Forever My Girl (The Beaumont Series)

“You said yes?”
    I nod which causes her to jump up and down. She pulls my hand forward and frowns when she sees I’m not wearing a ring. “We're going wait until everything calms down. It’s not time to celebrate, ya know? We both lost our friend and even though we’re happy and in love, Katelyn and the kids mean more to us than telling everyone that we're finally getting married.”
    Jenna wraps her arms around me, holding me tight. “He’ll make you happy, Josie.”
    “He already does,” I reply when she steps back. I can already see the wheels turning in her head and this just solidifies what I said to Nick; we need to elope.
    She turns back and starts working again. “Do you think he’ll adopt Noah?”
    I drop my shears onto the ground, barely missing my foot. I clear my throat. “I… I’m not sure about that.”
    “Why not? He’s been raising him since he was what, three?”
    I bite my lip and just nod at her. “We’ve never discussed it and I really don’t want to talk about Noah’s dad right now.”
    She looks at me and smiles. “Okay,” she says, but I know she’ll ask again.
    I haven’t thought about Noah’s dad in years. No, that’s not true. More like hours and even more so since Mason died. I don’t know if he knows about Mason or even cares. I just hope he doesn’t show up here.
     

CHAPTER 3
    LIAM
    I rode at night to avoid people following me. I slept during the day and made it home in seventy-two hours.
    Home.
    What a strange word. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived in a hotel. They’re easy, peaceful with top notch security. I never have to leave if I don’t want to. I have someone that does my grocery shopping and laundry. When something breaks, someone's there to fix it and my guests are screened.
    The weather is colder than I remember. I hope my maid packed me the appropriate clothes. Sam is having a new suit sent to my hotel. She wanted to come with me for moral support, but I declined. I don’t need her. I don’t want her here. Just in and out I told her. Except I left a few days earlier than scheduled because I need time to see her .
    Even if it’s just to look at her from across the street, I need the extra time to remind myself why I gave up college and her dreams to spend countless days in a cramped studio and sleepless nights traveling in a bus across the country. I need the vision of her to drive the point home that I made the right decision for me, regardless of how much I hurt her.
    I need to know if she’s moved on, I hope that she has. How many kids does she have and what does her husband do for a living? I only hope he treats her better than I ever did because she deserves it and so much more.
    Pulling into the Holiday Inn just outside of Beaumont, I shut off my bike before the manager comes out to tell me I’m disturbing the peace. With the kickstand down and my helmet off, I slip on a pair of fake eyeglasses and pull a baseball cap down low. I know word will spread once I step foot into Beaumont, but for a few days I’d like to be anonymous. I slide my arms into my weather proof guitar case and unhook my bag from the back of my bike.
    The walk to the lobby is painstakingly long. This hotel isn’t far off the highway and the noise is very present. This is most unassuming hotel and one people wouldn’t think to look for me. I remember when I told Sam to book my room here I thought I killed her with just the words of a three star Notel Motel. Yet here I am walking into a commoner lobby with the TV blaring and stale coffee sitting in the pot next to this morning’s donuts.
    “How can I help you?” The clerk is speaking even before I’m in the door. Her voice is high-pitched and annoying; a sharp and painful reminder of nails across the blackboard. Her hair is pulled back so tight that her face has no option but to smile. Her lips are painted Hollywood red. I want to hand her a Kleenex and tell her that guys in Hollywood really don’t go for the whole lipstick thing because it’s evidence.
    But I don’t. I don’t say hi or even smile at her. I just want to get to my room and maybe sleep a little. “I need to check in,” I tell her. I hand her my driver’s license and wait. My fingers start tapping on the counter as she types my name into the computer. Each time she looks up at me and smiles, I want to step back. Someone ought to tell her that she wears too much make-up and if she pulls her hair any tighter she’ll be