“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She pins her fallen employee nametag back to her shirt. “Honestly, I like Inhumans. And they’re pretty cool on Agents of Shield.”
“I don’t watch it,” I remind her.
She nods, remembering. “Supernatural is better. It starts again soon.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not even sure I’ll have the time to watch any TV let alone my favorites.
Faust is a big time-suck, and on my free weekends, I’m planning to commute back to Philly for shifts at Superheroes & Scones. So I can at least have an excuse to see Willow. I’m just glad Lily Calloway agreed to let me keep working part-time.
I light a cigarette. If I’d known Sasha Anders was going to be a Grade-A tool-bag, I wouldn’t have bothered pretending I had no smokes. Regret hammers me. And I usually don’t regret social situations that turn sour. That shit flies off my shoulders. But being here—it’s different.
“So…” she says. “How’s the first week been? How’s Faust and your roommates?”
I shrug. “Faust is…” I glance down at my cigarette. “Unusual. And my new roommate is…well, his name is William.” I smile dryly. “Which bugs the shit out of me because every time someone says it, I just think about…”
You.
The names Willow and William are too similar to not be jarred by it. It fucking sucks.
Her cheeks ashen a little, and she glances down at her shoes.
“How’s everything there?” I wonder, worried. “How’s Dalton?” My friends? Are they jerks to you while I’m gone?
She shrugs now. “It’s the same.”
“The same?” I frown.
“I mean, not the same. You’re not here,” she says hurriedly. “It’s really just boring and nothing goes on. Which is better than the alternative. More tampons in the locker would be rough.”
“Yeah, definitely,” I say. “Boring is better than tampon pranks.” But I still feel badly that she’s alone at Dalton. At least she’s not completely alone. She has Loren and Lily, and she lives with Maya—who is pretty cool even if she hates my lack of comics knowledge.
“You’d tell me if something happened right?” I ask. “I know I can’t really do anything being out here, but I’d want to know.”
“Of course, I’d tell you.” She pauses. “You’d tell me if something happened there, right?”
“Of course.” Sasha Anders doesn’t count. He technically didn’t do anything to me, except call me a mouse. In the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. Really, it was kind of stupid. I’ve been through worse.
Silence eats at us for a second before she says, “Garrison.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you go inside? I can see your fingers again and they look really purple.”
“Yeah, okay.” She cares about me. I think she does. I mean, that definitely means she does. Right? Someone on this planet actually cares about my well-being. That thought and feeling settles in my body like falling snow.
I drop my cigarette and turn towards the buildings. An employee distracts Willow for a second, asking if she’ll swap workdays. I head inside and feel the rush of warmth. Classes in session, no one struts up and down the hallways.
Empty.
I lean my shoulder against a staircase banister. Staying on the first floor, I realize I might be missing political science right now, but I don’t care.
I focus on my phone and watch Willow return her attention to me. “So everyone loves Connor here,” I tell her.
She smiles. “You need to tell me stories.”
“I’d rather hear yours right now,” I say honestly. “My whole day has been centered on Connor Cobalt, and I need a distraction. What’s going on with you?”
“The media is getting kind of crazy,” she says. “More so than usual. But luckily they’re more focused on Ryke’s surgery and Rose’s new hair color than little ole me right now.”
Ryke’s liver transplant was heavily documented online. He gave a part of his liver to his dad, and I remember seeing the shaky video of Ryke being wheeled out of the hospital a few days ago.
I frown, thinking about something else. “I thought the media stopped hounding you when the novelty of you being Loren’s cousin wore off. What’s made them come back?”
“I think maybe Connor and Rose?” She shakes her head, not knowing either. “Paparazzi have been asking me why the two of them are suddenly so ‘PDA-heavy’ in public. I’m like the lowest person on the list of people connected to them, so they think I’ll have looser lips or something. Even if I knew something though, I wouldn’t say anything.”
That, I know.
Willow has always been really careful around me when it comes to Loren Hale and his family. She won’t talk about anything that isn’t already public knowledge, and even then, I can tell she’d still rather be discussing something else. It’s not new for her anymore, but it’s still uncharted territory that she’s trying to navigate by herself.
It’s understandable.
She quickly changes the subject. “Make any new friends?”
“Nope. You?”
“Nope.”
Good.
No, that’s shitty of me to think. Really, I don’t know how I fucking feel about her making friends, okay? Depends who they are, I guess.
The quiet weighs on us for a second, and then I say, “Hey, you know any Latin?”
“Um…just what’s on the back of a dollar bill.” Her eyes drop to my hand as I light a new cigarette. “Your fingers have returned to a normal color.”
“A miracle.” I blow out smoke.
Someone passes the abandoned hall and shakes their head at me. “No smoking inside, man.”
I think he’s just warning me, but then he stops a foot away and unfurls a small booklet. “I’m going to have to write you up.”
“What?” I frown. What the fuck?
“It’s against code of conduct rules.”
“Are you like a hall monitor or something?” I say, confused. Aren’t those only in movies?
“That’s exactly what I am.”
Fuck me.
Willow grimaces as I look back to the phone. “I’ll let you go,” she says quickly. “See you Saturday?”
“Saturday,” I say into a nod and we hang up.
I wait while the hall monitor scribbles on the notepad, and Sasha Ander’s words hound me. Find an exit.
It sounds like an easy task, but I’ve been searching for an exit my entire life and have yet to find it. Someone point the way. Anyone?
Please.
I’m waiting.
23 BACK THEN – April
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
Age 18
Breaking and entering wasn’t on my list of things to do. Ever. But things change. I slide a paperclip through the keyhole of a deep navy door, scratches and dents marring the steel. Garbage stinks up the alleyway, and cigarette butts line the pavement.
Working at Superheroes & Scones gave me a lot of insight into this place. Like how the left alley door doesn’t have any security cameras. Most of the employees smoke pot and suck face on this stoop. So I’m not even sweating as I take my time with the lock. The pitch-black night conceals me enough.
Honestly, I just need a place to sleep tonight. A warm floor. That’s it.
Because I can’t go back to Faust.
This morning the headmaster called me into his office—and I thought for sure he was going to just tell me I needed a tutor. Because I did nothing wrong. No vandalism. No cheating. No cursing. No cutting class—except for that one time with poly-sci.
I was on my best fucking behavior.
Bookshelves towered against every wall, and the place smelled like moldy paperbacks. I took a seat in front of his polished oak desk.
“Mr. Abbey,” he said, “seeing as you’re a new student, I’ve tasked myself with looking into how you’re faring here at Faust.” He barely blinked. “
Unfortunately, your current academic standing isn’t up to par with the other pupils.”
Not a surprise. I shifted on my chair. “So who’s my tutor…?” My voice trailed off as I saw the expression on his face. Pure fucking pity.
He sighed heavily. “I’m afraid, we’re past that stage. With your current marks, you’d have to score well beyond one hundred percent on every final to even move the needle. This is the end of the road for you and your time here at Faust. You can pack your bags. A car is waiting to take you back to…” He glanced down at a sheet of paper. “Philadelphia.”
It’s official. I’ve flunked out of two prep schools.
Really, I was pulled out of Dalton before I even had the chance to flunk. But I was well on my way there.
The one silver-lining in all of this, Faust doesn’t contact parents by phone. Not when most of the students have moms and dads sailing the globe on yachts or too damn busy to lift their own cell. So Faust does everything by mail.
Before coming to the comic book shop, I made a quick detour at my parent’s house. Stopped by for point-two-seconds. Just long enough to swipe the letter from their mailbox. The one “notifying” them that I’m a loser.
The lock clicks. Success.
I push through the backdoor of Superheroes & Scones, and before the alarm can go off, I quickly type in the passcode. Yesterday, Lily switched the code, so Willow gave me the new one.
And yeah, I had to tell Willow I flunked. I couldn’t lie to her.
I hate that she’s kind of an accomplice to this whole “breaking and entering” thing. But the alternative was sneaking into her bedroom (she offered it as a place to crash) and I don’t want to ruin us by being that guy. Willow doesn’t deserve some loser crashing on her floor.
Quietly, I tiptoe through the deserted store. Not a soul or sound in the entire place. It feels like a comic book graveyard in the dark.
Dipping into the breakroom, I use a giant stuffed Millennium Falcon plushie as a pillow and lie on the hard ground.
I slide the letter out of my backpack and then flip open a lighter. Flame to paper, I watch my future—or lack thereof—burn between my fingertips.
My parents aren’t ever going to know I flunked. And if I have it my way, I’ll never see them again.
Honestly, that’s the only future I want.
24 BACK THEN – April
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
WILLOW MOORE
Age 18
Someone is following me.
I know I sound paranoid, and maybe it’s because of the intense paparazzi onslaughts recently. Cameramen wait for me to leave Superheroes & Scones every single shift. Without fail. I even slipped out the backdoor (the one that smells like weed) and still had this mustached man shove a camera three inches from my face.
He could have broken my glasses. That was one of my fears at least.
He did scream so loud and so close that his voice drilled into my head. “Willow! Willow! Do you know anything about Connor & Rose?! Is their marriage fake?!”
The accusations against Connor Cobalt and Rose Calloway have been horrible lately. The media discovered Connor has slept with men, before he dated Rose, and now they think his relationship with Rose isn’t real. Like he’s using her to hide his sexuality.
Thankfully some fans realize that Connor can be attracted to men while also being attracted to women. That both things can be true: Connor sleeping with guys in the past and also loving and sleeping with Rose in the present.
It just sucks that some fans aren’t louder than the media.
When the cameraman rushed me, I wasn’t brazen enough to scream in his face, but I felt like yelling. A big part of me regrets not saying anything. Not sticking up for Rose and Connor when they’ve been so kind to me.
Especially Rose.
But I’m also kind of glad I didn’t say anything. Opening my mouth probably would’ve made the situation worse. Anyway, Ryke and Lo are yelling enough for just about everyone these days.
I did write a few supportive Tumblr posts, and I reblogged cute Coballoway gifs from fan accounts. Garrison told me to send him the links, and he did the same.
I walk down the sidewalk towards my apartment building. With the parking deck under construction, I had to park a block away. A white Volvo slowly moves on the other side of the street and keeps pace with me.
That’s weird, right?
Paparazzi have never really followed me to my apartment. They lose interest in me as soon as I climb into my Honda. They couldn’t care less about abandoning Superheroes & Scones for Loren Hale’s boring “cousin.” I’ve been glad about that.
But this…
Changes things.
I tighten my hold on the backpack strap and quicken my pace. The apartment complex’s front entrance is inches from my fingertips, and a man jumps out of the Volvo. “Willow! I’d like to ask you some questions!”
I flinch, my pulse spiking.
I don’t know why, but he sounds more serious than the other paparazzi. Like a fancy news reporter. It makes me do a doubletake, and he quickly catches up to me.
“I’m with Celebrity Crush—”
Oh…no. Nope! Do not want to talk. Celebrity Crush has been known to spout off some of the worst and nastiest rumors about the Calloway sisters.
I mumble out an I’m sorry or maybe it was just unintelligible words. But I say something that my brain and mouth put together before bolting into the apartment complex. My hands shake as I dig for my cell. Just as I find it in the depths of my backpack, a text pings.
Garrison: made it to S&S. Thanks for the assist. Owe you like a million. Hey, did you know how comfortable the Millennium Falcon is? Who would’ve guessed?
I calm just reading his text. But my heart still thrashes against my ribcage, reminding me what I have to do.
I dial his number.
The line clicks. “Willow?”
“Lo, I have to tell you something.”
If I total all the days and weeks that I’ve been in Philly since I left Maine, it’s been around nine months, and I’d like to think that’s a long time. Almost a whole year on my own. It makes me feel better knowing that I tried really, really hard to not be a burden on Lo. To not accept more from my brother than I absolutely have to.
If I felt safe enough to live in my apartment, I think I could have even lasted longer than those nine months. But after the paparazzi followed me home, Loren asked if I’d like to move into his mansion-sized house in a gated Philadelphia neighborhood.
The same neighborhood that Garrison grew up in.
I couldn’t say no this time.
I really like the Calloway sisters, Ryke, and even Connor. They’ve accepted me into their lives without hesitation, and I know in the beginning that acceptance originated from their trust in Lo. But I hope that now it’s because they also trust me.
“We should decorate and make this space more Willow-y,” Daisy tells me, rolling around my new bedroom on a skateboard. All my stuff (which isn’t much) sits in the middle of the room, still packed in a couple boxes and a suitcase.
I’m officially “moved in” thanks to Lo, Ryke, and Daisy’s help this morning.
They had a few empty guest rooms on the east wing of the house, and Lo let me pick which one I’d like. He didn’t seem pleased when I chose the smallest of the three, but he didn’t push me to choose differently.
I like how quaint this one feels. Just a bed, tin desk, and white wooden dresser. That’s more than enough for me.
Daisy spins to face me as I unfold a box. She’s always moving. It’s kind of like watching a hummingbird flit around a space. “We could also paint the walls.” She abandons the skateboard and plops on my bed. “There’s a hardware store nearby, and we can buy some brushes and stuff.”
I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
I have new roommates. Six adults and two babies to be exact. I’m living with the Calloway sisters and their men.
If you�
��d told me that’s how all of this would have panned out months ago—I’d have said you were dead wrong. More surprising than that—I’m comfortable here. Not too nervous or skittish. I never thought I’d feel that way with people so famous and so much more interesting than me. I know it has to do with Lo. He made a lot of effort to welcome me and make my surroundings feel like home. He’s my brother, but he feels like family now.
I follow Daisy’s gaze to the walls and then I rip the tape off a box. “I have some posters in here too, and I love the new paint idea.” We exchange a wider grin.
Daisy rests her feet on the skateboard, swaying them back and forth while she sits. “What color are we thinking? First one that comes to mind. Go!”
“Aquamarine,” I blurt out, and then my face falls. Skin hot. Is it hot in here?
“Ooh, aquamarine. That also happens to be the eye color of a certain someone.” She wags her brows. “Anything new you wanna share?”
I shake my head. “Nothing, really.”
She sidles next to me with a pair of scissors, cutting open a different box. Her smile is softer and extinguishes the heat on my neck. “Nothing nothing. Or nothing something? Because I have this theory that nothing is just seven letters hiding an unspoken truth.”
There are definitely unspoken truths when it comes to Garrison Abbey. But these truths aren’t mine to release into the world. He’s been so good about keeping my secrets from people—like anything I accidentally say to him about the Calloway sisters or Loren—that I wouldn’t even think to share his.
And there are a lot of secrets at the moment.
Flunking out of Faust.
Lying to his parents about the boarding school.
Breaking into Superheroes & Scones and sleeping there at night.
I’m a little surprised I aided and abetted that last act, but he’s my friend. And he needed my help. It’s really that simple.
“The unspoken truth is…” I tell Daisy. “Besides you, Garrison is my only other friend, and so he pops up in my head a lot.” I pale again. “Apparently, now with wall colors.”
Wherever You Are (Bad Reputation Duet Book 2) Page 22