Stuck With You, page 1
STUCK WITH YOU
AIMEE BROWN
This book’s for you. That’s right, YOU – the reader of this book. Without you, it’s just me sitting in front of my screen, laughing at my own jokes.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
A Note From the Author
Playlist
More from Aimee Brown
About the Author
About Boldwood Books
1
JADE MONROE
Today is my twenty-sixth birthday. Picture it: we’re at Chuck E. Cheese (yes, because I’m still ten years old deep down), with its video games, ball pits, lights, sirens, prizes, a human hamster cage I stay well away from as a kid always pukes in it, and a life-size dancing rat. It’s the best knock-off Disneyland I’ve ever been to. I’ve had every birthday party I can remember at this place, so I wasn’t about to stop as an adult. My dad even booked the party room, and Chuck himself is due to make an appearance at any moment. Are we getting some ‘you’re weird’ glances from the parents in the joint, considering we brought no children at all? Yes. Do I care? Nope. This place makes me smile and brings back many memories I never want to forget.
For the first time ever, a man is sitting next to me who wants to be here – not just the boy in whatever school class my mom invited – but the man of my dreams. God, that’s a big statement. Conner, the guy to my left, pursued me hesitantly, but sweetly. Would I have preferred a guy to knock the wind out of me or stop my heart mid-beat like romantic comedies on the big screen are always suggesting? Uh, yeah. But in my ten years of dating history, no one has done that, and thus far, Conner has marked all my ‘man of my dreams’ boxes.
I glance over at him, sitting nervously, picking the label off his beer, attempting to remove it in one piece while avoiding my father’s stare from across the table. I’d probably be nervous, too, knowing exactly two people in the room.
He looks up, catching my gaze and flashing that dashing smile I’ve fallen for. He’s so freaking adorable with his perfectly manicured dark hair swept to one side, dazzling hazel eyes, and astonishingly straight teeth only an orthodontist could be responsible for. I could stare at the man all day long.
Patients will be so lucky to have him as their doctor one day. Not because of his looks (I mean, who doesn’t love a Dr McDreamy type?), but because he’s intelligent, caring, a great listener, and just all the things you want the person in charge of your health to be.
He successfully lays the beer label on the table in front of him, then taps the neck of the bottle with his spoon, earning my family’s attention. Once everyone has stopped chattering, Conner stands and turns my way.
‘Jade, today is your birthday—’
‘Yesterday,’ I remind him softly. Dad wanted the party on the weekend so more people could come.
Conner shakes his head, now flustered. ‘That’s right; yesterday was your birthday.’
I don’t know how he forgot, considering he showed up at my apartment at midnight to give me my ‘gift’. Himself, which he had topped with a bow on the tip of his—
‘Until now…’ He interrupts my trip down memory lane.
The man is making a speech, Jade. Perhaps you should focus on more than his tip.
‘I wasn’t sure when the best day of my life would be, but after two months of you, I’m pretty sure it was the day you were born,’ he says, nodding his head my way, his adorably crooked smile a little more hesitant than when we’re alone.
Awe. That’s sweet. ‘Thank y—’
‘I think you’re my person, Jade. My “one”.’ He cuts me off.
My dad mumbles something to Laney through a disbelieving chuckle. He doesn’t love Conner. In true overly-protective-father style, he hasn’t loved any of my boyfriends. He says that’s what dads do, scrutinize boys after their daughters and break them before they break their little girls. He’s good at it, too. Laney had a boyfriend that once dumped her as he pulled out of the driveway after meeting Dad. Who could blame the guy when a scary-looking biker-dude tells him as casually as he can that he owns a shotgun, a shovel, and isn’t afraid of prison, so don’t even think about hurting his daughter. Really, Dad doesn’t love how Conner and I have moved so fast. ‘I was once a twenty-something-year-old dude; trust me, you’re a summer fling to the guy, Jade. Don’t fall so quickly. Make him work for it,’ he’d said when Laney let it slip a couple of weeks ago that he was spending nights with me.
‘I know this is fast, but when it’s right, it’s right.’ Conner continues to talk, turning my attention back to him.
When it’s right, it’s right? What does that mean? Did I miss something he said while I was shooting my father a shut-up stare? I glance around. All eyes are on me. Yep, I missed something. The room is eerily silent, besides the delightful squeal of children in a ball pit outside the party room, as we wait for this man I’ve known for two months to finish telling us what’s so right.
Yes, cat’s out of the bag, we’ve been ‘dating’ for two months. Eight weeks. Fourteen days. Or eighty-six thousand and four hundred minutes, approximately, if it really matters.
Conner and I met online in the comments section of a mutual friend’s Facebook post. That ‘friend’ is my younger by two years sister, Laney. The two of them went to high school together. She had posted a tribute to our mother just after her death from breast cancer, and Conner sent me a private message. If you need to talk, I’m a great listener. It was that simple. And he was right. I did need someone to talk to. An outside source to help me sort through all the ‘why mes’ and ‘what ifs’ going through my head so I didn’t have to lay it on my family who were going through the exact same thing.
Children bury their parents. I know this. But it’s not supposed to happen before your adult milestones do. Yet it did, and because of that, Conner got an earful. Somehow he knew all the right words to say precisely when I needed to hear them. After that, we exchanged numbers, and he would greet me every morning with a ‘hello, beautiful’ text message and send me to sleep with a ‘goodnight, gorgeous’. The man charmed me into meeting him face to face, and after only a few weeks of ‘knowing’ him online, he became a staple in my life. We did everything together. I couldn’t have swooned harder.
Suddenly Conner drops to one knee beside me.
‘Shut the hell up,’ Laney says flatly as the family gasps around her. Her ‘say it, don’t think about it’ personality breaks some of the tension, but family members attempt to shush her so they don’t miss the show.
I glance at Conner, who’s looking up at me with his hazel eyes, thoughts I can’t make out flashing through them.
What is he doing? And why is he down on one knee? Is this some new birthday toast tradition I’m not aware of? He grabs my left hand, pressing his lips against my ring finger.
Oh.
My.
Holy.
Heavens.
Is he…? Suddenly, I get Laney’s earlier word vomit.
‘Jade Nicole Monroe—’
‘Noelle,’ my father mumbles through the fist over his mouth, hiding what he truly thinks about this, but his eyes scream it at me silently.
‘Right.’ Conner points his way apologetically. ‘Noelle, I’m so sorry.’
I lift a single shoulder. What am I supposed to do? Correct him now?
He closes his eyes momentarily, possibly summoning the courage to continue now that he’s made mistakes twice in only a handful of sentences. His eyes snap open, and I can see someone confident, at least momentarily. ‘Jade Noelle Monroe, will you marry me?’
Right then, I choke on nothing but confusion. A coughing fit has him flustered but finally I mumble out the words flashing through my head. ‘Marry you?’
Conner’s face goes from bliss to ‘shit’ in milliseconds. Oops, that came out way more honestly than intended. I did not expect this. We haven’t even talked marriage. But I can’t turn him down like this, publicly. Truthfully, I don’t know if I want to turn him down at all. I love Conner. We’ve both said it. Isn’t this where love goes? To marriage? I mean, why not? Surely he knows we have some details to iron out later, though?
‘What’s your answer?’ Uncle Paul calls from the back of the room.
Paul’s my father’s doppelganger, only three years younger and more ‘angel’ on your shoulder than Dad’s ‘devil’. They like to call each other once a month and send the other on some well-thought-out ridiculous ‘mission’ to pick up something one bought for the other. Once, my dad rode across the city on his Harley only to discover he was picking up a six-foot unicorn stuffie that he then strapped to his waist and rode back into the city with. People honked, and he was spotted on Instagram a few days later looking like he was promoting the upcoming gay pride parade. Now he wants to do a ‘ride’ in the parade in support. Which is the side of my dad that I know. He may look a little Duck Dynasty meets Hells Angels rough, but deep down, he is a six-foot softie.
‘Earth to Jade,’ Laney barks. ‘There are only two answers to that question, big sister.’
Right. My gaze moves to Conner. Sweet Conner, innocently kneeling in front of me after having asked the biggest question of his life, as I stall with confusion while he shits his drawers.
‘Yes!’ I say, with a little jump of enthusiasm. Is there a part of me questioning this? A very tiny whisper that I’m going to smother until later. I just said yes to marrying Conner! Oh my stars. I can’t wait to see the ring! I pull my hand from his, waggling my fingers his way.
He frowns. ‘This was sort of last minute; I went with my gut. So, I don’t have a ring—’
‘Probably because it’s been a day,’ Dad grumbles.
Like my sister, Dad’s never been one to keep his thoughts to himself. His personality in list form (most to least important) goes a little like this:
Family
Archibald – his Motorcycle (yep, he named it)
Devil’s Beard (his motorcycle gang)
Motorcycle rallies
Motorcycle TV shows and movies
Tattoos
Duck Dynasty-style facial hair
Frito (the cat he never wanted yet is now having a rabid love affair with) and Starbux (an enthusiastic chocolate and caramel-colored Yorkie my mom so loved – he has a helmet and rides in my dad’s jacket sometimes)
That’s it. There is no chit-chat or other interests with Dad. He says what he needs to say and softens when tears arrive. (He is a man with two daughters; tears sometimes do make an appearance.) He may not always say the exact right thing at first, but he comes around. He’s soft like that and would do anything to see his girls smile.
Since Mom died, he’s been alarmingly quiet. I’ve resorted to asking question after question to pry words out of him. I know what he’s watching on Netflix (In the Dark), that he’s become surprisingly good at crock-potting his own roast, and that he’s watching through all of his old favorite movies. Considering I saw a stack of DVDs pulled from the movie shelf and sitting near the front door–all of mom’s favorite eighties comedy and romcom – I’d say he’s skipping a few. But stubbornly the moment I mention my mom, he shuts down, putting on his usual ‘don’t fuck with me’ mask. ‘We don’t need to relive the past,’ he always says.
Laney and I see right through it. You can’t pretend like your wife of decades didn’t just die. Eventually he’ll have to deal with it, and oh how I dread that day. I’ve been so worried that I call him every night before I go to bed to ensure he’s not slurring his words or over contemplating life. If I’d lost my spouse, that might be where I’d go, so I understand; I just don’t want to chance it. Each night he answers with the same words. ‘Stop worrying, Jadeybug. People die. I know this. I’m fine.’ But I know he’s not fine. He lost his best friend and the love of his life; he’s heartbroken.
‘Even better,’ I say to Conner. ‘You not buying a ring yet means we can shop together.’
‘Y-yeah,’ he stutters. ‘We’ll shop for a ring before I leave.’ He stands, wrapping his arms around me, lifting me off the floor. Sirens and horns congratulating young patrons with wins and the clicking delivery of ‘tickets’ to ‘buy’ a prize at the end of the night echo through the pizza place in a peculiar childhood proposal fantasy way. I don’t think flashing red lights and sirens were ever in those dreams. Those daydreams rarely come to fruition I’ve learned.
We sit back down, and he scoots his chair closer to mine, leans against me, resting his hand on my shoulder. As usual, I sink into him as he whispers sweet nothings into my ear.
‘We’ll have a long engagement and get married after my residency.’
The bubble of excitement I just felt bursts… that’s not a sweet nothing. ‘After your residency?’ I ask meekly. Now, I realize that I was just shocked at his unexpected proposal, but now he wants to get engaged, without a ring, then leave for medical school and do this long distance for years before finally tying the knot? That’s three to five years, depending on what he specializes in. And that currently feels like a lifetime. I can imagine my future conversations.
‘You’re engaged? Let’s see the ring.’
‘Oh, I don’t have one, yet.’
‘When’s the big day?’
‘No date set, right now we live on opposite sides of the country until he’s done with his medical residency when I’m thirty.’
Right now, he wants to be a general surgeon, specifically an emergency room general surgeon. He’s been staying in Portland with his parents while on break between terms but leaves this weekend to start said residence in Boston. He’s returning to his real life – a place where I don’t exist. I’ve been desperately trying not to think about it. But deep down, I’ve wondered if maybe my dad is right; I’m a fling for Conner – something to ‘do’ while on summer break. But he just legit proposed. I don’t feel like that’s something guys do unless they mean it. I’ve got to be more than a fling.
‘We’re engaged!’ Conner announces excitedly, lifting his beer at his success in bagging a fiancée then kissing my cheek.
The whole room falls silent – momentarily, while it sinks in – then my family erupts into semi-enthusiastic chatter. Most of them don’t even remember his name, and one, in particular, doesn’t look enthused.
There he sits, silently beside Laney, stroking his graying beard – his go-to move when considering something troubling him. A mood I’m not thrilled to see today because I have bigger issues. I’m engaged! This is a big deal. Surely, Dad gets that! I’ll smooth things over with him later. For now, I tap my drink to Conner’s and answer the battery of questions surrounding me. I’m getting married?!
2
RIVER MATTHEWS
‘Jade,’ Mercy says as we approach the Black Tide Tiki room bar counter.
I stumbled into this bar a few months ago – a tropical paradise in the center of rainy Portland. It’s like walking into a temporary vacation. It’s full of island-y things, including hula bartenders, of which Jade is one.
Three walls are covered with giant beach photo scenes – floor to ceiling as if you’re in a bar on the beach. A white noise machine plays soft ocean wave sounds, setting the tropical mood. Net and sea floats hang from the ceiling, and a colossal swordfish I was told the owner, Jameson, caught himself, is stuffed and hanging from the rafters over the entrance. I wouldn’t want to swim into one of those in the ocean. In the center of the room is an atrium full of tropical plants and colorful chattering birds. Six-foot-tall tiki statues are sporadically placed around the room and wearing dozens of leis that patrons leave. The drinks are on brand, too, with vintage tiki glasses complemented with tiny umbrellas, tropical fruit as garnish, and, more often than not, fire. Once you’ve had a few, you’d never know you were in Portland. Plus, it’s not far from my apartment, so I can have a drink, or three, then safely walk home.
They occasionally hire musicians to play tropical tunes to set the mood, and tonight it’s Mercy on the ukulele – a gig I landed for her – and since this place has become my fave local bar, I come with, so I’m not sitting at home alone watching UFO Hunters again.
‘Hey you two!’ Jade greets us with a grin on her pretty face.
You know those bartenders who click with everyone, remember your name, and people pour their hearts out to? She’s one of those. Only, she’s also a talker, so she doesn’t just listen, she talks. I’ll admit that I first spoke to Jade because she’s beyond gorgeous. Perfect curves, five six-ish, long caramel brown hair, big brown eyes, and looks good, like really good, in her hula girl uniform. I now overlook that she’s wearing a bikini top and grass skirt in front of me because this is not a strip club (something I’ve heard the girls tell men during previous visits).
