Page 1 of A Forever Love

PROLOGUE

MERIDA

Merida - 5 years old

Carter - 16 years old

“I can’t believe the babysitter bailed on us at the last minute.” Dad rakes his hand through his hair, which has grown longer in the last two years since Mom passed away. His beard has thickened, and it scratches my cheek when he kisses me goodnight. But I don’t complain.

Right now, he’s fragile inside—that’s what Granny told me—and I don’t want my dad to get any weaker.

“There’s no other choice but to take you with me.” Dad sets a bowl of strawberries in front of me and sits in the chair next to mine with his coffee mug. “This meeting is important, Mere. Do you understand what it means?”

As he turns to face me, I look at the lines around his eyes and on his forehead, which have deepened over the past few months. He’s starting to look like Grandpa more and more each day.

“Will this job make you stronger, Dad?”

He frowns and a nervous unease tightens my stomach. After a pause, he shrugs and responds slowly, “I suppose it might.” He clears his throat. “I hope it will. Can you please be a good girl?”

I place a half-eaten strawberry back on the table, fear gnawing at me. “But I’m always a good girl, Daddy. Aren’t I?” I can’t bear the thought of losing my dad, whether it’s by my fault or God’s.

“You are the best, sweetheart.” Finally, he smiles, but it only makes him seem sadder.

My grandmother says I’m too young to notice such things, but when you haven’t heard your father’s laugh or seen his real smile for two years, you start paying attention. Besides, Dad used to have the best smiles in the world, but they vanished from his face when he lost his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his wife, his everything, to what he calls a legion of malignant invaders carrying cancer.

My parents did everything together. I’ve tried so hard to think of a single moment or memory where it was only Dad and me, but it’s no use. They never felt like two separate people. He used to kiss her every time he walked into a room. It didn’t matter if she was there alone or with a ton of people—his kisses were for her, and they were always the same. I once overheard my mom describing them to him as consuming, encompassing, and sacred. And even though I’m too young to understand it, I know their love was the same way.

I didn’t realize I was receiving an education in the kind of love that scorches you until all that remains is a puddle of ashes. Just like my dad is burning right now.

A month before she left us, Mom pulled me onto her lap. She was feeling better that day. I could see it in her wide smile, which took over her face as morning sunrays filtered through the window and caressed her wilted cheeks. She whispered something in my ear—words I still don’t understand.

“There might be times in life when you question love and its meaning. There might be moments when you lose faith in love. But know this, my precious girl, there’s nothing as sacred and pure as love. Never be scared of it.”

A few hours later, Dad pulls up outside a building and unbuckles my booster seat. I stand on the sidewalk while he retrieves my bag from the trunk.

“This is going to be some fucking interview,” he mutters.

Two years ago, he’d have to put a dollar in the swear jar for using the f-word. But now, we don’t do things like filling up the swear jar or using it for Saturday lollipop shopping. The day we lost Mom, we lost all our traditions too.

“Hey, you must be Keith and Merida.”

I spin on the heels of my pink shoes with red lights, looking up at the source of the thick voice. My eyes travel from the muddy leather boots, up to his faded black jeans, and finally to his dark T-shirt, which matches the night sky. His body resembles my dad’s, tall and strong, but his face and his smile remind me of my mom—wild and carefree.

“Keith Adams.” Dad shakes hands with the new man.

“I’m Carter King. My uncle Connor is waiting for you inside for the interview.” Carter guides us into the building. “You can leave your bag here.” He points to a couch in the waiting area. “And while you’re in the meeting, I’ll take care of this precious cargo.”

Dad’s hand rests on my shoulder, and Carter’s simple words hit me hard.

Precious. My mom used to call me that. How long has it been since I’ve heard it?

But am I truly precious? I glance up at my dad, noticing his frown as he struggles with my bag and water bottle.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe,” Carter chimes in with his light, casual tone. “Uncle Connor specifically requested me because I’m a top-notch babysitter.”

I like the sound of his voice. It’s airy and colorful, reminding me of happier times.

Dad’s lips tighten as if he doesn’t like the idea. My dad has always been a man of few words, and since Mom’s passing, he’s lost even those.

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