Page 8 of Forever & Always You
Nicole and Sasha smirk as Mark snorts in amusement just as a few of his friends saunter over to join us. All eyes are on me and I fight back the sting of brewing tears because I know what’s expected of me in order to survive not only the rest of prom, but the final few weeks of high school. So, this is it—the ultimate moment where I finally have to decide what I valuemore: my social status, or my friendship with Austin.
And it is so, so easy for me to choose, and for that, I think I’ll hate myself forever.
“That drink’s for me? That’s hilarious,” I sneer, taking a step toward Austin as my peers watch on in sadistic glee. “Why are you telling people we’re here together? You’re a stalker. A creepy, weird, obsessive stalker. Stop telling everyone I’m your date.”
And God, how it kills me, the way Austin’s blue eyes well with torment. I betray him all the time, every single day, when I laugh at him in class and ignore him in the cafeteria, but it’s different this time. This time, I purposely put him in a situation that had no positive outcome. My moral compass is smashed to pieces.
“Gabby .?.?.” Austin whispers in a fragile plea. Our eyes are locked, and he is begging me, begging me not to do this to him, to have his back just this once. He has forgiven me so many times for my behavior, for my rejections and cruelty, and yet I still can’t do it.
I still can’t be the best friend he deserves.
“Take your drinks and get out of here. Maybe try prom again when you actually grow into that old suit,” I tell him with a dismissive wave, but my cheeks are blazing with the heat of everyone’s attention on me, eager to hear exactly how I’ll put Austin Pierce in his place. “Look around, Austin. It’s senior prom, and you’re ruining the vibe. You’re not like the rest of us and you definitely don’t belong on this dance floor. You’re nothing.”
Austin gapes at me, and I want to throw myself into his arms, hug him tight, and tell him I’m so, so sorry. Laughter fizzes around us, but I just feel so cold and empty inside. Suddenly, Mark steps around me and snatches the drinks out of Austin’s hands.
“No, don’t!” I cry, but my attempt to grab Mark’s arm is futile.
He throws the drinks over Austin and the laughter filling the dance floor now erupts into a roar. Everything begins to spin, because it’s just too much. The packed crowd around us, the DJ blasting pop music, the piercing laughter. My ears are ringing.
“Get out of here, Scruffy Austin,” Mark sneers, pointing to the door as he settles back by my side, hand snaking its way around my waist once again.
Austin stands there so hopelessly, so defeated, shirt soaked with fruit punch and the tips of his ears red with humiliation. There is only one person he looks at, and it’s me. I’m the only one who can fix this for him. I can see it in his eyes, the tiny, tiny glimmer of hope that I’ll make this right for him, but I’m not brave enough to sink with him.
So, I turn my back on him, both literally and figuratively.
I pull Mark with me across the dance floor, my throat choked, my eyes burning, laughter echoing in my ears, and if only I knew Austin Pierce would never speak another word to me ever again, maybe I’d have chosen to sink, after all.
*
The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway yanks my focus back to the Pierce Wealth Management office around me. My pulse races so fast from my final memory of Austin that it throbs painfully beneath my skin, and I feel like I’m breaking out in a sweat as two men enter the reception area and shake hands goodbye. One of them is Austin Pierce.
My gaze fastens on him, and I wonder if this is what people mean when they say it feels like seeing a ghost from your past. My chest tightens and I’m pretty certain there’s no air in my lungs for a solid minute.
Was he always that tall when we were kids? He towers a few inches over his already tall client, and his light gray suit is crafted perfectly around his body. Custom tailored with a crisp white shirt underneath and a baby-blue tie that matches his eyes. His blond hair fades in length down to the nape of his neck, not a single hair out of line, and the heavier top layers are styled with gel. He’s .?.?. hot.Fuck.I don’t recall ever thinking ofmyAustin as hot.
As his previous client leaves, he turns toward me and says, “Miss .?.?. Buck?”
Okay, fine. Carly Buck is a stupid name. But I’ll be damned if I allowed him the chance to refuse to even see me when he heard the name Gabrielle McKinley. Does it send shockwaves through his core the same way his name does mine? Or am I just a blip of his youth, slowly erased over time?
“Yes, that’s me. Carly Buck.”
Our eyes meet, and no visible shock races across his features like I expect it to. Maybe I think too highly of myself. Maybe I’ve been long forgotten, just a girl never worth remembering, and now I’m not sure how to progress with this plan. Austin smiles politely, revealing a set of whitened teeth that definitely weren’t so red-carpet straight seven years ago.
“How are you doing today?” he asks, stepping forward and offering out a hand.
“Good,” I croak. I slip my hand into his and his handshake is firm, confident. My Austin was never confident. But was he ever reallymy Austinto begin with?
“Come on through.”
Following Austin to his office is like trying to drag along two cement blocks attached to my legs. What’s the point in seeking redemption from a man who doesn’t even recognize me? As we pass the fire escape, I contemplate throwing in the towel and dashing out of here, alarms blaring after me. But it also seemsentirely selfish to disrupt the office, so I remain committed to the cause.
I know from Pierce Wealth Management’s website that this firm was only founded a year ago, starting in a shared office block before recently moving into this new private building, and the faint smell of fresh paint in Austin’s personal office proves it. The walls are bright and white, the black decor matches that of the lobby, and a huge window overlooks downtown Wilmington on this gorgeous sunny morning.
There’s a model of a dark green Porsche 911 on a shelf, exactly like theactualdark green Porsche 911 my father once drove. Grief nips me, but I suppress it as best I can and take a seat in the leather chair in front of the desk, because right now I have business to attend to.
“So, you founded this firm?” I ask, attempting small talk. It would be rather rude and abrupt to immediately throw at him:“Hey, it’s Gabby, remember me? Your best friend who made your life hell and betrayed you? Fancy forgiving me? Pretty please?”
“Yes, and although we are new in the industry, we are growing at an incredible speed and have a wealth of high-net-worth clients who are very confident in our knowledge and advice,” Austin explains, circling around from behind me after closing the door. He unbuttons his suit jacket and sits opposite me across the desk, sinking into an executive recliner. The smile he gives me is not only coy, but really fucking perfect. He definitely had Invisalign or something. “I’ve brought on two associates so far and, of course, Helen, our receptionist, who keeps things sailing smoothly. Please don’t let my limited experience dissuade you from working with me. I’m very good at what I do, Miss Buck.”
