Forever Kinda Love

Chapter 1

Ace

Heartbreak.

They say it's the worst kind of death, because the pain has a way of leaching everything out of you.

Hope.

Fear.

Love.

Everything.

But that's not the worst of it. No, the cruelty lies in watching someone you love beaten down, one layer at a time, until there's nothing left of them but a shell. I know. I've watched my loving father become a heartbroken machine since Mom died.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a tortured second before I push harder, pouring every single ounce of willpower into propelling me forward, focusing on my speed, the target ahead, and nothing else.

My lungs are burning—my body went numb a mile back—but I don't mind, because this is what I need, what I want. My breathing comes in uncontrolled gasps as my legs work hard, pushing beyond my exhaustion.

I pause at the top of the hill, looking down over the ocean, taking in the breathtaking view of early morning in Pine Cove, Georgia. Mom and I had spent countless hours here every Sunday.

But not anymore. Now, she lives in my memories. Memories tainted by the horrific images of her final moments.

I bend over, resting my elbows on my knees, taking a minute to breathe. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm and straighten. The sun rises over the horizon, a layer of soft orange streaking across the sky.

Checking the time, I descend down the hill and hear a familiar voice call out:

"Hey!"

A wide smile—the kind that would scare even the crazy cat-lady—plays across my face, and butterflies dance in the pit of my stomach. I turn around slowly, schooling my features into a non-crazy grin.

Heath jogs down the coastline, kicking up sand behind him. Dimples break out at the corners of his smile, and I'm pretty sure I'm daydreaming. He's beautiful—not the boy-next-door kind, but a perfect mixture of charm and muscle that'd make every girl at our school shiver. The kind of guy I'd want to marry, if he wasn't my best friend, that is.

His hair seems darker than usual and is an unkempt mess—just the way I like it.

"Hey," he says again, breathlessly, coming to a stop before me and taking a sip of water from the bottle in his hand.

He walks past me, stretching his arms over his chest, hugging himself. He pivots, turning toward me before he flops on the sand, his legs extended to the sides, his hands reaching for me. I mimic him, taking his hands into mine and setting my feet against his. I pull him toward me, helping him stretch.

"So, I heard a little rumor." His voice is steady and in control, even though his nose is inches from the sand.

"Yeah?" I grunt when he pulls me toward him. "Like what? Wait, don't tell me
. . . they now have Spiderman lacrosse sticks?"

He chuckles in a deep, groggy tone. "Something like that."

I look up through my lashes, eyeing him curiously.

He lets go of my hands, jumping up, a wide smile etching across his face. He pulls his long-sleeved outer shirt over his head, revealing a form-fitted, neon-green tank.

"Was your plan when you bought that shirt to blind anyone that looks at you?" I tease, seeing spots from staring at the bright fabric.

"Admit it, you can't take your eyes off me," he says, taking off in a jog, tucking the long-sleeved shirt into the right hip of his pants.