by Danah Logan
A sound between a groan, a curse, and a frustrated whimper escapes me as I untangle myself from my covers and try to locate the obnoxious sound between my discarded clothes on the floor. Dead on my feet, it seems I didn't bother plugging my phone in last night. I simply stripped and let everything fall where I was standing. It's a miracle my phone is still working.
"Why aren't you dead as usual?" I grumble to myself.
"Bitch, turn that off!" Mags's voice echoes through the apartment. My door flies open as I hang halfway off the bed, digging through what seems like my entire wardrobe. I peer up at my roommate, who is already showered and dressed. Of course she is.
She stalks toward me, her hand disappearing under the shirt I was about to lift next and pulls out—I squint. Whose phone is that? She silences it, then shoves it in my face.
Closing my hand carefully around the unknown device, I let myself fall onto the pillow, hitting something hard with the back of my head.
"Ow!" comes a rumble from behind me.
I shriek and jump out of bed. "What the fuck?" In shock, I stare at Kiwi, who is sprawled out on two-thirds of my queen mattress. The comforter is halfway off the bed, exposing his muscular bare chest, and a visible tent makes my duvet stick up.
Jesus Christ.
Mags is doubled over, gasping for air, laughing, while he combs his long fingers through his messy midnight-brown curls, blinking up at me sleepily.
"Are those panties new?" Kiwi drawls. "Love the color, Roe-Roe. Brings out your eyes."
"Argh!" Pulling the pillow out from under his head, he flops down. I throw it at his face. "What are you doing in my bed?" I fake outrage. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before. Hell, Kiwi and I have probably shared the same bed more than I have slept alone. But I don't like surprises, and he knows that. I didn't expect to find my best friend in my bed this morning.
"I drove with you home, remember? It was way too late, so I crashed here," he mumbles while he rubs his eyes.
"Plus, you asked him to stay," Mags adds helpfully. "Oh, and I agree with our bestie on your attire. You didn't tell me you finally went to Victoria's Secret." She slaps my ass before walking out.
I yelp at the sting and take a step forward. My foot tangles in a pair of jeans—the massive pile seemingly containing Kiwi's shirt and pants as well—and I stumble, hitting my shin on the bed frame.
"Fuck!"
Losing balance, I ungracefully land on top of the guy in my bed.
"Roe-Roe, you could've just asked for a hug. You know I always oblige," he laughs and wraps his arms around me.
I let my forehead rest on his collarbone. "I drank last night, didn't I?"
He squeezes me tighter. "Yes, you did."
Now that the sleepy haze is gone, bits and pieces are coming back. After I admitted my colossal fuckup to my two best friends, Mags made Grizz bust out a bottle from his private stash—the good stuff, as we call it.
I hardly ever drink, which results in me having zero tolerance. I get trashed from one beer, and whatever Grizz produced must've been much more potent than the 105 proof we serve our customers.
Growing up, I didn't have the luxury of being a regular teenager. I didn't go to parties or sneak out with my friends after raiding our parents' liquor cabinet. I never built up a tolerance. By the time my classmates reached that age, I had two jobs and took care of my sick mother. Neither allowed me to have any free time until I finally decided to drop out of school altogether. It was that or be homeless—Mom couldn't work anymore. Finishing my high school degree at a later date seemed the reasonable solution.
It wasn't always like that, though. The first half of my life wasn't so bad. I'd had the best mom. She was always there for my sister Rae and me. She made sure we were clothed and fed, put little notes in my lunch bag, the whole nine yards. I never felt not loved.
Dad…that was a whole different story. He wasn't around much, and we were used to it just being the three of us most of the time. Then, on my seventh birthday, he left for good. Thinking back, I don't understand how my mother didn't see it coming; the signs were all there. Digging through my muddled childhood memories now, it was clear as day. But she loved him with every fiber of her being, which was why it destroyed her when the realization hit that he would not return this time. He was gone.
It took almost a year before my shell of a mother was semi-functional again. She continued to go to work, but Rae, who was older than me, became my stand-in mother. She took a part-time job to help pay the bills and made sure I would go to school. When Mom wasn't buried in her two minimum-wage jobs, she would lock herself in her bedroom and cry herself to sleep. Even between her working herself to death and Rae helping out, our power still got shut off every other month. If it hadn't been for Kiwi and his grandmother, who lived in the apartment below ours…well, you can probably guess.
Mom did her best, and I will always be grateful. Sadly, Rae didn't see it that way. She and Mom never got along, which I didn't understand until years later—the day I buried my mother next to my father.
Four years after we lost Dad, Rae left as well. She had put her life on hold long enough, as she declared in the letter I found on her bed one day in fifth grade after coming home from school.
At age eleven, it made no sense to me. How could they both have left us? In a completely different manner, but they were gone nonetheless. How could one just abandon their family? That night, Mom crawled into my twin bed with me, hugged me tight, and told me that, no matter what, we'd be okay. We always had each other—always being seven more years. Then, she left me as well, and all I had was Kiwi.
He's been with me ever since, followed me wherever I went. The only time we were apart was when I was moving around, but once I settled into my new home, he packed his belongings and showed up within a week.
"You seemed to have slept okay?" My best friend's question brings my attention back to the present.
With my hands stacked, I prop my chin on top and peer into his brown eyes. I smile softly at him. He knows me too well. "I did." After a pause, I add, "You know I always sleep better when you're with me. Even when I have no clue you're in my bed." I wink at him teasingly.
His brow furrows. "Roe-Roe, how bad is it?"
Instead of answering, I avert my gaze and stare at the wall beside the bed.
"King." He tries to get my attention by using my actual name, but I refuse to look at him. He would see immediately that I hadn't been able to sleep through the night in weeks.
"Kingsley Monroe." Kiwi's tone is hard, commanding, and a lone tear runs down my face.
"Awww, shit, sweetie." His arms tighten around me, and I return his embrace. Shoving my hands between his back and the mattress, I sob into his chest.
He lets me cry myself out. Between not getting enough rest and Wes being aware of me since last night, my emotions are all over the place. I hate it. Kingsley Monroe is not whiney or vulnerable. I buried that girl with my mother four years ago. Kiwi was there, at my side.
I sniff one final time and lock eyes with Devon "Kiwi" Kiwinski—the last link to my past.
"Guys! Get your asses out of bed. We have guests coming in a few hours," Mags yells from somewhere in the apartment. "If I didn't know better, I'd think King is making use of your morning wood you had on display, Kiwi."
Kiwi lets go of me and covers his face with both hands, shaking his head. "Good Lord, where did you find this girl again?" he mumbles through his palms.
I burst out laughing. "She found me, remember?"
After a long, hot shower and a cup of coffee, I am finally ready to tackle whatever grueling tasks my roommate has planned for me. Kiwi bailed with the excuse that he had to go home to change but would be back later to help, which means he'll show up in time for the party.
Mags has left me with the glamorous task of setting up the extra folding tables we borrowed from our neighbors across the street (a bunch of MPU juniors) when my boss walks in through the side gate, carrying two cr
ates of beer.
I knit my brows. "What's this?"
"My contribution," he grumbles as he walks toward the back door of our first-floor apartment.
I cackle a laugh, unfolding the legs of the upside-down table in front of me. By contribution, he means Mags ordered him to bring it over.
My friend has been an open book with me from day one, which is why—besides Kiwi—she is the one other person who knows the full truth about me—what I did and how I ended up in Stonebriar, Montana. But Grizz…he is the one topic Mags refuses to talk about, no matter how hard I've tried these last twelve months. And I've tried. They have a relationship I can't put my finger on. I'm ninety-nine percent certain nothing is going on between them, yet there is an underlying tension that everyone who spends more than five minutes in the same room with them basically gets slapped in the face with.
Grizz disappears inside, and I finish up without any further interruptions.
Later, we are bringing the last of the snack bowls outside when Chelsea and her boyfriend, Mack, enter the yard through the patio door.
"I dropped my purse in your bedroom," she informs her big sister.
Mags nods and continues to rearrange the beer bottles. Ever since Grizz left, her mood has taken a dive.
"Happy birthday." I hug the guest of honor as she takes in the transformed backyard. Lanterns and fairy lights adorn the trees, and we actually mowed the lawn for once. Not that we don't take care of it, but we're usually a week or two behind our neighbors, and one of the boys takes pity on our green patch of grass.
"Where is Echo?" Chelsea looks around.
"Grizz is keeping her for the weekend," I explain the absence of my three-year-old German wirehaired pointer.
I never had a pet before her. When I was little, we couldn't afford another mouth to feed, and as I got older…pretty much the same applied. Plus, I didn't have the time. But when Mags made the comment in her "move in with me" speech, the seed was planted.
You can lock your door. Get a dog. Whatever makes you feel safe.
I don't need Echo to make me feel safe; I can do that on my own. But the thought of having a dog appealed to me.
I let the idea fester for a few weeks, and every time I thought of reasons why I couldn't have one, I came up with none. I had a steady job and a home, so why not?
One evening, after Kiwi got to town, we were sitting on the back patio, and I confessed to my friends that I wanted to adopt a dog. Little did I know, one of Mags's classmates was looking for a home for her pointer, as she was moving and couldn't take Echo with her. Echo was trained as a bird dog—not that I knew anything about hunting, but it was something I was open to taking up.
Chelsea nods in understanding. Echo is the perfect dog, but she is also very protective of me. With so many people going in and out, I didn't want to chance it.
Mack veers directly to the sound dock and plugs his phone in. "Let's get this party started!" he shouts and hits play. "Last Resort" by Papa Roach starts blaring through the backyard, and I shake my head as Chelsea jumps into his arms and squeals. If the cops don't shut us down tonight, I'll be surprised.
As predicted, Kiwi shows up an hour after we're finished setting up and the first guests have arrived. I'm not mad, though. He has done more for me than I can ever repay him for. I'm chatting with Chelsea when arms envelop me from the back.
His touch is as familiar as my own. If it had been anyone other than my childhood friend, my body would've reacted of its own volition, which is why I left my knives in my room tonight. I don't fuck around. I may have dropped some of my guard over the last year, but I still don't let anyone touch me.
"Hi, Roe-Roe." Kiwi places a kiss on my cheek, and I twist in his embrace to give him a droll glare.
"I thought you were going to help." He knows I'm teasing.
"I landed a new project and had to go get supplies."
That makes me turn in his arms and drop the angry charade. "You did?" I'm beaming so hard my cheeks hurt. "That's awesome. Your business is totally taking off."
Kiwi loves art, and he can draw like no other, but what he enjoys more is building things—and he is fucking amazing at it. Shortly after arriving in Stonebriar, he met a guy who owned a welding business. It didn't take long, and they joined forces. They expanded the original business to incorporate woodwork, and together, they produce the most amazing furniture.
Kiwi grins down at me. "Who would've known that you going on the run and settling in the middle of nowhere would end up being good for me?"
"Shhhh!" I hiss and peer over my shoulder at Mags's sister. Mags knows why I'm here, but that doesn't mean I'm advertising it.
"Oh hush, she's preoccupied. Look," he placates me and nods his chin in the direction I hear a multitude of voices suddenly come from.
I glance toward the commotion, and my heart stops. "Shit." I push against Kiwi's chest, urging him to move toward the back door.
"What?" His confused gaze ping-pongs between the group that entered the yard and me.
Chelsea's friend Morgan arrived with a bunch of football players in tow. Is she dating one of them now? I keep shoving, and realization must've set in because Kiwi finally lets me go, and I dart around him into the house.
Mags is about to leave the house, and we collide, almost knocking each other over.
"What's gotten into you?" she asks, exasperated.
"Morgan brought a bunch of football players with her."
Mags's attitude instantly switches to alarm, and she peers around me. Chelsea's boyfriend, Mack, is on the team, but he has no clue about my little, uh… fascination with Wes. I didn't expect anyone else from the team to show up. This is Mags's sister's party. I try to move deeper into the house, but she grabs my arm to stop me. "He's not here."
Air leaves my lungs, and it's like a massive weight is lifted off my chest. I can breathe again.
He's not here.
Why would he be? Wes has never been seen at a house party. His sole focus is on football. He and Kai throw parties, but even during those, he keeps to himself. At least, that's what I've heard. I haven't had the guts to actually crash one.
I scan the group that is now engaged in a game of cornhole. She's right. It's only Morgan with Jasper—a guy she's had her sights on for weeks—and Zeke. Jasper is a sophomore, and Zeke is a senior. Wes is a junior. Not that it matters; they all still hang out together, but I know that neither of them is in Wes's minuscule inner circle of one, aka Kai.
"I think I'll hang back anyway," I mumble and pull my hand from my friend's.
"King," Mags calls out after me, but I'm already halfway to my room.
Between last night and this almost-encounter, I need a break. I've been a loner my entire life, which has changed some since settling here, but it still becomes too much at times.
Kiwi has taken like a fish to water with the friends I made. He'll come find me if he needs to. Lying on my bed, I plug my headphones in and press play. With "Seven Nation Army" by the White Stripes assaulting my eardrums, I close my eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
"It's about time. You had a little under two hours left. I already pulled up the airline page." Her irritation makes the corners of my mouth twitch.
Straddling my bike, I'm parked in front of the field house, about to head to practice. I'm holding on to the bike with one hand, flipping the lid of my wireless headphones open and shut with the thumb of my free hand. I laugh, glancing over the handlebar. "Awww, D, you know I would never miss one of your deadlines. I was busy with class and training."
"Bullshit, Weston. You don't have practice on Mondays. I expected your call yesterday. The twenty-four hours was a courtesy," Den sneers.
She's got me there, and I can't even be pissed at her for calling me out on my cowardliness. I avoided her as long as possible, but knowing I'd miss her allotted cutoff if I'd waited until after practice, I finally hit the dial button.
When I don't reply, her voice softens. "You don't want me to b
ring them up."
My jaw clenches, and I have to force my teeth apart to respond. "You know I don't."
It takes a Herculean amount of strength to keep my voice steady. I'd rather get a root canal without anesthetics than talk about my former friends.
"It's been two years, Wes," she says calmly. Den sided with me when Rhys used Lilly's money and bought my way into Pine Hill—that much I found out over time. Lilly wasn't a hundred-percent on board with her boyfriend's good deed, but she also didn't stop him. My anger toward her has slightly lessened, but the betrayal that makes my throat burn and every muscle in my body tense is as strong as ever.
Am I overreacting? According to Den and my mother…yes.
Do I care? Hell no.
My sole focus is on getting my lost future back. Everything—and almost everyone—else is of no interest to me.
Fast-forward to the present, and I'm still in shock that MPU let me in. Through sheer luck, one of Mom's oldest friends had recently moved to Montana and taken a job in the school's administration department. She connected me with Coach Stillwater the same day Mom called her. And to my even bigger surprise, Coach wanted to talk to me. He never listened to gossip, as he informed me during our first meeting. He was born and raised in Stonebriar. His father was the head coach before him, and he'd had a professional career in his future until a minor injury set him back. He was dropped overnight, never given a chance again. If he took me on to piss in fate's pretty face or because he truly believed in my talent, I don't know. I want to think it's the latter. Either way, I will always be grateful to him.
"D, let it go." I hate fighting with her, and I know it will end in one of us hanging up on the other. "Please."
"Just tell me if you got the invitation so I can let Lilly know." Her frustration comes through the speaker in waves.
My hand drops from the handlebar to my thigh, fingers curling into my leg and squeezing tight. They damn well know I did. Rhys said as much in his message. "I did."