Home > More Than Forever (More Than #4)

More Than Forever (More Than #4)
Author: Jay McLean


Please note than More Than Forever (More #4) is part #4 in the More Series and should not be read prior to reading More Than This (More #1), More Than Her (More #2) and More Than Him (More #3).

More Than This


In one night my fairytale ended. Or it may have begun. This is my story of friendship and love, heartbreak and desire, and the strength to show weakness.


One night I met a girl. A sad and broken girl, but one more beautiful than any other. She laughed through her sadness, while I loved through her heartbreak.

*This is our story of a maybe ever after.*

He was right. It made no difference whether it was six months or six years.

I couldn’t undo what had been done. I couldn’t change the future.

I couldn’t even predict it.

It was one night.

One night when everything changed.

It was so much more than just the betrayal.

It was the Tragedy.

The Deaths.

The Murders.

But it was also that feeling.

The feeling of falling.


More Than Her

"For every action there is an equal or opposite reaction."

For every choice you make there are rewards, or there are consequences.

It was my choice to walk away the first time.

And my choice to chase her the second.

But sometimes you don't get a choice,

and all you get are the consequences.

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,

while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

Unless that someone is Logan Matthews.

Because loving him didn't give me the strength to walk away.

It didn't give me the courage to fight for him.

And when it was over, all it gave me was a broken heart.


More Than Him

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us." - Marianne Williamson

We live in a world of darkness and shadows,

where monsters hide and aim to ruin.

And they did.

They ruined us and turned our dreams into nightmares.

But now we're back.

And we're fighting.

Not just for us, or for each other, but for our light.




To my readers and believers. Always.





Mom says that there's absolutely no pain worse than labor. For sixteen hours, so she says, she went through absolute hell. She jokes that sometimes she wonders if it was worth it. I call bullshit. I say that nothing, absolutely nothing, can feel worse than being hit in the junk with a baseball bat.

Lincoln's eyes are huge as he grimaces. "I'm so sorry, Cam."

I'm folded over myself, too preoccupied with the ache below my stomach. Sometimes, there's a delay with the pain. But not this time. This time it was instant. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. He looks like he wants to cry and I want to assure him that it's all good—but I can't. Liam, Lincoln's twin brother, is laughing. The little punk. I'll be sure to make him do extra shit next practice. "Cam, are you okay?"

I try to straighten, but it just makes the pain worse. "Yeah, bud. I just gotta let it settle."

"I swear I didn't see you behind me." There's panic clear in his voice and for a second I want to tell myself to suck it up and quit being a little bitch, but I can't do that either. The pain's too overwhelming.

Liam's still laughing his ass off.

My eyes narrow at him, and Lincoln must notice because he turns to his brother and pushes him hard enough that he falls to the ground. That makes Liam stop. He gets up and dusts the dirt off his uniform. "We should go, Linc, we're the last ones here."

Lincoln looks around. So do I. Liam's right, everyone's gone.

"I'm just gonna help Cam pack up," Lincoln replies, picking up the team equipment bag and chucking in the helmets and bats sitting by my feet. He looks up at me again, and I can see how truly sorry he is.

Standing to full height, I do my best to ignore the pain. "It's okay, Linc. Seriously, it's passed now." It hasn't, but he doesn't need to know that. He finishes packing anyway, and hands me the bag; it's bigger than he is.

I take it from his hands and look around again. "Your mom or dad late to pick you up?"

"Nah," Liam says, the laughter and amusement now gone. "Lucy's here."


"Our sister," Lincoln explains.

They both turn to the bleachers. I follow their gaze.

A lone girl sits on the bottom bench. Something flat, black and rectangular is in her hand, kind of like a tablet I guess. Her eyes are focused on it, while her foot rocks a stroller back and forth.

It strikes me as strange because the girl looks familiar. She's in my class. She's a sophomore and she has a baby? Stuff like that doesn't happen in our town and if it did, I'd know.

Everyone would know.

"Lucy!" Liam shouts.

She doesn't look up.

"Lucy!" Lincoln this time.

Still, her eyes don't lift, but her foot continues to rock the stroller.

"Luce!" Liam yells again.


My eyes narrow before looking down at the boys. "Is your sister... uh... hearing impaired?"

They both let out simultaneous snorts. "No," Lincoln answers, pulling his cap further down his head and looking up at me. His eyes roll as he says, "She's just reading."


She shows up to every game for the next six weeks. Every week she looks sadder, like the life is slowly being sucked out of her.

And you know how I know all this? Because while she's so pre-occupied reading... I'm so pre-occupied reading her.


Lachlan cried the entire walk home, which meant that I had to carry him with one hand and push the stroller with the other, all while trying to make sure that Lincoln and Liam didn't run out onto the road. Which would be fine, but I accidentally packed red Kool-Aid instead of their sports drinks so they went a little crazy. I'll remember for next time to keep them separated in the fridge.

Lachlan's still crying when Dad comes downstairs and walks into the kitchen. He offers to take him from my hands but I can see in his eyes how tired he is. I tell him that I'm fine, and motion for him to take a seat.

He hasn't been out of their bedroom much lately, which is a sign that things are getting worse. The doctors said that it was normal—that things would get worse before they got better. I wonder for a moment if doctors have a book of cliché sayings they use to try to justify one's health.

A bitter laugh tries to escape but I keep it down while I watch Dad take a seat at the dining table, his hands already covering his face before he's fully seated.

The microwave beeps and I pull out Lachlan's bottle and feed it to him. Silence fills my ears. I try to remember the last time I heard nothing. In a house full of nine people, silence is rare. My mind wonders on that thought for a short moment before Dad's sigh breaks through. "It's gettin' worse, Luce." His deep voice has lost the fight to fake it. "The doctor came for a house call. It's not lookin' good." He uncovers his face and looks up at me now, his eyes red rimmed from either lack of sleep or held back tears, but most likely both.

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