Page 23 of When Forever Comes

West grabs Brad by the collar and tugs him forward, mumbling something that I can’t make out before he shoves him in the chest and says, “Out.”

Brad backs away slowly, hands in the air as if he’s surrendering. Once he’s in the hallway, he puts his hands down. West walks to the door and I follow him, feeling a satisfied smile stretch across my lips as security surrounds Brad and escorts him out of the building.

“Assault, explain,” I demand before West even turns back to face me.

His shoulders slump and he cups the back of his neck with both hands and turns. We go back into the conference room and I shut the door. West paces back and forth, his hands still gripping his neck.

He stops and faces me, but he looks past me. “It was two months into my freshman year and I was invited to my very first party. I spent most of the night on my own, only talking to people when they came over to me.” Despite the seriousness of the moment, he gives me a wolfish grin. “You might remember this about me, but I wasn’t much of a talker back then.”

I bite my lip, attempting not to smile.

“Well, at one point, I wandered into the kitchen for another soda. Clint Denver, the town golden boy, didn’t notice me in there. He poured a small packet of powder into a drink. I didn’t want to get involved, but when I saw him hand it to a girl and wrap his arm around her waist, I couldn’t sit idly by. So, I confronted him. He punched me in the jaw. I stumbled back and when he lunged for me again, I landed the next punch and broke his nose. There weren’t many witnesses, but they were all his friends and they told the police I attacked him first. So, they charged me with assault. Being a minor, and it being my first offense, I only had to do community service.” He rubs the scruff on his jaw.

“Is that why you moved to Emerald Springs?”

“Yes and no. Mom had her eye on Emerald Springs for a while, and since she and Dad worked remotely, we could up and move at the drop of a hat. Once I served my community service hours, we moved to Emerald Springs.”

“Twice you’ve been uprooted because of things you’re not guilty of.”

West shrugs, the defeat on his face quickly replaced with something else. “Who knows? If I didn’t go through that in Chicago, we never would have moved to Emerald Springs, and I never would have met you.”

West places his hands on my shoulders. I look up at him and a powerful emotion overwhelms me. My memories of him didn’t do him justice. I forgot how fiercely protective he is. Warmth and light and everything good fills my heart until it overflows.

“Everything happens for a reason,” he says.

“You, of all people, would know that,” I say. “For the last ten years, you’ve believed you killed Mr. Fields. Why didn’t you fight to stay? Why didn’t you wait for the final report?”

“I had convinced myself it was my fault. When I told my parents, they immediately called every attorney on the island. Every one of them refused to represent me after learning about my record. Someone from the station showed up with a letter signed by your dad and sealed by the mayor stating that if I left Emerald Springs and never showed my face again, they wouldn’t press charges.”

My brow furrows. “What? My dad would never do something like that.”

West swallows. “It was his signature.”

“And you changed your numbers so no one could have reached you to tell you it wasn’t your fault. That there wouldn’t be any charges.” Anger brews at this new knowledge. I can’t believe my dad would do something like that. I make a mental note to confront him the next time we talk.

“Are you upset?” I ask. West doesn’t answer. He only looks at me thoughtfully and it reminds me of our first weeks as friends. He was so quiet. When he stays silent, I clarify, “That you’ve been living with guilt for something you didn’t even do?”

“I want to say no. I know God had a plan for all of this. He always does. But I am a little irritated that it took ten years for my conscience to be clear of a murder.”

“I didn’t even know you were at the admin building that weekend.”

West looks down, looking ashamed.

“I didn’t think you were struggling with school. So why were you there?” I ask.

“Mr. Henderson was helping me work through some things.”

He stops talking, so I don’t push him. After a few minutes of silence, he goes on.

“I had — still have — pretty bad anxiety.”

“Really?” I know anxiety manifests itself differently depending on the person, but West never showed any signs that I was aware of.

“Mr. Henderson really helped me. He used to burn a vanilla lavender candle during our sessions.” West smirks and I realize why. “Being with you calmed me and you always smelled like vanilla lavender.”

I inhale a shaky breath. "I’m so sorry you went through that. If I knew you ran because you thought the fire was your fault, I would have done everything I could to track you down. So you would have known the truth.” The unfairness of it all weighs on me. I don’t realize I’m crying until West wipes my tears away before he pulls me into his arms.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Not for me.”

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