The Best Mistakes (The Amherst Sinners Series Book 3)

by Elena Monroe

  In a rushed breath, I blurted out, “Move in with me.”

  Hayley & Palmer

  The wedding reception

  We had spent most of the year apart until Liz brought us all together for this wedding. Palmer was following her dreams, even if it meant leaving me behind. I tried to justify it. I was pissed about it. I was everything in-between, trying to find the most comfortable emotion to wear in her absence.

  None of them felt right.

  Instead, I was stuck wearing my scattered tattoos and cutting my hair every month to become more and more blunt. It matched the warning sign under my permanent grimace I wore. I wanted to be so hard on the outside that nothing could seep into my pores and rattle me.

  I was great at faking it. Every time I did, my skin became tougher. One day it would become everlasting.

  “I’m just saying, babe. You need to leave Boston, experience shit… that’s how you’re gonna make great art.”

  Great, she had been gone this whole time, and ten minutes into cocktail hour, she was telling me how to make art.

  I didn’t need to experience anything. I had a wealth of feelings; she just never saw them, because all the shiny opportunities sparkled more than me.

  “I’m not worried. I’m almost done with my next installment.”

  She was nothing but persistent, when she kept driving the same point home. “I have to go to LA next week. I submitted a script, and I’m negotiating directing it too. I want you to come with me.”

  This was the first I was hearing about some LA project. That already jacked my annoyance another ten notches and demented how much this wasn’t a two-way street, not anymore at least.

  She actually pulled her phone out and slid the device across the bar to me to read. Just like Palmer, self-absorbed, she didn’t care if we were at a wedding. She was blinded by her own motives, and this one in particular was competition. Palmer loved an upper hand; that’s why she blended in with the boys: they respected the similar mindset.

  I leaned over reading the title, Sinners & Saints, and my anxiety dropped into nerves on the verge of a cold sweat. Was she serious? I read the first line of the script, which was a brief summary setting up the show.

  College was filled with innocence and sin, but when Victoria stepped onto campus, lines blurred.

  I averted my eyes, not wanting to read more, once I had already connected the dots. This script wasn’t her story to tell. It was property of the Amherst Sinners. She was really taking our experiences and shoving them into thirty-minutes episode. I pushed her phone back towards her forcefully.

  “What the fuck, Palmer? That’s our life.”

  She leaned in, like I was already causing too much of a scene. My voice was slightly louder, but I was still real tame in comparison to the level of pissed off I felt. Every part of me was shaking, and every pore was clogged with hate. I didn’t even try to be stone.

  “It’s art. We’re artists, babe. That’s what we do: we use life around us to create something people will connect with.”

  “Your own stories, Palmer! Not ours!”

  At this point, I didn’t care what kind of scene I was making. My girlfriend just hijacked my life and was making it into a TV show for the world to tune in. It wasn’t like I was in the closet still, but these things lived and died with the Sinners.

  “I was there for everything too, Hayley. I have just as much right.”

  Was this bitch really arguing with me right now?

  “Do you think Ollie or Caden is gonna want their secrets and sins out there all because you think you have a right to their feelings?”

  I waited for a witty comeback, while she steeped in her own selfishness. “Just get out, Palmer. You can burn the bridge, but I’ll be on it with them. They’re my family.”

  Caden & Snow White

  The wedding reception

  Most guys didn’t like the games that girls, hell even women, played. They didn’t build up a tolerance the same way I did. I made sure to master the game, and even win right out from under them. It kept me sharp, calculating their moves, the push and pull. The best part was being labeled the asshole that didn’t date; it was my own personal billboard, and it cut through the bullshit minefield of what to expect when it came to me.

  “Dating” was just as much of a big word as “love”—neither of them I took lightly. I came to terms with what women wanted from me at a young age.

  As a toddler, they wanted to admire my angelic features and baby talk me up, like I couldn’t understand simple words. It all gave me a complex, buried deep into my youth and created a monster in my adulthood.

  As a teenager, they wanted what they couldn’t have: my heart, loyalty, and some kind of bullshit that tied me to them semi-permanently.

  As a young adult, they wanted me unclothed and unstable, and the more they couldn’t have me, the more they settled for less. Less normally meant me being in one of their holes, I wasn’t picky.

  As an adult, they wanted more—the kind of more I wasn’t prepared to give. The greed ticking away inside of them was driving women to act out irrationally in the hopes of finding someone before it was too late. I gave women false hope as an adult.

  That’s who I was before I met the girl who destroyed everything I was built on. She didn’t want anything from me, and women not wanting me wasn’t in my genes. Women of all ages, sizes, mentalities, even morals wanted me before they knew what real desire was. This girl looked at me like I was damaged goods, and everything about that look was off-putting. I was used to being praised, worshipped even, in the right room, and she was degrading me to “not worth it” with one look.

  I was determined to steal her desire after Liz’s wedding. If she was playing some kind of game, then I was going to make sure I won. Mystery Girl was mine, and she didn’t even know it.

  Oliver

  1 week after the wedding

  Being fired seemed like a backwards step into what could have potentially been a downward spiral. Even after Addileigh confessed to the dean who she was really screwing around with on the faculty, I got a prompt email from Amherst requesting my presence the next morning. I didn’t bother thinking of some professional response when I hit the emoji keyboard for the first time ever. An emoji of a middle finger seemed to convey everything I wanted to, less diplomatically, of course.

  There was always going to be reckless in me. I was okay with that.

  I didn’t need to justify their premature actions and lack of any real investigation. I was an easy target, with my tattoos and bad reputation. If we were really honest, they probably didn’t want me there to begin with, but because my name was on buildings, I was a past student, and students loved me as a TA, I got an upper hand on the position when I applied.

  I turned being fired into my last real tie to Amherst, and now I was free to uproot my life to Boston, like I should have when I graduated.

  I found a place big enough for us all to start over as a family, in Caden’s building, just a few floors higher. Arson and Layla were thick as thieves now; it felt right and easy, unlike all the speed bumps we had hit on the way to here.

  Nothing rang more true than my toast at Liz’s wedding:

  Sometimes love hurts, before it feels good, to let us know how far we can bend before we break, because love breaks us all in different ways. The broken pieces get put back together differently when it’s at the hands of the ones we love. They keep all our best parts, without changing the picture of who they fell in love with in the first place.

  I was creating a family, while solidifying keeping my first family connected by being the damn glue. I couldn’t be glue two hours away.

  We lost our way, but through the separation, we found strength we wouldn’t have. We were all so used to filling where the others had gaps, making them feel temporarily whole. We held onto each other’s pasts and secrets with such a strong grip we couldn’t feel the weight ourselves anymore, feeling free, but not even close. We were feeding into t
he bad habits and cruelty of being Sinners, instead of inspiring each other to be our best selves.

  Layla wasn’t in a rush to plan a wedding or even set a date, and I was okay with that. The rock on her finger was a constant reminder of the promise we were making to each other. It shined brightly enough to not miss the tear-shaped diamond, even if you tried. Tear shaped for all the tears between us, shed and unshed. We overcame everything, even ourselves, to be here, and nothing felt better.

  I was still buying everything I needed for the new place when I undid the Chinese cartons on the spare mattress in the living room. Layla practically lived here, helping me settle in, but she never broached the topic. The bookstore owner passed away after the wedding, and it came down to her kids not wanting anything to do with it. Layla easily agreed to give them a percentage, and she would fill the shoes of the owner. It was a huge step for her, she was running the bookstore, but now it was hers—succeed or fail.

  “Why won’t you move in with me again?”

  She laughed, but I was being serious.

  “I just got the bookshop, Oliver, and I’m practically living there right now.”

  I waited to respond, digging a wonton out of the carton. We both knew that wasn’t a real reason. It was an excuse. The pressure of my silence crushed her, making her add to her answer. “I don’t wanna rush things.”

  “Like splitting up for five years and then getting engaged after a few months back together? Think we already rushed… might as well keep going.”

  Her fingers fiddled with the chopsticks in her hand, picking at the noodles, and I knew she wanted me to back off. Otherwise, she was gonna to use my own cruelty on me.

  “So I have an interview at Boston University on Tuesday. I just got the email today. They want me refresh their lit program.”

  She dropped her container of noodles, and my hands rushed to catch it from splattering all over my brand new floors. She threw her arms around my neck, and her chest pressed against mine. My arms wrapped around her midsection, holding her in place against me, while she whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

  Everything in her voice was soft and accepting. Hell, even I was proud of myself.

  “So proud you wanna reward me with moving in?”

  She pulled away, pushing back on her knees, and her tone turned into unsure quickly. “I want to. I really do.”

  “But…?”

  “I’m scared. The last time we tried living together, it didn’t work out so well.”

  I pulled Layla closer to me, opening my legs wider and letting my elbows dig into the sensitive skin above my knee as she sat in front of me. “Did you plan on being engaged to me and not live with me?”

  She knew I was teasing her when it was paired with my perfected smirk that I swore granted me x-ray vision when it came to her panties. I knew she was mad at herself for being attracted to me—enough to become wet in the middle of this conversation. But, honestly, I was in the same boat. Nothing made my dick jump more than the idea of Layla living with me and being my wife one day.

  “I… just wanna take it slow.”

  I let my forehead rest against hers. “You and I, we aren’t ever going to stop being scared. It’s what keeps this real: that fear of losing it. I wanna be scared with you forever.”

  My hands moved up to cup her face, like it made what I said more valuable. I leaned further in, dragging my lips against hers, when she deepened our kiss by letting her lips part. I took advantage, pushing her back into the mattress, acting as a couch and settling myself between her legs.

  Most people hated being terrified, but I loved every second of not being willing to lose her again. I wasn’t going to let one day go by that I didn’t fight for her—for us.

  The minute my hand snuck up her ribs, under her shirt, to unfasten her bra, I heard Arson from him room yell for Layla. She peeled herself back, letting her lips graze mine while she spoke: “Hold that thought. It’s probably just a monster’s ass I need to kick.”

  I rolled over onto my back, letting my arms fall wide. “Owns a bookstore, kisses like desire was your mentor, slays monsters… you’re killing me, Layla.”

  She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to look at me before descending. I was breaking her will on not moving in, slowly, but surely…

  “All the way to the grave.”

  Layla

  2 months after the wedding

  I was standing in the bathroom of my old apartment that was boxed up and ready to become the past. Maddison moved out directly after the wedding, when Aspen asked her to. He had a place already picked and paid for before she even answered. That kind of confidence didn’t win her over. I’m not sure what did when she agreed. Maybe she was done testing the boundaries? He still had to learn that Maddison couldn’t be caged—not by a ring, a house, or even his love for her.

  Oliver transferred to Boston University, taking over their lit program, but I knew a part of him missed the Sinners and wanted to escape Jade-filled memories stuck in Amherst. She hadn’t touched Boston; this was our fresh start. She never came back after that day, vanishing like she had done after he overdosed at the frat house and she left him there for Caden to find.

  I was leaning over the sink, waiting for the test to decide my fate with in three minutes and by how many lines appeared: pregnant or not.

  We weren’t actively trying, actively taking my pills regularly, or even trying to have responsible sex. We didn’t see anything as consequences anymore. I was a true Sinner now, throwing my caution to the wind. Oliver was a walking orgasm, and I had very little self-control. We were hungry for each other, willing to devour each other at any moment. I still believed we were making up for the six years we lost. That kind of starvation had lasting effects.

  There wasn’t a part of us that wasn’t stamped with each other’s names. Oliver owned my ass, and I was okay with it, because the innocent and weak parts of me had been replaced. I wasn’t some naive girl who was blinded by hating myself anymore. I loved every single part of myself, but refused to let anyone see it, until Oliver showed me just how much of me there was to love.

  I picked up the test with my shaky fingers and saw the very clear two lines appear—one for me and one for the human growing. I was pregnant.

  I could hear Oliver with Aspen and Caden in the living room moving the last of the boxes to the small truck downstairs. When I opened the door, Arson was standing there, giving me his best impression of his father’s wrath. I kneeled down, pursing my lips and closing my eyelids halfway, mimicking his glare.

  “What’s this face for?”

  His expression didn’t melt when he spoke, “We don’t lock doors.”

  When I looked at Arson, I only ever saw Oliver, not one spec of Jade.

  “Well, I needed a minute alone, but now I’m all done.”

  I was still navigating how to adjust my tone, voice, and keep things simple when it came to Arson. He was a quiet spitfire, and he kept me on my toes. He bypassed me completely and grabbed his toy car that I didn’t notice was on the bathtub lip, before he took my hand. I loved him instantly, and the more time I had with him, the more that love grew.

  He loved pancakes in shapes and cars, and he was always listening. Caden was his favorite uncle. He mentioned getting a pet snake every day, and when I walked him to school, I cherished how he looked at the world, unsatiated instead of jaded. He had every reason to hate this world; he was a secret first, then a lie, and then his mom passed down her addiction in utero. Then, she abandoned him as a toddler, and now he was in a new city to start over, before his life really ever began. Every part of me ached to preserve this sense of him before he used all the sharp edges to push the world away.

  He practically dragged me to the living room, where only a few boxes and the coffee table sat, when Oliver’s arms wrapped around me and his lips landed on the nape of my neck.

  “Soon to be Mrs. Abbott.”

  I liked the ring of that. It fit me perfectly.


  Arson was brutally honest when he wasn’t quiet; maybe that was the one gene he got from Jade. “She locked the door.”

  What a little tattletale! He actually ratted me out before Oliver’s breath on my neck turned from fire to ice. I turned around in his arms, making sure to face him. He was all smirks when he quirked an eyebrow, questioning the intel he just received. I took a deep breath and bit my lip to keep it in until he pushed his face closer to mine, pulling it out of me.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  I made sure to make sure my voice was low enough for just us to enjoy the news, but it was no use when Caden’s hands snuck around me to my stomach. “Our little innocent Layla is pregnant! Oh, shit!” He wagged his eyebrows in Oliver’s direction.

  I couldn’t let the smile threatening to take over my face run rampant, until I knew how Oliver felt. I waited, squeezing his forearms, and his hands cupped my face before his lips crashed against mine.

  “I love you, Layla. All the way to the grave. Mine.”

  Third time’s a charm.

  Liz & Leon

  7 months after the wedding

  Our honeymoon in Fiji was perfection, even if I felt like a beached whale most of the time. Thank god I couldn’t get knocked up twice. The little girl I was carrying around and kicking me constantly was still growing. I could tell she was high maintenance when all I craved was truffles—nothing but truffles. It didn’t take much time before our honeymoon was hijacked, and it became a baby-moon instead. I almost felt bad for Leon, he was about to have a duplicate of me, and that’s a lot of anyone.

  Leon still had enough bad boy charm to keep things interesting. His secretary walked off the pages of some fashion magazine and always wore heels, even if she was following him around the city taking notes. She was either chained to her desk or a safe distance behind him while he did business. I knew nothing was happening there, but it was fun to be jealous and be possessive. He indulged me, most of the time. Other times, when his Sinner’s streak came out, he’d use it against me and taunt me out of my panties.