Rogan walks up beside me and gently tugs the letters from my hands before I can read any more. “You’re not walking.”

He heads toward the front door and turns off the lights, casting the ballroom in shades of gray, reminding me of all the dimly lit nights we spent in this very room, all the nights we warmed it with our love.

“Come on.” He beckons before slipping on his black jacket. I glance up at him, a shadow of the man I used to know looking back at me. Where did he go? Where is my beautiful, sweet, affectionate Rogan? And why do I care?

I follow him out of the house and to his sleek black BMW SUV, parked in the same spot where his truck used to sit. Still showing a bit of gentlemanly behavior, he opens the door for me and waits for me to settle in before shutting it. He places the letters on the seat behind him and then climbs into the driver’s side. The car comes to life, the motor a sweet purr compared to the clunky rattle of his old truck.

Right now, I prefer the old truck; it contained far less tension.

“Where’s your car?”

I look out the window. “Snow Roast.”

“Okay.” He puts the SUV into drive and pulls out of the driveway, my eyes trained on Snow Vale Manor until it’s out of view. Another tear slips down my cheek, and this time I leave it there, letting my sorrow sink in.

In minutes, we are in front of Snow Roast, and Rogan is putting the car in park. I reach for the door handle when he stops me with a hand to my leg. “Wait.”

I turn toward him, and that’s when he sees my tears. His eyes soften, and for a brief second I glimpse the old Rogan in those Knightly blue eyes. With the pad of his thumb, he wipes my cheek and slowly lowers his hand.

“I’m sorry, Harper.”

“For what?” I ask, my throat tight.

“Everything.” For a few silent moments we stare at each other. I wait for him to elaborate, while he looks like he’s trying to gain the courage to do so.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches behind him and opens up the leather folder he was carrying around at the manor. Retrieving a pamphlet, he holds it out to me. “Here is a list of my properties Lovemark can use. The Harbor Walk House is on there.”

MFG Realty is emblazoned in bold at the top. What does MFG stand for? I scan the properties, my eyes widening and my heart thudding with each address I read.

Harbor Walk House.

Snow Vale Manor.

Peach Tree Terrace.

The Inn at the Sea.

“These . . .” I swallow hard. “These are all the places I’ve dreamed of living in, all the houses I’ve talked to you about.”

He scratches the side of his jaw and stares out the windshield. “They were good investments.” He clears his throat. “Let me know if Lovemark wants to use any of them. I’ll be the point of contact, so they’ll have to work closely with me when in use.”

They’ll have to work closely with him? Which means I’m going to have to work closely with him. But I can’t think about that now, not with the name of the realty company staring up at me.

“What does MFG stand for, Rogan?”

Uncomfortably, he looks at his watch. “I have a meeting to get to. My information is on the card attached to the pamphlet. Call me when they make their decision. I’ll be sure to hold open filming dates.”

“What does it stand for?”

He doesn’t answer; instead he puts the gear in drive and continues to stare out the window, his hand casually covering his mouth.

Heart pounding in my chest, my nerves dancing in my stomach, I take a chance. “Does it mean . . . My Forever Girl?”

He pushes his hand through his hair and clears his throat. “I’ve got to go, Harper. Please leave.”

And that’s all the answer I need.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief second before gathering my things and stepping out of the car. Just as I shut the door, I hear a faint mumble come from Rogan. “Fuck.” And then he pulls onto the street, leaving me more confused and heartbroken than ever.

CHAPTER TWENTY

HARPER

Freshman Year, Syracuse University

“And then . . . my boob popped out.”

“No it didn’t!” Claire shouts above the cheering crowd. “Are you serious?”

I nod, sort of embarrassed, sort of proud. “Yup, boob right out there in the open, jiggling with my dance moves for all to see.”

Griffin chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “If I know my brother like I think I do, I’m going to guess he wasn’t happy at all.”

“Not even a little.” I smile, remembering Rogan’s face a few weeks ago after that fateful Halloween. “Oh boy, was he mad. He pulled me off that bar as quickly as he could, but hey, I won a thousand dollars—so that’s something.”

“I hope you bought some bras with it,” Claire says, mirth in her voice.

“I might have gotten a little something to wear so I can make it up to Rogan.”

Claire nudges me. “Smart girl.”

Claire and Griffin drove down to Syracuse early this morning and arrived right before Rogan’s game. A few days ago, Griffin proposed to Claire, so we’re having a celebratory dinner after the game. I could not be happier for the two. They’re like the brother and sister I never had, have always been a constant in my life and a sounding board when I need them. To see them move on to the next step in their lives . . . it makes me so happy. Plus the ring Griffin got Claire—I have no idea how he could have afforded it, but it’s beyond beautiful.

“I’m so glad you two could take time off this weekend. I think Rogan really needs some family right now. His schedule has been stressful, to say the least.”

“He sounded tired on the phone,” Griffin says just as the crowd roars. Syracuse is down, there’s only a handful of seconds left on the clock, and Rogan—number thirty-six—stands on the sidelines, only playing a few minutes the entire game. But the yards he’s run and the passes he’s caught have been game changing—literally. I don’t know why the coach doesn’t play him more.

“He’s stretched thin, with school and training and trying to set aside time for me.” I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear. “I told him he doesn’t need to, but he refuses to let a day go by when we don’t see each other, even if it’s ten minutes.”

“You probably recharge him,” Griffin says. “At least I know that’s how it is with Claire after a long day at the fire station and the Landing.”

“Sometimes he just needs a hug, and he’s good.” Claire gives Griffin’s arm an affectionate squeeze, her engagement ring glinting on her hand.

“That’s how Rogan is,” I answer. “But I still feel bad. He looks worn out every time I see him at night.”

“He’ll get used to it. Being a student-athlete is never easy, but it’ll get more natural as time goes on. He just has to hit his stride. Don’t worry about him.” Griffin winks at me just as Rogan’s name is called out.

We all focus in on the field; he’s sprinting toward the end zone. When was he put in the game? I jump up and down, cheering him on, my hands clapping, my voice going hoarse from the chilly night air.

Touchdown!

The band starts up, the student section goes crazy, and Rogan’s teammates pile on top of him just as the scoreboard flashes the end of the game. Syracuse wins, just like that, thanks to my guy. I could not be more proud.

“He’s going places,” Claire shouts. “Mark my words, he’s headed for the pro field.”

“He is.” Griffin grins, squeezing Claire close to his side. “And when he’s receiving touchdown passes from Peyton Manning, I’ll be on the sidelines taking credit for all those hours I spent tossing him footballs.”

“Uh . . . what about me?” I ask, pointing to my chest. “I do believe I had something to do with it. My arm was basically a noodle after all the passes I threw him on the beach during high school.”

“You barely challenged him,” Griffin playfully answers.

“Hey.” I stick up my chin. “My passes were inaccurate and always a mystery. I continuously kept him guessing. What better training could you want?”

Claire pats Griffin’s chest. “She has you there.”

“Damn, I think you’re right.”

“Come on.” I nod toward the exit. “Let’s go meet up with him in the players’ parking lot.”

“There she is!” Rogan shouts, jogging up to me. He picks me up and spins me around. “My forever girl.”

Giggling, I link my arms behind his neck and plant a kiss on his lips. “Hey, stud. You looked good out there.”

“Yeah?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Coach pulled me into his office after I showered and told me I earned myself a starting spot after tonight’s game.”

“Oh my God, really?” He nods. Momentarily forgetting that Griffin and Claire are standing right next to us, I wrap my legs around his waist, then bury my hands in his damp hair and kiss him, my tongue dancing across his lips.

“Uh . . . maybe you guys can do that later.”

Ignoring Griffin, I pull away and cup Rogan’s cheeks. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Harp. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“What did I do?”