight of the rain. The slapping of raindrops hitting the top of the coffin echoed a sharp melody. The sound was hypnotizing.

  He was gone…truly gone.

  I watched as the man who had raised me, resting safe inside a wooden box, got rained on. It was the most horrible thing to witness.

  His entire life was confined to that one moment, and I couldn’t save him. Couldn’t ask him anything. Couldn’t tell him that no matter what, I loved him. I just watched the rain beat harder down on something I’d never be able to change.

  My breath fogged as I exhaled deeply, my hands bunching on my lap. Water poured around me—

  Around me. Not on me.

  I frowned at the ground that was sopping, except for the patch beneath my heels.

  I wasn’t getting wet.

  Glancing up, a large black umbrella was perched over my head, and an even blacker pair of eyes glowed from behind it.

  “Jack,” I whispered.

  He was standing tall, in a dark suit and chiseled frame, holding out the umbrella to shield me from the rain, while he stood beneath nothing but the gray sky, taking a beating.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, hypnotized for a whole other reason. His jet hair was sopping wet, drops of water trailing from his head to his striking face, weaving down the five o’clock shadow that masked his high cheekbones. He blinked once, sending another drop dancing along thick eyelashes. All I could was follow the path of rain from his brow to his lips. Soaking. He was standing beneath the storm, while holding out a cover for me to hide under.

  My wall.

  Shielding me from the harshness that nature—life—was throwing out.

  “I’m here for you,” he rasped.

  Those four words struck my chest like a spear. Four words that made me feel instantly not alone. Four words I would have given my soul to hear a few months ago when he’d walked out on me.

  Jack Powell was one of the two reasons my heart refused to beat correctly. He was my first love. My first passion. My first safety net. And he’d taken all three the day he left me.

  Once, he’d been the man who helped me find strength. Helped me tackle the demons from my past and push me to be stronger. It broke every emotion I had when he’d l
eft, and rebuilding had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. And I’d done it with his best friend, Cal. Only, Cal was no better than Jack. He may not have left me, but he had deceived me. And my world was in a shambles, because the truth was a nasty thing to swallow.

  But the truth was, Jack and Cal had set me up. Had split my life in half and taken turns pursuing me. Problem was, I’d fallen for both of them, and figured out too late that they had agreed to share time in order to have me.

  I looked at Jack. Intensity radiated off of him thicker than the clouds and buzzing with even more energy. Being near him tore at my heart so badly that I could hear the seam rip from deep in my chest.

  “I don’t need you,” I whispered, rising to stand. He moved to keep me shielded as I turned to face him. “I don’t need this either.” I grabbed the handle, collapsed the umbrella, and gave it back. Rain instantly battered the top of my head and ran quickly down my face like the spray from a shower.

  “I don’t want you getting cold and sick,” he said.

  “Now you’re worried about me?” I scoffed.

  He hit me with a dark glare and stepped forward. “I’ve always been worried about you.”

  I wanted to yell and scream and tell him he was full of it. Because he’d watched me cry, heard me beg—beg—for him to stay, and still turned away. The memory sickened me, but it didn’t change the outcome.

  I’d begged for him.

  Something a weak person would do. I hated being weak. Tried so hard to feel anything but that single emotion. Which was why Jack was the best kind of sinful pleasure. Because in one breath he made me feel strong—and in another he made me beg. Only he could cause a war between two such powerful emotions. But I couldn’t give in now. My father was gone, my world wrecking like a slow moving train collision, and I was on the brink of snapping under the pressure.

  “I’m done with you,” I whispered.

  Wild heat flamed like melting obsidian behind those electrifying eyes. He pushed the chair that separated us out of the way, toppling it over onto the soaked grass, and the force made mud splatter on my ankle. Jack stepped into the newly open path and didn’t stop until the tip of my nose brushed against his wet chest.