Grayson flipped out his phone and flicked through screens. “No. Let me read these. ‘Hey man, is it cool if our friend Sam takes the other bedroom? We’re old friends from Colorado, and Josh is cool with it.’”
I took my prized K-cups to the machine. If I was putting up with this bullshit, I was sure as hell going to need coffee. “Yep, I’m Sam, short for Samantha, a.k.a. the friend from Colorado.”
“And you’re a girl.”
I tilted my head and smirked. “Apparently.”
“You’re not sleeping with either of them.”
“Nope.”
“And I just…” He squeezed those amazing eyes shut and took a breath before opening them again. “Samantha, I’m incredibly sorry for what I implied.”
Oh, look, he can apolo—
“But if you could put some clothes on, that’d be great.”
So much for him removing the stick from his ass. He nodded his head, pursed those beautiful lips, and retreated toward the front door, muttering something about the gym.
“What the hell is his deal?”
Jagger’s grin was a step past shit-eating to downright comical. “No clue, but that’s the most worked up I’ve ever seen the guy, and I’ve lived with him for almost a year. Way to go, Sam.”
“That’s not a compliment.” I spooned sugar into my steaming cup of coffee. “I really need to pick up honey, and please tell me you have creamer.”
“Ember lives here every other weekend,” he replied, moving past me to the fridge, then handed me a bottle of Amaretto creamer.
“Thank God for little things.”
“Sweet and blonde,” he commented with a wink. “Just like I like my women. Oh, a letter came for you yesterday. I left it on the entry table. Make yourself at home, and welcome to Alabama, Sam.”
He patted me on the back and left me sipping my coffee as I headed toward the front door. Sure enough, a letter addressed to Samantha Fitzgerald from Troy University sat on the polished wood.
I balanced my cup as I opened the letter, hissing as the skin of my thumb split. I popped it into my mouth and set my coffee down, opening the letter with my empty hand. The sweetest pressure settled in my chest as I unfolded it. This was my fresh start. This was my hope.
“Dear Ms. Fitzgerald,” I started to read along. Then stopped.
No. No. No.
How? They’d admitted me. They’d promised me a clean slate, that my grades from last semester wouldn’t matter. They would start me on academic probation and then let up when I did well this first semester.
“Sam?” Ember asked, balancing two cups of coffee as she stood in front of me. I hadn’t even registered her coming in. “Are you okay?”
Failure stung like a bitch. Oh wait, that was my thumb. “Shit.” I squeezed the skin, opening the paper cut, and almost laughed when I saw it wasn’t bleeding. Anything that hurt that badly should at least give you something to show for it.
Kind of like the last two and a half years I’d wasted in college.
My voice didn’t shake, or hold any tone. It was as numb as I was. “Upon further review of your transcript, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept you into Troy University.”
It doesn’t matter what state you move to. You’re still a whore.
Chapter Two
Sam
“Sam? Let me in.” Ember knocked for the hundredth time.
“Go away,” I answered, my head tucked between my knees as I leaned back against my bed. Breathe in. Breathe out. This will pass. It has to.
“That’s so not going to happen,” she called through my bedroom door. “Let me in.”
Let her in? To what? The absolute mess I’d made of my life? Another school rejection. Another chance…lost. God, what if it was my last chance? What if this was it? No college was going to accept me, not when my records came with that giant black mark. Every carefully constructed plan, dream…gone. Again.
And maybe I deserved it for what I’d done.
My stomach rolled and saliva pooled in my mouth.
I bolted to my feet and threw open the door, tripping past Ember as I raced to the bathroom. The bath mat cushioned my knees as I fell and curled over the toilet in time to bring up what little coffee I’d managed to drink.
Ember pulled a curl from my face as I dry-heaved, the pain nothing compared to the shredding my heart was taking.
“Here,” she whispered, handing me a cup of water as I flushed the toilet.
I swished and spit, keeping my eyes on the cup.
“Is this why you’ve lost weight?” she asked as we sat on the bathroom floor, leaned back against the tub.
“I haven’t—” She cut me off with a glare. “It’s been hard lately,” I finished.
“You’ve been my closest friend since we were thirteen, Sam. I want to help.” She reached for my hand and squeezed my fingers.
The irony was almost funny. I hadn’t even told my best friend, and here she was, desperately trying to help me. But if she knew? No. Ember would never understand. She planned out every minute detail of her life and controlled every situation she found herself in. Ember was a fixer.
I was a wrecker, in more ways than one.
I slid another brick into the wall I’d been building between us and forced a smile. “Nothing you can do, Ember, really. I have to figure this out for myself.”
“What are you going to do? Do you want to come back to Nashville? You can stay with me until your mom comes home.”
Fuck my life, what was I going to tell Mom? My stomach turned over, and I breathed through the need to heave, reminding my body that it had just done that, thank you very much.
She’d lecture. She’d judge. She’d be disappointed. And if she really knew? She’d say, “I told you so.” And she’d be right.
To hell with that.
“No. I’m staying,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “I’m staying right here.” Are you convincing Ember or yourself?
“Okay?” She tilted her head to the side.
“I’ll get a job, work through the summer, and keep applying to schools.” And keep opening rejection letters.
“Okay.”
“There’s a ton of places I can apply to for a job down here, and maybe with a solid work reference, I’ll have a better chance at getting back into a good school.” The more I spoke, the faster my words came, like my brain was vomiting because my stomach couldn’t.
“Okay.” She nodded her head slowly.
“Right. That sounds like a plan. Work. Apply to schools. Get in. Get my life back.”
“Okay…”
“Will you stop saying okay?” I snapped. “It’s not okay. It’s shit, but it’s the best I can do, and it’s not like I didn’t do this to myself, right?” Staying here? Was I nuts? You will not go back to Mom with your tail between your legs.
Ember sighed. “People flun—” Her eyes widened. “Shit. I mean, people leave college all the time. It’s not the end of the world.”
I rolled my eyes. “Flunk. You can say it. I flunked out of college. Flunk-a-fucking-roo, there went two and a half years of my life down the toilet.” My head fell back, knocking the glass of the sliding shower door.
Silence stretched between us, more uncomfortable than the tile floor currently making my ass numb.
“You can talk to me about it, Sam. Holding it in isn’t doing you any good.”
The last tether holding me to my civility, my reason, snapped. “No, I can’t. Because you weren’t there. You left. You were my best friend, and you got into Boulder for Riley, and you left. And that was okay, because I was happy for you, and I wanted to stay in the Springs. But then you quit returning calls, and I know it wasn’t on purpose, you got…busy. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel that distance.”
She looked down at her hands. “I’m so sorry. I got caught up in Boulder. I didn’t mean for us to grow apart. It just happened.”
“I know. It happens to a lot of high-school friends
, I just never thought it would happen to us. And then your dad died…” My words failed.
“And you took me in and put me back together, no questions asked.”
I shook my head. “That wasn’t what I meant…no. You are my best friend, and the closest thing I have to a sister. Hell, you were my sister that year I lived with you during Mom’s last deployment. Of course I was there for you when your world fell apart. I wasn’t going to let you go through that alone. When you’re around, we skip over what we’ve missed, and go back to being us, but you left again. You got into Vanderbilt, and I’m so proud of you, but you weren’t there, you didn’t see…” I took a deep breath. “Things happened. I did bad things.” My throat closed. “I made stupid choices, and this is all on me.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” She extended the olive branch.
“I’d rather shower.” I flashed the fake smile and burned her tree to the ground. “After all, a girl’s got to look her best to nail a job, right?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor as she stood. “Absolutely. I’ll jump online and see who’s looking.”
Ember, the fixer. “No, girl. You never get to see Josh. Go spend time with him. I’ll be out in a little while.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
She squeezed my hand and left me to my shower. I held in the tears until I stood naked under the scalding hot spray. Then I let them loose, sobs racking my body as the water all but burned my skin.
It didn’t matter how long I scrubbed, I couldn’t get clean enough to get him off me or out of my life.
I gave myself those moments and let it all in, absorbing the shittiness of the situation and making peace with what I’d lost. “The only constant is change.” That’s what Mom always said, usually followed by, “Now embrace the suck. There’s work to do.”
But maybe the work could start tomorrow, because all I wanted to do today was forget.
Chapter Three
Grayson
Sam was a girl. Samantha.
Check that. Not a girl—a woman, and damn it, not only was she beautiful, but I noticed. Not noticed like Paisley or Ember, but in the way where my body woke up and paid attention.
She’d climbed up onto the counter, her incredible ass nearly peeking out of those tiny pajama shorts, all curves and skin that looked like warmed-over honey. Maybe it tasted— Oh, hell no!
The door slid home behind me as I got out of the shower. My hands gripped the counter and I took a good, long look in the mirror. “Get a grip. She’s your roommate.” Don’t lie. She’s a woman. A woman you’re attracted to.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been attracted to another girl who wasn’t Grace, but it was the first time I’d had to physically restrain myself from doing something about it. Avoid her. I could do that. Hell, I’d made it to lunchtime without seeing her, so this couldn’t be too hard.
Then I looked down.
Boom. I’d gone back to living with four sisters. Sam’s rainbow of girl stuff took over half my sink. Shit. Our sink. Okay, maybe avoid wasn’t really going to work as a strategy. But I wasn’t fifteen, and hell, I’d been with Grace then anyway. It wasn’t like I actually liked this girl, I could get over an annoying chemical attraction.
I’d have to treat her like she was one of my sisters. Yeah. A sister. I could do that. But none of my sisters looked like that.
The door swung open. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she squeaked, her arms full of bottles. How much more bathroom stuff did she have? Her eyes sparked, impossibly green, wait, hazel, nope, definitely green, as she skimmed over my body, and given the way her lips parted, she liked what she saw.
My jaw clenched as I ripped my eyes off the line where her short bathrobe met her thighs. This towel was about to— Sister. Think sister. “Knocking is something we should probably make a habit of.”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes rimmed red—why hadn’t I noticed that before?—and backed out of the bathroom. “You’re right. So right.” She shut the door behind her, and I heard a thud in the general area her head would have been.
Damn. I hoped I wasn’t the one to put the tears in her eyes. We were off to a fan-fucking-tastic start.
I didn’t need to shave on a Sunday, so I could get dressed and get out of here…except that I hadn’t brought a change of clothes in with me. I let out a huge breath and counted the ceiling tiles until my body was under control. Looked like Samantha wasn’t the only one who needed to adjust.
The hallway was mercifully empty, and I made it to my room without seeing her, or having to justify that I was now the one who needed to put clothes on.
Clothes, Powerade, and a ham sandwich later, I settled in at the kitchen table with my Apache Helicopter 5&9 flashcards, mentally quizzing myself over fuel pressure limitations.
“You know we don’t even start the Apache course until next month, right?” Jagger asked, reaching for a drink from the fridge.
“I heard there’s a test on the first day, and if you fail, you’re out.” I flipped the next card over.
“I’ll say again—a month.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us have a photographic memory to depend on. Some of us actually have to work for it.”
He slapped his hand across his chest. “You wound me. Besides, last time I checked, you were the one who graduated top of our class during Primary.”
“I wasn’t distracted by a girl.” Shit. I closed my eyes and tried to rewind time thirty seconds. My foot lived in my damn mouth today. The problem with always being honest was it bordered on insulting. I was working on it. I counted to three and looked up to see him waiting with a smirk. “Not that Paisley isn’t worth it.”
He laughed. “I’d have failed flight school if it meant keeping Paisley. Come to think about it, you’d better study your ass off. I’m taking you down.” He drew out the last word like a movie villain.
I flipped another card. “Challenge accepted.” I’d take him down in the air. Jagger might beat me academically, but I could outfly a fucking bird. It was a good thing my instincts and reflexes were rock solid, because I had to fight tooth and nail to keep academics up, which was fine with me. Things that came easy were seldom worth it.
Besides, if the army found out why it was so hard for me…well, they wouldn’t let me so much as finger the throttle on an Apache.
The cards flipped by along with the minute hand, then the hour hand. The door opened and shut a few times, but I kept my eyes locked on the cards until the house was empty and my cell phone rang out with Pat Greene. My scheduled four-hour study session was over.
I silenced the alarm, closed up the cards, and slipped them back into the little box I kept in the cabinet above the coffee mugs. My eyes trailed upward to the extra boxes of coffee, and my chest tightened in a heartbeat of panic, envisioning Samantha slipping on the counter. I quickly switched my study box with the coffee, bringing it to her level. Another adjustment.
My phone rang. I checked the caller ID, and my stomach dropped.
“Miranda?” I answered.
“Hey, Gray.” Her soft Outer Banks drawl pulled me into North Carolina like she’d physically tugged.
“Everything okay?”
“Absolutely. I wanted to call you with the baby news. We’re having a girl!”
“That’s great, Miranda. Your family must be thrilled.” Grace would be over the moon for a niece.
“Everyone is pretty excited. Are you going to stop in when you’re home for your birthday?”
I opened my mouth but wouldn’t lie, and didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. An awkward silence fell between us.
“Gray, we still think of you as family.”
I tried to swallow past the knot in my throat. “I know. Same here.” I also knew I didn’t deserve it.
“We’re hoping to bank her cord blood, for the stem cells.”
I scrubbed the surface of the counter, taking out a stain like I could do the same with the last five years. �
��Yeah, I’ve heard that’s a thing now.”
Call waiting beeped, and my shoulders softened. “Hey, Miranda, that’s Mom. I have to go. Congrats on the girl, and I’ll catch you later, okay?”
“I’ll give Grace your best.”
“Tell her I’ll see her soon.” Two weeks.
I clicked over, hitting “speaker,” and rested the phone on the counter as I took ingredients out for dinner.
“Well, I thought you might stand me up,” Mom answered, her accent drawing out the final word.
“I’m three minutes late, Mom. That’s hardly being stood up. Besides, when have I ever stood you up to cook Sunday dinner?”
“Never. That’s why you’re my favorite son.”
That almost made me smile. “I’m your only son.”
“Well, that secures your position in my heart.”
“Is that Gray?” Mia asked in the background.
“It is,” Mom answered.
“Hey, Mia,” I said as I started to trim the chicken.
“Dustin Marley asked me to prom!” she squeaked.
“Dustin Marley is like five years old, and so are you, for that matter,” I answered, wondering if I’d need to bury the body of a teenage boy in a couple weeks when I went home. Eighteen-year-old girls shouldn’t be going to prom. Ever.
“Oh, whatever. I’m off to go dress shopping with Parker. I miss you, Gray!”
“Tell Parker nothing above the knee,” I replied. “She may be twenty-one, but you’re not.”
Mom burst into laughter. “He’s right. Your sister has horrid taste, Mia. Text me a picture before you so much as think of buying a dress.”
“Yes, Mama,” she sang as her voice faded.
“She’s eighteen.” I sighed, filleting the chicken.
“Tell me about it. Your father’s been fending the boys off for years, and you know she’s his baby. He’s been polishing the shotgun since she told him. I’m mixing bread crumbs, where are you at?”
“Finishing the last fillet. I didn’t get them thin enough last time.”
“Take your time, no one likes dry chicken. I was thinking maybe we’d try coq au vin next week?”
I washed my hands, thinking over the dish. “That takes a little longer, but I think it’s doable. Or maybe we could make brownies?”
Beyond What is Given Page 2