For Always, page 1
For Always
K.C. Everly
Copyright © 2024 by K.C. Everly
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons is coincidental.
Contents
1. Before You Read
2. One
3. Two
4. Three
5. Four
6. Five
7. Six
8. Seven
9. Eight
10. Nine
11. Ten
12. Eleven
13. Twelve
14. Thirteen
15. Fourteen
16. Fifteen
17. Sixteen
18. Seventeen
19. Eighteen
20. Nineteen
21. Twenty
22. Twenty-one
23. Twenty-two
24. Twenty-three
25. Twenty-four
26. Twenty-five
27. Twenty-six
28. Twenty-seven
29. Twenty-eight
30. Twenty-nine
31. Thirty
32. Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Also By
Before You Read
Content Warning and Tropes
This book is intended for readers 18+ and contains sensitive content, profanity (a lot), and graphic depictions of sex (also a lot). If you’re under 18 years old, come back later. We’ll be waiting.
Tropes
Falling for older brother’s best friend, falling for best friend’s little sister, frenemies to lovers, forced proximity, snowed in, one bed, stuck in a cabin, return to small town, all grown up, first crush, holiday-themed, feel-good, emotional, swoony romance.
For anyone who has ever wanted to be stuffed like a stocking by their brother’s best friend. This is for you.
Xx
KC
One
Kate
“Get your shit and get out of here.”
I rubbed my temple, my fingers squeezing the red pen. I didn’t bother looking up. “In a minute.”
I felt the eye roll from Taylor, my best friend and co-editor, as she hovered over my desk.
“You have a unique method of timekeeping, Kate. A minute is not two hours. Go before Crappel catches you and refuses to let you leave.”
Shit.
“Okay, okay.”
I dropped my pen and collected my work, sweeping it into a satchel and reminding myself that I was a twenty-eight-year-old adult. I didn’t need to fear the wrath of my boss down to the deepest marrow of my bones.
Then again, Carmen Crappel was no ordinary boss. She was the imperious leader of Tattered Edges, a powerhouse publishing company that hired me three years ago for my dream editing job. I’d be a fool to disrupt the careful balance of respect that Crappel and I had.
A careful balance was generous. Mostly, I stayed out of her way and tried not to cower in fear in front of her. The fact she’d approved my first vacation in three years of employment spoke both to her tyrannizing and my people-pleasing.
“Can you just… I need to get the last few chapters…”
Taylor folded her arms over her chest, releasing an impatient sigh.
“Take it with you, but go.” She leaned back, her neck craning to check the hallway of an empty floor.
It was just after eight p.m., and most staff had gone home. Taylor, like me, preferred to spend her time overthinking, over-analyzing, and over-performing.
Our shared need for operational efficiency and perfectionism glued the bonds of friendship. When they brought Taylor on as a co-editor six months into my career at Tattered Edges, I’d found a staunch ally and companion.
“If you don’t take a vacation, you’ll burn out. If you burn out and leave, I’ll die. I can’t survive in this office without you and don’t want to.”
She pulled me in for a quick hug, her long, flaxen hair catching on the back of my bracelet as she pulled away.
“Gah.” Taylor winced. “Really, Kate?”
I glanced down at the bright polymer and clay beads, grateful the elastic hadn’t broken this time. It was always a hassle to drop to the floor and find each bead.
“It’s my good luck charm,” I said, pulling my jacket from the rack by my office door and sliding it on. “I can’t fly without it.”
Taylor opened her mouth to correct me, and I held up my hand to do it myself.
“I can fly without it, but it helps my anxiety.”
She gave a satisfied nod. “Good. Get on that plane, have a great vacation, and don’t return early.”
“You know,” I said, flipping off the light and closing my door, “it almost sounds like you don’t want me here.”
Taylor’s nervous eyes glanced toward the end of the hallway. Crappel had closed her office door and drawn the blinds, but the sliver of light beneath the door left little doubt she was in there.
In her mid-fifties, intimidating with her professionalism and ruthlessly driven, Crappel was rarely elsewhere. No partner. No kids. No family that she spoke of. John, her executive assistant, held her secrets well but once let it slip that she sometimes slept in her office.
“Worth it,” he’d said. “The power she has over the publishing world is godly.”
And we were her eager and grateful disciples, working tirelessly to do her bidding and praying it was enough to sustain a career in a cutthroat industry.
This job was everything to me, and I was damn good at it. I stuck it out, as strenuous and torturous as it could be.
Taylor walked out with me, no doubt tired after a long week. Sitting at a desk for thirteen hours a day could do that.
It was a quiet elevator ride to the lobby. We stepped into the dark winter evening, the sky clear and stars hidden beneath the haze of city lights.
“I’m going to sleep the entire flight,” I said, rubbing my eyes and not caring if my makeup smudged.
Taylor nodded, just as tired.
We hugged again.
“Enjoy small-town life for a while,” she said against my ear. “Be like the movies and snag a hometown hottie, gain a new lease on life, and have the best sex.”
I puffed a laugh, the warmth of my breath steaming into the cold air around us.
“You’ve not been to Windmere. These hometown hotties don’t exist. The town, while cute, is uninspiring.” I rubbed my hands together to warm them. “And the best sex? That will be the vibrator I’ve packed in my suitcase.”
“Still counts,” Taylor said with a wink. “Merry Christmas, Kate. I’ll see you next year.” She pointed a firm finger at me as I turned on my heels to walk to the bus stop. “Work can wait. Don’t come back early!”
After a six-hour red-eye from New York, in which I worked more than slept, a three-hour drive across the mountain pass into the Central Cascades, and three energy drinks that left my hands shaking, I arrived in Windmere, Washington.
The small town had changed little in the three years since I’d been home. It had hardly changed in the three decades since I was born.
My parents claimed that was part of the charm of living there. As a teenager, I disagreed. College in New York City was my escape.
“I can’t wait for you to catch up with Mrs. Mathers,” my mom said, squeezing my elbow as we strolled down Main Street with hot chocolate and smiles.
Two hours in town, hardly unpacked, and she already planned my social calendar.
“Everyone is thrilled to hear about your big city life.”
I gripped my drink cup tighter, regretting that I’d dropped off my stuff at my parents’ house without considering the need for gloves. New York could be brutally cold in the winter, but the mountains, with their higher elevation, were even worse.
It made for a picturesque view, though. Snow-capped mountain peaks, each one taller than the one before. Windmere was nestled and tucked away like a cozy little secret.
“Ah, yes,” I mumbled, taking another sip. “Can’t wait to be the town’s entertainment. Everyone can circle and gawk and ask me if I’ve seen Carrie Bradshaw’s Manhattan apartment.”
My mom chuckled, squeezing my arm. “We’re just excited about what a different life you live, that’s all.” She let go of me and adjusted her beanie. “Besides, everyone considers Beau the town’s entertainment. New York is exciting, but it’s not Hollywood.”
Fair point. My older brother’s life had always been far more interesting than mine.
“When is he getting in?” I asked, eyeing an antique tea set in the window of Bertie Belle’s shop. It was one of my favorite stops when home, even though I never purchased anything.
As a kid, I’d pop into Bertie’s shop to scour the aisles of dusty artifacts and make up stories about the life of each item before it found residence with Bertie. When I was ten, Bertie told me she acquired most of her things from estate sales in the area, and almost everything had belonged to dead people.
It made me love it all the more.
“Your brother?” My mom’s attention was across the street. Her brows knitted together as she took in the familiar pickup truck parked between two spaces. “He spent last night in Seattle with Jason. They’ll be here before dinner.”
She squinted and muttered under her breath
“They?” I followed on her heels, trailing behind her as she stood on the sidewalk outside of The Diner. Yep, the town diner was called The Diner.
My mom pressed her face against the window, her breath steaming up the small patch between her hands. “Yes, they. Beau invited Jason for Christmas this year.”
“Mom,” I groaned.
She pushed off from the glass to give me a sharp look.
“What, Kate? He’s Beau’s best friend and had a tough year. Beau said Jason would spend the holidays alone otherwise, and we’re a welcoming family.”
I gnashed my teeth together, holding back some choice words about my brother’s childhood best friend.
Growing up with Beau was hard enough. The fact Jason helped terrorize me did little to warm my heart with the news of his invitation.
Before I could complain, channeling that whiny teenage girl I’d been all those years ago, my mom’s eyes softened.
“I know he’s not your favorite person, and I know Beau tormented you and recruited his friends to join, but you’re no longer children. Jason hasn’t been back in ten years. The fact he’s choosing to spend time with Beau here? Let’s honor that, okay?”
“Fine,” I grumbled, knowing she was right.
I hadn’t seen Jason since his last visit to Windmere. Given it was to attend his mother’s funeral, I could cut Jason some slack.
“I’ll grow up.” I buried my face in my scarf.
She eyed me with a smirk. “That doesn’t sound like the promise I’d like it to be. Come on.”
Pushing past me, she threw open the door and waltzed into The Diner. My mom bellowed, “You ruddy fool! This isn’t hanging Christmas lights on the house! Looks like having a leisurely lunch with the guys!”
Ah. My dad was undoubtedly inside and having lunch when I had it on good authority that my mom expected him to prepare the house for its Christmas spirit glory.
I stood on the sidewalk, my gaze wandering down Main Street and along the shop windows strewn in holly, garland, and bright strands of lights. Nothing could beat a Christmas at home. Nothing. Even Rockefeller Center’s glorious and festive displays couldn’t make my heart swell like little ol’ Windmere.
I’d wait for my parents outside, sipping my hot chocolate. They’d spend the next few minutes arguing before my dad grabbed my mom and dragged her into his lap. He’d smother her with kisses until she forgave him for putting off her endless holiday task list. I loved my parents, but they were gross.
“Freaking cold,” I mumbled, blowing on the hand not holding my cup.
My toes stung with the bite of poorly insulated boots—an amateur mistake—and I wiggled them. Maybe the general store would have thicker socks.
Deciding I needed to keep moving, I walked to the hat shop. A familiar gasp sucked me through the door with the force of it.
“Well, hot pickles!”
I grinned, shutting the cold behind me as the bell above the door rang. Holding up a numb hand, I waved.
“Hey, Fallon.”
Fallon Campbell was the daughter of Chuck and Rebecca, the owners of The Hat Shop. Yep, the hat shop was called The Hat Shop.
Fallon stepped out from behind the counter to hug me. “I heard you were coming back from that big city of yours.”
“It’s not mine,” I corrected. “I’m not a proper New Yorker. I need a stiffer spine and an affinity for pizza. Neither of which I have.”
I hugged Fallon back, remembering all the years we’d spent avoiding each other because Fallon was sure I had a crush on her crush, Mike Walker. I didn’t, of course. Mike Walker was a prick.
When Fallon and I went to Mary Burnet’s slumber party freshman year and played truth or dare, I admitted I’d rather eat hot pickles than kiss Mike Walker. That was that.
She held me at arm’s length, taking me in. “I’m glad you popped by. You come for a hat?”
I shook my head, my hands thrusting into my jacket pockets. “Just wanted to see if you were working and say hello.”
She held her arms wide and smiled. Fallon had a flat smile that never really rose, but her eyes sparkled so brightly you’d never know it.
“I am working. I’m always working.” She leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. “You forget gloves, pickles? Going soft with your city living?”
I paced the shop and skimmed over the hats. “New York is cold,” I reminded her.
The Hat Shop had every hat, from baseball caps to fancy and regal headpieces. It was a favorite in the summer when Windmere flooded with sunshine and tourists.
“Mhm,” she hummed. “That cute brother of yours coming home, too?”
My eyes lifted briefly to hers, just in time to catch the blush on the apples of her freckled cheeks.
“Word is he’ll be here this afternoon. I thought you and Jake were together.”
Not that I lurked on social media or anything…
Fallon shrugged. “We took a break.” They’d been off and on since high school.
“Is that why you’re asking about my idiot brother?”
It might be the perfect retribution, given that Jake and Beau had been rivals in high school, which was ridiculous. Beau was one big golden retriever—impossible to hate, but Jake hated him.
Fallon’s mouth twitched. She turned around, pretending to do something at the register.
“Riley came home this year,” she said.
I made a gagging sound, and we both laughed. Riley was Fallon’s older sister, and like my relationship with Beau, her older sibling had been a real pain in the ass. While Beau’s teasing and invasive presence annoyed me, Riley had been a bully to Fallon.
“That’s unfortunate. Hide your razor,” I warned. “You don’t want her shaving off your eyebrows again.”
Fallon’s hands flew to her forehead in muscle memory. “She deserved that punch to the nose.”
She sure did.
“Come by the house and say hi,” I suggested, picking up a bowler hat and admiring my reflection in the mirror next to the rack. “Beau is bringing Jason this year, and I could use an ally.” I smiled at her. “Bring beer.”
She sighed and combed her fingers through her red hair. “I promised Riley I’d put in an effort this year to get along. We’re supposed to go to The Pub later.”
The Pub was… Yep.
Fallon’s eyes lit up. “Come with us. Be my ally.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibrations reminding me I should keep moving. Glancing at the accompanying text, I snickered.
Beau: Where you at, girl?
“Thanks for the offer, Fallon. I’ll think about it and let you know.” I waved my phone. “Gotta get going.”
We said our goodbyes, ending with another long hug and unruly shouting about pickles, having already decided to meet her at The Pub.
The nostalgia, festive decorations, chill of the air, and the crisp promise of possibilities made me grateful to be home.
I backed out of the shop, dodging a passing stroller with a nod and smile to the father pushing it.
And I stepped right into an enormous pile of dog shit.
Two
Jason
My balls ached.
Cramped between the bench of my truck and my jeans, I reached down and gently cupped myself to ease the pressure as I drove.
Beau eyed me from the passenger side.
“You need me to step out for a minute?”
“Christ. Possibly,” I grumbled, adjusting in my seat. “The three-hour drive isn’t helping.”
Beau squinted out the windshield at the gray sky. “More like four, with the pass getting sticky.”
The roads had been mostly clear, but the closer to Windmere, the more likely we’d have to slow down.
I shifted again, groaning quietly and cursing the shithead sophomore who’d railed me in the nuts with a baseball in sixth period P.E. yesterday afternoon.
“Last day before winter break, and I get injured. I hate being a teacher sometimes,” I said, more to myself than to Beau.
Sometimes I regretted listening to Vanessa’s recommendation to become a P.E. teacher instead of studying physical therapy like I’d originally wanted. Less time in graduate school and better working hours, she’d pointed out. Summers off. Still adjacent work to physical movement.
