Loved You Always Read online

  © 2016 Loved You Always by Natalina Reis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Loved You Always is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.

  www.hottreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: Claire Smith

  ISBN-10: 1-925448-55-X

  ISBN-13: 978-1-925448-55-9

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  DEDICATION

  __________

  To my sister, Marilia, who is and always will be my best friend.

  CHAPTER ONE

  __________

  Friends Forever

  Together forever; that was our motto. Jeremy and me, best friends forever. Come hell or high water, nothing would ever separate us. We met in preschool when my parents moved to Jem’s neighborhood, and we weathered elementary, secondary, and even college together. We completed each other; Jem with his blond, curly hair, me with my pale skin and straight hair. His six feet two, my five four; his love for fast food, my love for everything gourmet. We were as different as humanly possible, and maybe because of that we fit together like two halves of a whole.

  Throughout our childhood and early teen years we had shared everything; every thought, every feeling, every doubt. It felt right to share our most intimate selves with each other and, at some point, we were completing each other’s sentences. At thirteen, Jem confided in me when Janet, the neighborhood beauty, bestowed upon him his first kiss. Soon after, I returned the confidence by telling him about my “lip encounter” with Steve, the school jock. When he got to second base with Alice, Jem ran home to call and tell me all about it, and when Sam accidentally touched my breast during a movie, I almost skipped the end of the feature to call Jem. Jem’s shoulders had always been there for a good cry and vice versa. We were so close that people in our families began calling us the Siamese twins, Jem and Em. Even our names rhymed.

  All of that changed—at least for me—when we were about sixteen. That summer, Jem went on vacation abroad with his parents; I stayed behind and worked all summer at a local pharmacy, saving money for college. Upon his return, Jem had a suitcase full of stories to tell me, as usual. Camping out in my room that weekend, we settled to share our summers like we had always done before. However, as Jem recounted his whirlwind romance with a pretty, young French girl, my feelings about sharing radically changed. This was different; this did not make me feel like I was a part of it. This hurt, and made me feel left out and lonely.

  I didn’t want him to share the details of his sexual encounters with this foreigner; neither did I want to hear about how sad he was to leave her behind. I wanted to hear how he had missed me and how he had been unable to enjoy himself without me. I felt guilty for that, and then angry at myself. By the time it was my turn to share an account of my summer I had decided I was not willing to share certain things anymore, so I shared innocuous events without ever touching on serious feelings. I needed time to get used to this new twist in our relationship.

  It took me a few weeks to fully realize I was in love with my best friend.

  Here we were now in college, in our habitual scene, lying on our backs across my bed, my legs stretched out along the wall, his curly hair on my belly. We had done this a million times throughout our lives, but it sure felt different now, in this unseasonable hot autumn day. His hair tickled my exposed midsection, and I wrapped my fingers around his silky curls as he told me about this girl he had been seeing, Lisa. I did not want to hear about his woes with this idiotic girl who did not value him as she should. I certainly did not want to know how much he cared for her and how much he was hurting. My fingers yearned to burrow into his hair in earnest. My left hand, lying between us, ached to slide over his tanned shoulder and caress his naked chest. This was torture, and I did not know what to do about it.

  “She doesn’t get me like you do,” Jem was saying as I tried to focus on his words and forget about the tingles coursing through my whole body.

  “Why don’t you dump her?” The suggestion slipped through my lips before I could stop it. First rule of our relationship: never ever suggest an action unless solicited by the other party. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

  I heard Jem chuckle a little. Then he wiggled onto his left side, head now turned directly toward me. “Where did that come from, Em?”

  Oh, God! The movement of his head pulled my shirt higher. I now could feel the heat of his skin on my own, and my heart took off at a gallop. “It’s just… well, she doesn’t seem right for you, that’s all,” I said, feebly trying to control my own heartbeat.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked suddenly. “Your heart is going crazy.” Of course he could hear it. His ear was almost centered on my chest.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I protested, willing myself to calm down.

  His right hand came up and the next thing I know, he had his warm palm spread across my heart. “Wow, it’s even worse now,” he said. Of course it is, you fool. You have your hand on my breast.

  Propping himself up on his elbows, Jem rolled onto his belly and stared at me with those gorgeous blue eyes of his. I felt my heart swell like a marshmallow over a fire and, at that moment, I hated him as much as I loved him. How do you tell your best friend in the world—someone who sees you as an asexual being—that you are so in love with him it hurts?

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again. “You’ve been acting a little weird lately.” That was the understatement of the year. I was in a permanent state of semipanic when I was around him. On one hand I didn’t want to let him go, to put some much-needed distance between us or at least establish some boundaries. On the other hand, my body burned at the mere sight of him, and I was so scared that one of these days I was going to do something I would regret forever. I did not want to lose my best friend.

  “I’m fine,” I promised. “Just a little tired.”

  He rolled himself on his back again, this time alongside my body. His was warm, and the spots where our bodies actually touched felt scorched and achy. I bit my tongue hard, drawing blood. “Let’s take a nap, then,” he said with infuriating calm.

  After a few minutes, I chanced a quick glance at him. He had closed his eyes, and his chest was moving rhythmically to the sound of his quiet breathing. He had fallen asleep. The sleep of the innocent. No such luck for me. I watched him sleep for a little while. So handsome, so sweet….

  Slowly, I propped myself on my elbow and my
hand moved as if of its own accord to rest across his chest. Oh crap! What was I doing? But his skin was so smooth, so warm…. Throwing caution to the wind, I allowed my hand to explore his muscled chest in gentle, circular caresses. Jem was a heavy sleeper. He had been known to walk in his sleep, much to my amusement. This wouldn’t wake him.

  My brain had stopped functioning at a rational level, and my instincts were quickly taking over. He moaned a little, startling me for a second. Emboldened by his moan of pleasure, I slid my hand lower, toward his exposed belly muscles. He moaned again. I should have stopped, but the fire in my body was burning hot and I had relinquished all control, it seemed.

  This can’t be me, I thought as I lowered my face toward his. My parched lips found his forehead first, then the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth. He was still moaning gently and I wanted to believe I was the reason. I covered his lips with mine and, to my great surprise, he responded. His lips opened up to mine, and what had started with timid exploration turned into an explosion of passion. His arms encased me in a warm embrace and pulled me fully on top of him.

  “I have waited so long for this,” he whispered.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Was it true? He really felt about me the same way I felt about him? My heart was so full I thought it would explode. I straddled him and turned to liquid as I realized he was reacting to me in a way I’d never thought possible. His eyes were still closed when I supported myself on his chest, palms spread out, half afraid I was dreaming. His hips moved slowly underneath me, and it was my turn to moan.

  I had to feel his lips again. I leaned over and kissed him. Holy crap! He was such a good kisser. I melted even further. “I love you, Jem,” I whispered over his mouth. “I have always loved you.”

  “I love you, too,” he whispered into my lips. “I love you so much, Lisa.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  __________

  The Return

  The phone buzzed again and I frowned as my students’ heads snapped up at the sound. That’s just what they needed, another distraction.

  “Keep writing, children. It’s only my phone. Ignore it.”

  Of course, they wouldn’t be so interested in the sound if I hadn’t stupidly picked the annoying robot beeps of R2-D2 as my ringtone and forgotten to put the phone on silent as I always did. Who would be calling me at this hour anyway? My boyfriend would never call me in school and everyone else knew I couldn’t get to the phone most of the day, and that if it was something urgent texting was the way to go. I was curious. The phone had rung three times in a row already.

  “Ms. Lambert, why don’t you pick it up and check who it is?” You can’t fault a ten-year-old’s logic. Teachers were not supposed to answer their cell phones during the instructional day, but I smiled sweetly and decided that if the phone rang again, I would pick it up and give whoever was calling me at such an inconvenient time a piece of my mind.

  “Class, you have another five minutes or so to finish your writing assignment,” I said, meandering through the classroom and realizing a lot of the students had not made much progress. “This counts as two grades, guys. Put in your best effort.”

  Writing was not their forte or even something they remotely enjoyed doing. Every time I mentioned the word write—even if it was to tell them to write their names—I was met with a flood of moans and groans. For someone like me, who loved the written word, this seriously rankled.

  Just as I approached the opposite end of the classroom, my phone beeped frantically again. That time, I rushed to my desk, dodging moving chairs and stretched-out feet, and with a flourish I snapped the cell phone up to my ear.

  “Who’s this?” Annoyance was obvious in my voice. I really hated being called during class.

  On the other end there was a lot of background noise, music playing loudly and lots of people talking. “Em? Is that you?” The voice sounded strangely familiar, but the noise around it muffled it.

  “Yes, it’s Emily Lambert.” Now I was really pissed off. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s me, Jem.”

  I held on to the sides of my desk for fear of falling. Jem?

  In my surprise I must have been quiet for a tad too long, because he spoke again. “Are you still there, Em? Hello?”

  “Jem? Where are you?” Almost five years since I’d seen him or talked to him, and that’s what I come up with?

  “At the airport. JFK.” That would explain all the noise. “Waiting for my connector flight.”

  I was almost afraid to ask. “Are you coming home?” I squeezed my eyes shut, but opened them again when one of my students giggled. I placed a finger in front of my lips to quiet him down.

  “Yes. I will be in town in a few hours.” His voice still didn’t seem familiar to me, distorted by all the noise in the background. “I’m staying at the Fairfield by the mall. Can we have dinner together?”

  I surveyed my classroom and noticed several kids snickering. They undoubtedly thought I was talking to a boyfriend. Fifth graders were notorious for being matchmakers. “Listen, Jem. I’m in class right now and can’t talk. Call me back when you land here.”

  “Sorry. My internal clock is still on European time.” A loudspeaker muffled his next words. “—missed you, Em. I’ll call you back in a few hours.”

  I was rooted to the tiled floor. Had I suffered a stroke of sorts and dreamed the whole exchange? Jem, who had hightailed to Europe almost five years ago without so much as a good-bye, had just called me and asked me to dinner? What did that mean? Or did it mean anything at all?

  “Ms. Lambert, it’s almost time for dismissal.” The little red-haired girl was almost apologetic for interrupting my spaced-out state. Her voice brought me back to earth.

  “Sorry, kiddos. A surprising call, that’s all.” A few of them stole glances at each other. “Let’s put your writing journals away and pack your bags.”

  For the next hour, I almost forgot the unexpected call and focused on the job of dismissing a whole class of excited fifth graders and planning my lessons for the next day.

  My drive home left me too much time to dwell on what had happened though. What could he possibly want with me? When he left, literally overnight, he had also broken my heart into a million pieces. He may not have been aware of my feelings for him, but he knew we had been best friends since childhood. How could he just up and leave without saying anything at all? For the past few years there had been no calls, no messages, not even a Facebook post or a Tweet. It was like he was purposely avoiding any contact. I knew he was in Europe because his mom, blissfully unaware of our falling out, kept me up with his comings and goings—what little she herself knew about his life away from home.

  What had possibly possessed him to leave everything and everyone he knew and loved just like that? In my head, I had come up with all kinds of crazy scenarios. Deep down, I wanted him to have a great reason for what he did; I wanted to have a reason to forgive him. But no matter what I came up with, nothing seemed to justify his actions enough. In the end, I concluded that my best friend had followed some skirt—as he was known to do from time to time—and forsaken all others.

  By the time I parked my car in the garage, I was fuming. All the anger I had felt all those years ago had been regurgitated tenfold. How dare he stay away for this long, only to show up all of a sudden and ask me to dinner? And why was he not staying with his parents in Florida? Was he hiding from them, too?

  Heavy bag in tow, I walked up the stairs to my condo, stopping only to check my mailbox. Earlier that day I had planned to have an easy night—a cup of hot coffee in my pajamas, a book, and maybe a romantic movie before turning in. My boyfriend, Dave, was out of town and I had no wish to do anything that involved leaving the house. Now I was facing an awkward evening with the man who was once my best friend, the man I had fiercely loved for so long. What did he want after all this time? And why was my heart doing a little step dance inside my chest?

  Instead of changing into my co
mfortable clothes like I normally did, I refreshed my hair and makeup. My eyes, narrowed to slits, looked at my reflection without actually seeing it. In my mind, I was painting a picture of Jem as I’d seen him that last time, before I knew it was indeed the last time. His handsome, boyish face framed by a mass of blond, untamed curls had seemed a little withdrawn, sad even. I remembered asking him what was wrong and the shrug he had given me in response.

  We’d watched a movie that night, Say Anything, one of our favorites. Arguing about what John Cusack should or should not have done in the story was a longtime favorite activity for the two of us. I always thought he should have told her where to stick that pen of hers, and Jem insisted that she just needed to be reminded of how much she loved him. In the end, we both agreed it had to be one of the most romantic movies ever. After the movie, we had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, talking quietly so we wouldn’t disturb my sleeping parents. I was still living at home then, saving to get my own place. Jem had long left the nest, but his roommates were loud and nosy, so we spent most of our time at my parents’ house instead.

  “What’s wrong with you tonight?” I asked at one point, noticing the long silences and the wistful looks he kept throwing my way.

  “Nothing.” He was lying. I could always tell when he was lying; his eyes rolled a little upward, avoiding mine. “I just want to remember this moment.”

  I had smacked him across an arm playfully. “Stop being mushy. It makes me feel weird.” It made me feel hot inside and ready to do something I would possibly regret later.

  The next day he was gone. His mom and dad seemed to be at as much of a loss as I was.

  “He left most of his things behind, his roommates told us. Took only one suitcase and some money he had saved. Left us a note saying he would be gone for a while, but not to worry because everything was okay.”