The Beginning of Forever (Summer Unplugged Book 5)

  The Beginning of Forever

  Part 5 of the Summer Unplugged Series

  Amy Sparling

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is DRM-free. Please feel free to share it with friends and family and help spread the love of reading.

  Cover art from shutterstock.com

  Cover design by Amy Sparling

  First edition January 15th, 2015

  To my loyal, beautiful, crazy and perfect readers. I love each and every one of you.

  Special thanks goes to Kristina Staton, who helped me plan Jace and Bayleigh’s wedding. And thanks to Emily Smith and Madi Wells for making me smile every time I log into Twitter.

  Chapter 1

  There are few things more terrifying than thinking you might be pregnant at the age of eighteen. One of the things that makes that more terrifying list? The two minutes after you pee on a stick and watch it turn pink. My stomach crawled into my throat and I had to blink my eyes several times so I could see. Only my hands were so shaky I couldn’t focus on the stupid pee stick. It was pink. Faintly and then all at once it was very dark. Pink in three places.

  Of course I knew what three pink lines meant. I had read the package a dozen times before I even opened it and yet, I still had to check it again. I set the stick on the counter, briefly reminding myself to clean off the pee drips later, and grabbed the box to read the instructions again.

  Yep. It still said the same thing. Three lines - pregnant.

  Maybe this one is defective.

  “Babe? The suspense is killing me.” There was a tap on the other side of the bathroom door and then a thud of what sounded like Jace’s forehead resting against it.

  “Just a second,” I called back. My voice didn’t even sound like me. It felt like me, the real me, was somewhere far away watching the other me, the Bayleigh who is sitting on the toilet, yoga pants around her ankles, and thinking, “Wow, I’m glad I’m not her.”

  Only I am her. And this is my life now.

  Oh my God. Oh. My. God.

  Mom is gonna kill me.

  Mom. I’m going to be a mom.

  I try to swallow and I almost choke on my own spit. My vision blurs and I rush to stand and tug up my pants and smooth out my shirt and try to look normal. I wash my hands and toss the box into the trash can. The mirror above the sink shows a girl who is too pale, too scared, too...unprepared.

  “You alive in there?” He’s trying to sound all light hearted. I know he’s freaking out just as badly as I am, but he won’t show it. He never loses his cool around me.

  “Yeah,” I call back, staring at the door and trying to picture what he looks like on the other side of it. “I’m alive.”

  “Everything okay?” Those two words were a secret code. An encrypted message that actually meant so much more than just is everything okay. It meant, am I about to be a father?

  My reply was just as cryptic.

  “Yeah.”

  Chapter 2

  If there’s one thing I hate more than morning sickness, it’s shopping.

  Okay, maybe hate is a little too harsh for something that isn’t that big of a deal. Even though I’m a girl and girls are supposed to love shopping and all that, I’ve never been that much of a fan. Probably because Mom and I never had any money when I was growing up, so shopping was always a lackluster event that left me pining for beautiful things that we would never be able to take home.

  I am eighteen years old now and recently moved out of my mom’s house and into an apartment with my boyfriend–er, I mean fiancé–Jace. (It’s still really weird calling him that. We’ve only been engaged for a month and I’ve only had my engagement ring for two weeks because he had it custom designed and that took forever.) Anyway, back to shopping. Things have changed a ton in the last few months of my life. Now, I no longer have to worry about money when I go shopping. Nope. I have a shiny clear plastic debit card with my name on it.

  Only I still can’t seem to use it without getting this instant knot in my stomach because, despite what Jace constantly tells me, the money in our joint bank account is not mine. It’s all Jace’s money. Every last digital penny. He earned it at his job or by winning some motocross race, or by attending fancy motocross events that pay him around five grand a night just to show up and mingle. And the fact that he claims it’s my money too just because I’m going to marry him in a few months, doesn’t really make the money feel like mine. I didn’t do anything to earn it.

  Of course last time I said something like that was a few weeks ago when we were hanging out in our apartment watching television. I was sprawled out across the couch with my head in his lap because usually when I do that, he’ll absentmindedly play with my hair while he watches sports and I am a total sucker for having my hair petted like I’m some kind of housecat.

  A commercial came on and it was advertising these stupid As Seen on TV blankets that lit up and had furry animal faces on them. It was one of the most useless household items ever, but the pink bunny one just spoke to me.

  “Oh my God, I neeeeeed one,” I had said in a sing-song voice. Jace stopped stroking my hair as he leaned forward and took his wallet out of his back pocket. “Do you have your phone?” he asked, pointing toward the TV. “It says you can order online.”

  “Psh, I’m not going to order one,” I said. “I don’t really need it, it’s just cute.”

  “You need it,” he said, digging through his wallet and retrieving a debit card. This was a few days before he had requested a second debit card with my name on it. “You’d look adorable all wrapped up in that thing.”

  I shook my head against his lap. “I don’t want you paying for it.”

  “Not this again,” he said, poking me in the forehead. I swatted his hand away, but he poked me again just to be annoying.

  “I’m grateful that you want to buy me stuff, but I didn’t earn any of that money. I don’t feel right spending it.”

  “Get over it, Bay.” His phone was suddenly in his hand and he squinted at the TV and then typed in a url into the web browser. “I’m buying this damn blanket and you’re going to love it.”

  I groaned. “I don’t want you to waste money on crap just because I want it,” I said. “You already pay all of our bills. It’s just not fair.”

  He frowns. “I wish you wouldn’t see things that way. You are going to be my wife. What’s mine is yours.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “And what’s mine is yours,” I said, grabbing his hand.

  “Well that’s good, because this morning I used your shampoo because mine was all out.”

  “I thought you smelled a little girly today.” He rolled his eyes and I stuck out my tongue and the moment was over, changed and forgotten.

  Money is hardly the issue about my shopping woes today. Nope. Money doesn’t have anything to do with it. I swallow back a mountain of anxiety as I climb out of my car and step forward. The building in front of me is one that I’ve seen a million times just passing by, and honestly, I never thought I’d ever visit a place like this. And, even if in my wildest dreams I had imagined I’d be in a place like this, it would have been with my best friend. As my terrible luck would have it, Becca got called into work for some emergency BMX thing and had to cancel on me at the last minute. I know she loves her job and I know her boss relies on her to keep things running smoothly at C&C BMX track, so I just suck it up and try to deal. I
won’t let my disappointment sour my day. Becca feels bad enough already, and it really wasn’t her fault. Besides, I tell myself- I am a big girl. I can do this.

  Butterflies flip around in my stomach and I briefly wonder how there’s even room in there for butterflies since, well, a baby is also growing in my body. But when it comes to emotional turmoil, I guess there’s always room. I take a deep breath and tell myself to calm down.

  Sure, I am about to purchase something I’ll only use once in my life and it will cost more money than I’ve ever spent at one time, but when you break it down to its barest form–it’s just shopping.

  Wedding dress shopping.

  I take a deep breath and grab the silver ornate handle of Elizabeth’s Bridal and enter.

  A tall woman with wavy red hair greets me when I walk into the boutique. She wears a slender pencil skirt and black pumps that would surely break my neck if I wore them, but she glides effortlessly across the carpeted floor, extending a hand toward me.

  “Welcome to Elizabeth’s Bridal. I am Mackenzie. You must be my three o’clock,” she croons. “Bayleigh?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I say. She isn’t that much older than I am, but this seems like the kind of store in which you call women ma’am. The carpet is white, the walls are white with pearly patterned wallpaper, the furniture is white and all of it just screams luxury and class and fancy-rich-people. I am a little, okay a lot, over my head here. The entirety of my experience in dress shopping lies at the prom stores in the mall. But I stand up straight and press my shoulders back and act like I am not a terrified teenager who really really wishes I hadn’t come here alone.

  Mackenzie pulls up my information on her computer and readies a pearly white folder with my name on it. She says we’ll put all of my measurements and information in there, but I’m barely listening. All I can do is think about how all of this would be much easier with my best friend by my side. Maybe I should reschedule for another day.

  The door opens again and I turn around expecting to see another bride-to-be coming to pick out her perfect wedding dress, but it is so much better than that.

  “Bay!” My smiling best friend waves and rushes over to me, wearing a lime green BMX shirt. My heart erupts into joy at seeing her here. She throws her arms around me and I’m such a dork I think I jump up and down a little.

  “How did you get out of work?” I ask. Becca smirks, putting her hands on her hips. “I told my boss to shove it.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  She shrugs. “Okay, maybe I didn’t. But I did beg and beg and beg until he got sick of me and said I could leave.”

  “You’re the best.”

  She brushes her brown hair over her shoulder and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “Girl, I know it.”

  Mackenzie is unfailingly patient with us as she pulls dress after dress off the racks and presents them to me for consideration. After half an hour, we have chosen seven dresses to be added to the try-on pile and rejected another two dozen. Or maybe it was three dozen. For all I know, time has frozen in this bridal shop and the world is nothing but white silk and lace and ruffles and veils.

  Mackenzie has me slip into a fitting room that’s as big as my bedroom back at Mom’s house and then she and two of her assistants take turns violating my privacy as they slip me into the first dress, poking and pushing all my parts until the sleeveless bodice gets laced up the back and sucks in my stomach, making my boobs look huge.

  I yell at Becca to close her eyes as we emerge from the fitting room, both because I want it to be a surprise for her, but I’m also just mega nervous to be seen in a wedding dress by someone who actually knows me. She does as she’s told, covering her eyes with her hands and Mackenzie leads me to a circular podium in the middle of an array of mirrors. I step up onto it and immediately feel like a princess as I stare at the five reflections of me in the angled mirrors.

  “You can open your eyes,” I tell Becca. “But no laughing!”

  “Why would I laugh?” she says, but even with my warning glare, she bursts into giggles when she sees me for the first time. I put my hands on my hips and purse my lips. “Sorry,” she says, “I don’t mean to laugh, I just–” She stands and gnaws on her bottom lip. “You just look really awesome. And this is crazy. You’re getting married, Bay.”

  “It’s not crazy it’s…”

  “It’s love,” Makenzie supplies the missing word for me. I’m sure she’s just saying that because it’s her job to make the clients happy and besides, she has a big commission riding on me buying of her dresses today. So of course she’s going to say things to make sure I don’t ditch on getting married, but her words still bring me comfort. Jace and I don’t have a typical teenager relationship and we never have. Maybe that’s what makes us special.

  I drop my hands from my hips and splay them out in front of the satin dress. “What do we think of this one?”

  “It’s nice,” Becca says, walking around me to get the full effect. “But it’s a little….”

  “It’s too blah,” I say, nodding. “Plus I don’t think I want a strapless dress. I’m already freaking out that my boobs will fly out of this thing and we’re not even in public.”

  We try on a few more dresses, and when I say we, I mean we. Just because I’m wearing the dress doesn’t mean it’s a solitary affair. The boutique women have to help me into and out of every single dress. It’s like these things were created to be worn with an entourage.

  A little while later, I’m standing in front of the mirrors again, wearing a dress with lace sleeves that go down to my wrists and feeling like an old lady. “I’m sorry I’m being so difficult, but I’m just not sure I like any of these,” I tell Mackenzie. She swats away my words with her hand. “No worries, hun. You are not being difficult at all. You should see some of the women who come in here.” She glances at her assistants and they both animatedly agree. “Would you like to look around some more and find a dress that speaks to you?”

  I nod but it looks more like a shrug. Honestly, I’m kind of over trying on wedding dresses. At what point is this supposed to be fun?

  Becca must sense my frustration because she says, “Picture your perfect dress and describe it to me and I’ll go find it.”

  I close my eyes for a second and try to think. “Well, I don’t want it to be sleeveless but I also don’t want sleeves. And this satin fabric reminds me of prom dresses and I want my dress to be an elegant gown, you know? Not just silky smooth like a prom dress.” My eyes open and I look into the mirror again. “And, I don’t know...maybe some kind of sparkle?”

  “Got it!” Becca’s voice came from across the room. I hadn’t even noticed that she had left her spot by the mirrors until she comes rushing up carrying a dress over her arms. Her cheeks are flushed in excitement as she holds out the dress toward me. “It’s your size. Try it on!”

  Her enthusiasm is contagious and I trust her with my life, so of course I’ll trust her with a dress. I don’t even look at it longer than a split second before I hand it to Mackenzie and rush back into the massive fitting room and start stripping out of the long sleeved old lady dress.

  This dress is so much quicker to get into. It’s simple and sleek. It has a silk lining and a lace overlay that drapes to the floor. It doesn’t exactly have sleeves, so much as delicate lace triangles that cover my shoulders and keep the dress supported so I don’t have to worry about having wardrobe malfunctions as I walk down the aisle.

  And then there’s the best part. The sparkle.

  Tiny shimmery beads embellish the dress from head to toe. It sparkles and swooshes around my ankles and fits like a dream. I am in love with the most handsome man ever and this is the most beautiful dress in the world. Both of these were meant to be mine.

  “I’m thinking you won’t be trying on any more dresses today,” Mackenzie says with a coy smile.

  I smile and push open the fabric curtain of the dressing room, eager to show Becca. “I’m thinking the same
thing.”

  Chapter 3

  All of that dress shopping must have worn me out because at some point I wake up on the couch. Checking the time on my phone, I realize it’s only six in the afternoon and I must have dozed off while watching TV. Jace hadn’t been home when I got back because he was teaching a private motocross lesson with a client. But that was probably for the best because I would have been a hyperactive maniac, filled with excitement over my dress. Sometimes, when I get that way, all super excited and gushing about something girly, I’ll immediately feel embarrassed as hell when I realize how childish I’d been acting. And now more than ever, I need to act mature.

  I stretch and yawn from my spot on the couch and that’s when the smell hits me. Jace is in the kitchen and he’s cooking my favorite dinner, which is actually breakfast food. Maple flavored bacon sizzles in the frying pan and the faint scent of scrambled eggs topped with cheese fills the air. On any other day, the incredibly generous act of cooking my favorite food mixed with the delicious aroma would have made me one happy girl.

  Today, though, it makes me throw up.

  Jace calls after me, asking if I’m okay as I barrel down the hallway and into the bathroom, just barely making it in time to avoid spewing Diet Coke and lunch all over the place. The vomiting doesn’t last very long, but my eyes fill with tears. Jace taps on the door. “You okay? Can I come in?”

  “No!” I call out, slamming my hand to the back of the bathroom door to prevent him from slipping in uninvited. I twist the lock on the door for good measure and then turn on the water in the sink to brush my teeth. “I’m okay,” I say.

  “I’m getting tired of talking to you through bathroom doors,” Jace mutters.

  “Then stop doing it and go back to the kitchen.” I don’t mean for my voice to sound so bitchy, but I’d really really like it if he would just leave. I only like Jace seeing me when I’m cute. Brushing out the vomit stank from my mouth is decidedly not cute.