Forever Kind of Love

Evernight
Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2014 Moira Callahan

 
ISBN: 978-1-77130-827-4

Cover
Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Laurie
Temple

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.
 
No part of this book may be
used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a
work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

I’m
dedicating this story to my best friend and sister for encouraging me to
submit. You are amazing and I couldn’t ask for a better friend in my life. I
love you, babe!

I would
also like to give a big thank my editor on this story. Laurie, you were a true
angel, thank you for being so gentle with me on my first foray into the
publishing world. I’m very glad to have had your guiding hand on this journey.

FOREVER KIND OF LOVE

Moira Callahan

Copyright © 2014

Prologue

New York
City, New York

June 4, 1994

Dear Diary,

They finally did it. My parents
finally
divorced.
Thank you, God! It was made all official like three weeks ago and mom moved us
out. Dad got to keep the house but mom’s lawyer ensured he got screwed over
good. I feel for him, but now I’m the one stuck with the shrew for the rest of
time. He got off easy.

Two more miserable people, I doubt I could ever
find… Well, except for maybe that skank in math class, Charlene
Rutger
.
Chuckie
as I call her. Boy,
does that make her face go purple! Ha!

They think that I’m “traumatized” by it all. As if.
It’s a relief, which I told them, but
noooo
, what the
hell do I know, right? I’m just the dumb kid that’s had to listen to them
arguing since practically the day I was born.

So, because of how traumatized I am, I get to go to
therapy.
Woohoo
—not! My fucking shrink, sorry,
“therapist”—
gag—
thinks I need to have an outlet for my
feelings about this.
Like I’ve ever been shy about expressing
myself.
Who the hell does this broad think she is?

So I get to write a diary about all the
traumatizing emotions I’ve been carrying around. As if. Oh well, at least I get
out of class early for my sessions, and I don’t actually listen to her. Even
though she tries to engage me, blah,
blah
, blah.
Psycho-babble is what that shit is.

Until next time,

Least-traumatized-by-divorced-parents kid on the
planet.

****

August 20, 1994

Dear Diary,

So I get to start a new school tomorrow, way out of
my district, of course, because mom couldn’t “live in the same neighborhood as
that faithless ass and his twit girlfriend.”
Which is fine.
I didn’t like my options for high school where we were living. At least this
way, I get a whole new start with people I don’t know and who don’t know me.

Oh yeah, Dad’s got a new girlfriend. Apparently
after the divorce was final, he kicked the other one to the curb and went
younger with more perks.
Perky ass, perky boobs, perky
personality and so forth.
Unfortunately, he downgraded on her smarts. She’s
dumber than a sack full of hammers.

Still stuck going to the psycho shrink, and yes I
call her that to her face. She says I have “misplaced anger” that of course
“needs to be dealt with.” I’m a fucking
teenager,
of
course I have misplaced anger! Who the fuck is this moron, and how the fuck did
she get a degree? My God, the standards are so totally low for this shit.

I do have to say I like writing in you, Diary. It’s
kinda
fun to say all the shit I can’t say to anyone
else without them calling in the guys with the funny white jacket with the “hug
me” sleeves. Though, according to rumor, there are ways of getting out of those
if you have a few minutes.

Until after I start school,

Misplaced-anger-and-not-dealing-with-it
teenager.

****

September 15, 1994

Dear Diary,

Holy shit! I totally am, like, in love with my
school! Like, holy shit!

It is the most amazing fucking place on the planet.
It looks cool and has this atrium and sun room full of plants and shit. It’s
awesome!

And there are some cool people there. I’ve met some
new friends, though I am giving them a trial run only, currently. There is
potential there for a best friend possibility. Not saying who yet, but there’s
a chance.

Oh! And there’s this boy in my class, Taylor
Granger. Holy mother of God is he
H-O-T!

I’m totally playing it cool, even though I have to
consciously try and stay aware if I’m gaping or drooling when he’s around. Six
feet, black hair, pale-blue eyes with this
medit
.
..shit, uh,
medittera
...shit.
He looks like a damned Greek god okay. Fuck, note to self, look that word up in
the dictionary later, damn it.

He’s nicely toned. Apparently, he played football
in junior high but decided against it in high school,
somethin
’
‘bout a bad knee, I think. By the walk he walks, no, stalks like a jungle cat...yeah,
that’s better. By the way he
stalks
through the halls you’d never know
it. He’s smooth as could be.

He’s also super nice, at least from what little
I’ve seen and noticed. Okay, I may have briefly stalked him for like three days
before realizing how totally uncool that was. But seriously, Diary, he’s pretty
much the nicest, down to earth, bad-boy-
vibing
teenager on the planet. Oh! And he has a tattoo. A fucking
tattoo!
It’s
super sexy, fits him perfect and I have way too many
fantasies about sliding my tongue over it. Yum!

Damn it, now I need a cold shower. Fuck.

Until next time,

Hot-and-bothered teenager.

****

October 4, 1994

Dear Diary,

Holy mother of God, shoot me now.

So, like, I was at school the other day and
everything’s going just hunky dory. Sorry, one of my mother’s sayings, I’ll do
better, Diary. And it’s lunch time. I’m with my band of friends, Tina,
Cherise
, Melanie and Nancy, just chilling at our table
chatting about the teachers and what idiocy they’d put us through already.

In
comes
Taylor and a few
of the jocks. Not just football guys, but a couple from the track team and the
volleyball squad, too. While Taylor is no longer sports-oriented in school he
still hangs with the guys he knew from his junior high. The guys are all
laughing, but Taylor seems distracted.
Moody almost.
Yes, I know that we teenagers are known for our moodiness, but this was
different, something was wrong.

Anyway, there I am and I can totally feel the frown
on my face when he looks over and our eyes lock. Have I mentioned he’s got the
most gorgeous pale-blue eyes ever? He does by the way, totally sinful.

Anyway! He and I lock eyes and I mouth “you okay?” ‘Cause
I worry about the boy of my dreams. He blinks at me and nods, a little smile
curling the corner of his mouth as he winks. I nearly fell the fuck outta my
chair! He mouths back “yeah.” That was it but it was like
insta
-lust
hit me, I was all hot and bothered and damn it, he’s hot.

But, of course, my ever so vigilant gang of friends
notice this little exchange and for the rest of the day I had to put up with
their razzing. Taylor and
Roni
—yes, they shortened
Veronica down—kissing in a tree. And so forth, ad
nauseum
.
Ha! Totally got that one right and didn’t even have to look it up in the
dictionary. Oh, all right, I didn’t have to look it up
this
week.

Anyway, to say they were a little relentless would
be a humungous understatement. I may need to kill some of them off and find
replacements. I doubt anyone would miss them right away.

Until my next moment of shame,

Slightly-miffed-definitely-horny
teenager.

****

October 31, 1994

Dear Diary,

Happy Halloween!
Wooooooo
!

It was the best day ever. Dressed up for school
because, while I may be a slightly more mature teen, I’m still a kid at heart
and I love Halloween. Always have, always will.