by Gina Azzi
“I know, East. It’s not that. It’s just, well…”
Indy leans forward and Easton’s eyes dart from his brother to Indy and back again.
“It’s just that with Indy being pregnant, things have changed,” Noah says without saying anything at all.
Austin bites his lip, trying to stifle his laughter.
“No shit, man. I’m about to be an uncle.” East laughs.
Noah works a swallow, glancing at Indy for moral support. “I’m planning on moving in with Indy. Permanently. We’re having a baby and—”
Easton frowns, holding up his hand. “Of course you’re moving in with Indy. I didn’t expect you not to.”
Relief filters through Noah’s eyes as some of the tension in his shoulders leaks away. “Really?”
“Of course. No offense but I’ve lived on my own before. You know when you and—”
“Right, I know,” Noah cuts him off before Easton can mention Noah’s ex-fiancée Courtney.
The stifling silence hovers over the table once more. Because Courtney is not the only thing that’s not being mentioned. What no one wants to say is that when East did live on his own, his alcoholism veered from functioning to destructive.
Austin clears his throat and East’s head swivels toward my brother. Something passes between them and Easton’s head drops, a snort sounding from his nose. “Right. But when Noah lived with Courtney, I fucked up my whole life.”
“That’s not what I—” Noah starts but Easton shakes his head.
“It’s fine, Noah. Honestly, I get it. You’re about to become a father. I don’t expect you to miss out on a second of Indy’s pregnancy. I don’t want you to stop living your life so you can hold my hand.” He shoots a sad smile to Indy before turning back to his brother. “I swear, my head is on straight this time. I’m fine.”
“Mom and Dad offered for you to move in with them,” Austin announces as Shell drops off our drinks.
Say what? My attention snaps to Austin as a wave of panic rolls through my body. My eyes widen in alarm. He wants Easton to live under my parents’ roof? In our family home? With me only two doors down from the guest bedroom? I pick up my Diet Coke and take a large gulp, suddenly wishing it was straight tequila.
“Or,” Indy says slowly, her eyes darting around the table, “Claire can move in with you.”
I sputter on the Diet Coke. Did I hear that wrong? I must have heard her wrong.
Because, what the hell is going on? What is everyone thinking? And why didn’t I know any of their thoughts?
“What?” Noah chuckles.
“No fucking way,” Easton spits.
“Why would Claire do that?” Austin asks.
Once again, Shell has impeccable timing and delivers some appetizers. I stuff a nacho piled with sushi into my mouth, too panicked to fully appreciate the fusion element of this restaurant, and buy myself some time before I murder my cousin in a sea of pico de gallo and sriracha.
“No, think about it,” Indy continues calmly. “Everyone, maybe even you”—she smiles at Easton—“would feel better if you weren’t living solo. Claire’s desperate to get out of living with Aunt Mary and Uncle Joe. Your place is spacious enough. Your paths won’t cross unless you want them to. But Claire can be an extra support person and y’all would be doing her a massive favor too.” Indy smirks at me, shooting me a wink.
I choke on my nacho and reach for my Diet Coke again. I need something to do with my hands so I don’t reach for Indy. I need something to do with my mouth so I don’t word vomit really bad words onto the table.
Noah is silent for a second before he looks at his brother. “It isn’t a bad idea.”
I take a long gulp.
Austin furrows his brow. “You want out of Mom and Dad’s house that badly?”
I feel Easton’s gaze again but I don’t turn to make eye contact. Is he curious about my response because of how it affects him? Or is he actually interested in my life?
I clear my throat and nod. “Look, Mom and Dad are the best. But I’m going to be twenty-five, Aus. They’re still trying to saddle me with a curfew and call me whenever I take a Lyft or Uber to make sure I’ve properly identified the driver.” I cut a quick look at Easton. His mouth is thin, his eyes narrowed, his face giving away none of the thoughts I know are turning over in his mind. “I’ve been trying to save. I was going to talk to Torsten about those rentals he owns on the Waterfront. Maybe—”
“No.” The sound of Easton’s voice, cold and hard and decisive, cuts me off.
“What?” I ask him.
“You’re not living in fucking Southie, Claire. Not that Joe would ever allow it.”
“Once again, I’m going to be twenty-five,” I remind him, my tone clipped. My dad can tell me what to do under his roof but not out in the real world where I’m a real adult.
Austin shakes his head, no doubt against my living on the Waterfront. It’s hardly South Boston anymore, with the way the area has been redeveloped. In fact, I doubt I could afford an apartment in any of the buildings Torsten owns. But my best friend Rielle lives a handful of streets over from the Waterfront and she’s had several interesting encounters. Austin opens his mouth, most likely to echo Easton when East shifts in his chair. “Move in,” he demands harshly, surprising everyone at the table, especially me.
I look at him, noting the challenge that sparks in his blue eyes. Is he serious right now?
“Two birds, one stone,” Indy adds like her plan is the most brilliant idea ever.
“I’ll talk to Mom and Dad,” Austin offers. “I’m sure they’ll have some reservations but honestly, Claire, I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you were in Beacon Hill with East than living solo on the Waterfront.”
“Rielle lives in Southie and she’s fine.”
Austin’s expression tightens. “Dad’s not going to buy that.”
I sigh, knowing he’s right, and look at Noah. Then Easton. “I can pay you rent.”
Noah waves his hand. “No way. You can look out for my brother and save your money.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“He’s sure,” Easton tacks on. His expression is fierce when it meets mine. A tight jaw, a slight curl to his upper lip, but his eyes, gah, they pierce my soul. Hot and angry, intense and pleading. “But just because we’re going to be roommates doesn’t mean I need you all up in my business. In my life. I don’t need a babysitter.”
I hold up my hands, settling back in my seat. “Got it. Same goes for you. I have my own life.” I smile sweetly.
Easton’s eyes narrow further as he glares at me. I have no clue what he hopes to find, but dissatisfied, he finally turns away.
I kick Indy under the table and she grins, truly believing that she made the romantic match of the century. Jeez, nothing could be further from the truth.
I may still get giddy and tongue-tied around Easton and his deep blue eyes, full mouth, and body like a freaking underwear model, but that doesn’t mean I want to babysit him either.
I don’t want to see the women he brings home late at night. Or the ones who walk out of his bedroom door with their perky breasts and perfect morning hair. I don’t want to be mesmerized by the ink that crawls up his ribcage or spans his shoulder blades. And I certainly don’t want to lie in bed at night thinking of him, naked, just down the hall.
But my body doesn’t care about logic or self-preservation. A thrill shimmies down my spine at the thought of being so close to him. My heart beats faster at the realization that it will just be the two of us. Alone.
I can pretend all I want but living with Easton Scotch is far from a hardship. Will we become friends again? Will he talk to me about real things the way he used to?
I hide my smile by biting into a chip. At the very least, rent-free living away from Mom and Dad is a total win.
3
Easton
She shows up in a blaze of pink.
With a polka dot duffle bag on her shoulder and a r
ose-colored rolling suitcase, Claire appears on my front porch. Her blonde curls bounce, and when she smiles, I taste bubble gum. Jesus, she looks like Reese Witherspoon from Legally Blonde. Clueless but with her heart in the right place.
I roll my eyes and turn my back after she clears the threshold of my Beacon Hill brownstone.
Claire follows me into the kitchen, drops her baggage, and slides onto a barstool.
I sigh, turning toward her. “You sure about this?”
“I’d pretty much do anything to not live with my parents,” she admits.
I raise an eyebrow.
Her cheeks pinken and she looks like her luggage. “Well, not anything.”
I scowl, hating the innuendo she casually tossed out.
Claire tilts her head. “But I’d live with you,” she adds sweetly.
I snort and fill up two glasses of water. I slide one across the island to her and she wraps her hands around it, staring down at its contents before lifting her gaze to meet mine.
I stare back, not offering anything as the tension between us intensifies from a gentle breeze to a gust of wind. It’s always been this way with Claire. Well, not always, but definitely for the past five years. That’s why I keep her at arm’s length. That’s why I try to limit my one-on-one interactions with her.
And now, she’s my roomie.
And I’m sober. Shit. I chuckle, shaking my head.
Claire’s eyes narrow. “Look, I get that you don’t want me here and it’s cool. I swear I’m not trying to step on your toes or cramp your style or whatever you think I’m doing. I just need some space from my parents, some…room to figure out what I’m doing with my life. And even if you don’t believe me, I hate the thought of you being on your own during all of this.” She gestures at me as if my standing in my kitchen encompasses all the bullshit that goes along with being a recovering alcoholic.
Still, her words pierce my chest because as much as I don’t want to want her, a thrill zips through me that she thinks of me. That she cares. Damn it. I squeeze the bridge of my nose, pinching the inner corners of my eyes. For years, I did this to try to clear my head.
But for the first time in a long time, my head is clear. Crystal. And the overwhelming realization that Claire Merrick is too good, too young, too complicated for me slaps me hard in the face.
She’s my best friend’s little sister. She is the actual daughter of the people I wish were my parents. She’s twenty-four, doesn’t have a steady job, and up until an hour ago, still lived with her mom and dad.
I look her over, note the blush high on her cheeks, the worry mixed with strength in her eyes, the way she hasn’t touched her water. I look her over searching for a real flaw, something I can latch onto, but instead, I want to pull her across the island and kiss her. Hard.
I sigh. “Whatever, Claire. I don’t care one way or the other if you’re here. I have no intention of going out and partying or staying in and getting wasted solo. Noah’s already searched every inch of this house and there’s no booze to be had. I don’t need a babysitter, hell, I don’t even need a friend. But if you need a place to blow off steam, or find yourself, have at it.” I lift my chin toward the stairs. “Guest room is the first door on the left.” I stride past the refrigerator, slapping it with my palm. “Help yourself to whatever.”
I move to exit the room but Claire’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Uh, I need a favor.”
I stop walking, keeping my back turned to her. Of course she does. Why the hell did anyone think this would be a good idea? I feel her gaze on my back and my shoulders stiffen under her perusal.
“What is it?” I ask, my tone clipped.
“Part of my parents agreeing to my moving in here is that we go to their house for Sunday night family dinners.”
I whip around. “We?”
She nods, offering a small smile. “I told them you’d love to.”
Is she kidding me? Look, I love Mary and Joe but that doesn’t mean I want to sit around their harvest table with their perfect offspring every Sunday and pretend I’m not the biggest screwup in the room. “Without asking me first?”
She rolls her eyes, giving me that attitude I crave. “What’s the big deal, Scotch? It’s not like you to pass up a homecooked meal.”
I blow out a breath, shaking my head. I hate that she’s right but I do love Mary’s cooking. “Whatever, Merrick. Just don’t make this a habit.” I gesture between us.
“This?” She cocks her head, her eyes taunting, her lips pursed.
Sweet Jesus, why does this girl get under my skin? “Yeah, making decisions for us. Like we’re some kind of a package deal. I get that we’re now technically roommates but that’s as far as this goes. You do you and I’ll do me.”
She stares at me hard. “Got it, boss.”
“See ya around, Claire.” I leave the kitchen and collect her suitcase and duffle bag.
My blood is pumping too fast in my veins as I take the stairs two at a time.
What the hell was my brother thinking? I’ve been out of rehab for five minutes and I’ve got a new roommate, a career hanging by a thread, and a weekly dinner commitment.
I shake my head and drop Claire’s belongings in the guest bedroom. Then, I push into my bedroom and kick the door closed behind me. My hands clench into fists and a desire to find a bottle and gulp it scrapes my throat raw.
Three months ago, I thought I’d never survive rehab.
Now, I wonder if I’ll survive Claire.
When I walk downstairs to the game room Noah and I always hung around in, I do a double take.
Christ, for a blink, I forgot Claire would be here. And not just here, in my house, but here, in all of my space.
She shifts on the large wraparound sofa when she sees me. “Hey.” Her voice is flat and she goes back to polishing her toenails some hot pink color I can’t tear my gaze from.
In the background, a reality TV show flickers across the big screen TV, shrill voices and empty threats. “You watch this shit?”
“It’s entertaining.”
I kick back on the couch beside her, raising my feet to the ottoman. “What have you got going on this week?”
She glances at me from the corner of her eye, her expression tight. For the first time, I notice how tense she looks. It bothers me because Claire has always been so chill around me. Growing up with her means I’ve already seen her at her worst, a thousand times over, so for her to be unsure around me now is…unsettling.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighs. “Probably send out a new batch of resumes to companies I’ll most likely never hear back from. Not even a generic rejection.” She twists the cap on her nail polish and leans back against the couch cushion, placing her feet on the other side of the ottoman. She rolls her head to face me. “This economy sucks but even if it didn’t, I’m not really qualified for much.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve got your degree.”
She snorts. “In graphic design.” Her eyes close and I sense the defeat she doesn’t want me to see. “I graduated in May, East. That was more than six months ago, and other than a handful of freelancing jobs I’ve found online, I don’t have much to show for it. If it wasn’t for Derek and his band, I wouldn’t have had a paying gig for the past two months.”
Derek? At the mention of a guy I don’t know, I sit up a little straighter. Is she dating someone? Does she have a boyfriend? A boyfriend who’s in a freaking band? I clear my throat. “Derek?”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Just a guy I know. I did some work for his band over the summer and he’s hooked me up with some other indie artists. Thank God for that as they’re the only clients I currently have.”
“What kind of work?” I know I’m overthinking it. I must be because Claire didn’t mention Derek’s name the way she would if they were involved. But, still. Musicians have a lot of the same stereotypes as professional athletes. And I’m too familiar with all of them.
; “Logo design and branding. Merchandise. A few album covers. That kind of thing.”
I stare at her for a long beat, seeing the frustration in her eyes. I heave out a sigh. “Listen, kid, you’re being too hard on yourself.” I shake my head. “I’m a washed-up hockey player who hit my prime about three years ago.” I quirk an eyebrow as she scowls. “I just got out of rehab, Claire. You think I don’t get feeling useless?”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Really?”
She sits up straighter, her eyes flashing. “You are successful, Easton. You’re an NHL player who can afford your own living space.” She flaps her arms out to encompass the sick game room Noah and I decorated years ago. It was the first space in the house we designed. “And yeah, you went to rehab. But you completed it. You owned up to your mistakes, confronted your demons, and came out the other side.” Her gaze intensifies, blue fire. “We’re nothing alike.” Her tone is soft when she says it and I can tell it’s not a dig at me, but at herself.
Something in my chest shifts. I hear the defensiveness in her voice when she makes excuses for me. It’s a grace she doesn’t have for herself and it frustrates me. Claire is fifteen times more the person than I’ll ever be. And she’s wrong, I haven’t owned shit. My demons haunt me every damn night and they’re a hell of a lot uglier than a lack of job prospects. I rub the pad of my finger over the scar in my eyebrow.
I cluck my tongue at her. “You’re right.”
A flare of pain blooms in her eyes. Damn it, she took my words the wrong way. Of course she did. I never get anything right when it comes to Claire. So why the hell are you still trying?
Hurt wraps around her as she folds into herself and focuses hard on the TV personalities.
“Claire,” I sigh, wanting her to know I meant that she’s so much better, more than, me.
“Forget it, East.”
“Aw, come on, kid—”
She stands from the couch and tosses me the remote control. “I’ve got some cover letters to write anyway.” Clasping her nail polish tight in her fist, she leaves me alone in the game room.