Only One Forever, page 1
Only One Forever
Natasha Madison
Contents
Stone Family Tree
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
Southern Wedding Series
Books By Natasha Madison
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Stone Family Tree
SOMETHING SO, THIS IS AND ONLY ONE FAMILY TREE!
* * *
Hockey Series
SOMETHING SO SERIES
* * *
Something So Right
Parker & Cooper Stone
Matthew Grant (Something So Perfect)
Allison Grant (Something So Irresistible)
Zara Stone (This Is Crazy)
Zoe Stone (This Is Wild)
Justin Stone (This Is Forever)
* * *
Something So Perfect
Matthew Grant & Karrie Cooley
Cooper Grant (Only One Regret)
Frances Grant (Only One Love)
Vivienne Grant
Chase Grant
* * *
Something So Irresistible
Allison Grant & Max Horton
Michael Horton (Only One Mistake)
Alexandria Horton
* * *
Something So Unscripted
Denise Horton & Zack Morrow
Jack Morrow
Joshua Morrow
Elizabeth Morrow
* * *
THIS IS SERIES
This Is Crazy
Zara Stone & Evan Richards
Zoey Richards
* * *
This Is Wild
Zoe Stone & Viktor Petrov
Matthew Petrov
Zara Petrov
* * *
This Is Love
Vivienne Paradis & Mark Dimitris
Karrie Dimitris
Stefano Dimitris
Angelica Dimitris
* * *
This Is Forever
Caroline Woods & Justin Stone
Dylan Stone (Formally Woods)
Christopher Stone
Gabriella Stone
Abigail Stone
* * *
ONLY ONE SERIES
* * *
Only One Kiss
Candace Richards & Ralph Weber
Ariella Weber
Brookes Weber
* * *
Only One Chance
Layla Paterson & Miller Adams
Clarke Adams
* * *
Only One Night
Evelyn & Manning Stevenson
Jaxon Stevenson
Victoria Stevenson
* * *
Only One Touch
Becca & Nico Harrison
Phoenix Harrison
Dallas Harrison
* * *
Only One Regret
Erika Markinson & Cooper Grant
Emma Grant
Mia Grant
Parker Grant
Matthew Grant
* * *
Only One Mistake
Jillian & Michael Horton
Jamieson Horton
Only One Love
Frances Grant & Brad Wilson
Only One Forever
Dylan Stone & Alex Horton
Copyright © 2022 Natasha Madison. E-Book and Print Edition
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* * *
Only One Forever
Dylan
My dreams came true when I was adopted at ten.
I was the best on the ice. Living the life of what every kid dreams of.
We’ve been best friends since then. Even when she was the annoying little sister following us around.
I would do anything for her.
It is another family vacation; except this time it feels different. Everything feels different.
* * *
Alex
All my memories have Dylan in them. From the first time I fell off my bike, to the time I got my heart broken for the first time.
He’s always been my protector, but it’s time to let the dream of being his go.
One last family trip, one last goodbye.
Except fate steps in and has other plans.
At the end of the day, you only get one forever.
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Chapter 1
Dylan
I sit on the bench, catching my breath after my last shift on the ice, but my eyes never leave the puck. We’re all exhausted—triple overtime with over one hundred minutes on the ice—but our back is to the wall. If we lose this game, we are out of the playoffs. My whole body feels like it’s one big ball of nerves. There is so much I want to do on the ice, but I can’t do anything. The roar of twenty-two thousand people makes it almost deafening, the white towels flinging into the air as they chant, ole ole ole ole.
The first round in the playoffs is interesting, to say the least. Everyone wants to win the games, but what no one points out is playoff hockey is on a whole other level. You can’t just go out there and play like it’s just another game because it’s not. Everyone is ready to battle to hoist that Stanley Cup over their head. It’s every single player’s dream.
I can see the play happen in my head before it plays out right in front of my eyes. The trip-up in the neutral zone. The tape-to-tape pass, and then the defenseman is sliding in front of the shot and taking it to the net. It’s almost like in slow motion as the puck flies over my goalie. The red light behind the goal illuminates, and all I can do is look down at my skates. The echoing of my heartbeats in my chest as the bench beside me empties, and all I can do is look down the ice at the other team celebrating. “Motherfucker,” I say, defeated, and then the feeling of anger fills me. Every fucking year it’s the same fucking thing. I also know that there is at least one camera that is pointed at me, waiting for my reaction.
Someone slaps my shoulder, and I throw my legs over the bench to get up and skate on the ice toward the goalie. Putting my helmet to his. “Nothing you can do, buddy. We let you down,” I say even though, if truth be told, everyone is to blame with this one. Up by three and the lead gets blown again for the second game in a row. Losing in your building has to be the worst feeling that you can ever have. The boos sound, the brooms being thrown on the ice because we just got swept by the last-place team. The. Last. Place. Team.
I skate to the middle of the ice as we line up to congratulate the other team. I don’t even know what is being said because all I can hear in my head is what the announcer is going to say.
Montreal blows another lead to be swept in the playoffs. For yet another year.
I skate to the middle of the ice for the last time this season and hold up my stick to thank the fans for coming. At the same time, I silently tell them I’m sorry for letting them down. Skating back to the bench, I walk back into our locker room. No one says anything as they sit down and undress. So much is going through my mind on my end, but the only thing that sticks out is disappointment in myself. In my game. In my team. In fucking everything.
“Dylan,” the coach says, and my head lifts up to look at him. “You’re up for interviews.”
I shake my head, knowing the shitstorm that will come my way. I slip out of my gear, grabbing my sport shorts and a T-shirt. “I’m not going out there alone.” I look at the coach. “If I do, I’m not going to be diplomatic about anything, and I’ll take one question.”
I think he can see from my demeanor and my tone that I’m not fucking around, not tonight. He just nods at me. “Leo ,” he calls my assistant captain, who looks like he was crying. “Get out there with him.”
“Why the fuck do we have to give interviews after losing a series?” He stands up, asking exactly what I was thinking. “Like what can we possibly say?” He puts on his shorts and a hoodie, putting the hood up. “Does this say don’t fuck with me?” he asks me as we walk toward the press room.
I shake my head, and a soft smile comes out. “Definitely looks thug life.” I turn and walk into the press room. The long table has a black tablecloth over it with the backdrop of “Stanley Cup Playoffs” all over it, mocking me.
Ten reporters are sitting there. Some are with notepads but most with their phone in their hand as they wait for us. I don’t make any eye contact as I sit in the chair next to Leo.
The first question is for me. “Dylan,” the guy says, and I put one elbow on the table while one holds my chin. “I don’t know how to ask this,” he says, and I’m already irritated. “What happened? You had full control of the whole game, and you guys lose it in the last minute of the third period.”
Wow, I think to myself. I rub my playoff beard and try not to roll my eyes. “Um.” I fold my arms in front of me. “Lots went wrong. We were in a good spot, being up three to one. They won the power play every time, and we had trouble with the power kill. It gave them the lifeline they needed, and at the end of the day, the better team won.” I shrug. There is nothing else I can say. There is a fuck ton I’m thinking, but nothing I’m going to say out loud, especially not to reporters.
I’ve been here before. It’s been the same story for the past seven fucking years. And every single year, I hope it’s different. I hope that whatever fucking monkey is on the team is thrown off.
The next question is for Leo, and he does the same thing as me. Scratching his face, he looks at the reporter. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says. “I don’t know. We needed to be better, and we weren’t.”
“Dylan, the playoffs can be brutal. It seems that every year you come up empty-handed, even though you were the leading scorer of the whole season. Actually, for the past five years the two of you were either one and two. How frustrating is it?”
“Yeah,” I say, and although I want to tell them to fuck off, I can hear my father in my head and also my grandfather. Whatever you do, never ever let them know they got to you. I swallow. “Obviously, it’s unfortunate. It’s something we have to take in and sit down over the next couple of days and discuss what we can do going forward.” I look at the reporters and then look over at Leo. “It’s one thing to be the top scorer in the league. It’s another thing to play in the playoffs. It’s the best of seven games, and no matter how many times you ask me or Leo or anyone else on the team, we lost, period. There is no right or wrong way to say it. The other team was better.” My tone never goes up or down. “They won. We lost. You can spin the questions, and you can change the words, but that is the only answer we have.” I tap my finger on the table. “It’s been a long night, guys.” I get up, and Leo follows my moves. “I’m sure we don’t have the answers to all the questions you have. At the end of the night, we lost. Tomorrow is a new day, and I’m sure there will be more questions.” I tuck my chair in. “So let’s get some rest, and we can answer all the questions in the next couple of days.” I look over at Leo. “Night, boys,” I say, and we walk out of the room.
“I don’t know why they can’t just take us outside and kick us in the balls,” Leo says, and I slap his shoulder.
“That would be too easy,” I reply and can hear music coming from the small locker room where Edmonton is partying. “It sucks to lose,” I observe, walking back to our lockers. “It sucks even more when you lose in your own house.” I slap his shoulder and squeeze it. “It is always a pleasure playing with you,” I say, and he just nods at me. I’m sure he wants to ask me what I mean, and I have to admit that all I need to do is get out of here before I say something I’ll regret. I walk back into the room and can hear the other team celebrating as I grab my wallet, phone, and keys. Leo looks at me and nods as I walk out, not saying anything to anyone.
I get into the car, and it takes me fifteen minutes to get out of the parking lot of the arena and in front of my driveway. The phone in my hand pings every five seconds, but I don’t even have the energy to answer anyone. The phone rings in my hand, and I walk up the first two steps. I stop on the third step when I see the brown bag in front of my door with the M logo on it.
My heart speeds up in my chest while I grab the bag and walk into the empty house. Every single light is off, and the silence is almost deafening. I bring the bag up to my bedroom, the phone beeping in my hand yet again.
I look down and see that I have over fifty text messages, no doubt from my family, but the one from Alex is on the top. Alexandra, the spitfire, and also my best friend. I mean, when she’s not telling me to fuck off, which lately has been happening more and more.
Alex: Sorry I can’t be there with you. But enjoy my Big Mac for me. Just like old times.
I laugh, thinking about how every single time I’ve lost in the playoffs, she’s been there waiting for me. The ping in my chest starts as I think about how she is usually here when I need her. We would come back to my house, but there would be nothing open except McDonald’s, so we would order Big Macs and after five bites, then she would tell me how disgusting she felt eating it. I would proceed to finish hers and mine. But she’s moving into her new house tomorrow, and I know it’s selfish for me to expect her to drop everything for me.
Instead of texting her back, I get in the shower and finish the two Big Macs before I power down my phone. I lie in the middle of my bed, looking up at the ceiling in the dark, and thinking about what the fuck I’m going to do next.
Chapter 2
Alex
“This is the last box,” my father says, walking into the kitchen with the box in his hand.
“That is for my bedroom.” I smile at him. “You can leave it on the counter.” I look over my shoulder at him. “I’ll take it up later.”
“Yeah, right,” he huffs out, turning and walking toward the staircase. His big six-foot-four frame heads up the stairs with the box in his hands.
I hear laughing behind me and look over at my cousins, Franny and Vivienne. “What?” I ask them.
“You knew damn straight that he wasn’t going to let you carry that box upstairs,” Franny points out, shaking her head and washing her hands. The two of them have been over helping me unpack since nine this morning.
“I told him I hired movers.” I smirk. “He was the one who puffed out his chest and said he could do all the work.” I hold my hands in front of me.
“I come bearing gifts.” Erika, my cousin Cooper’s wife, walks into the room with three massive pizza boxes in her hands.
“Good,” Vivienne says. “I’m starving.”
I smile when Franny goes to one of the cupboards and takes out paper plates; she should know where most of the stuff is since I bought the house from her. She didn’t want to take my money from me, and then my father called her, and she told him no also. But I refused to take it from her, so I’m renting to own it, and it’s the second most grown-up thing I’ve done in my life. The first being I decided to finally make Dallas my full-time home instead of living out of New York.
