by H Hunting
It was my only huge slipup in all those years. But I never fully recovered from it—obviously still haven’t, considering I just drove her home and made her feel like shit because I can’t control my mouth.
For years, I managed to have something important to do during get-togethers with the Waters. I’d cry anxiety, skip the dinner/family/social garbage, and tell my mom I had to study, or a paper was due. I found ways to spend time with Maverick without subjecting myself to Lavender. It was better that way—for both of us, but mostly for her.
My mom knew there was something else going on. She always knows. And because everyone believes Lavender is fragile like glass, she let me get away with it. Until two years ago. The aftermath from that was a downward spiral that took months to come out of. Thankfully, I was in college already, away from home, so I could mostly wallow in my own self-loathing without parental observation.
There’s no avoiding Lavender anymore, though. Not with her living in the same house as my best friend, away from her parents.
I’d grown complacent with time, secure in my self-control. But today is a reminder of exactly what I’m facing again, and it pisses me off. I don’t need this bullshit—her weakness, her dependency on everyone around her.
She’s going to be there every time I turn around, with those blue eyes and those pouty lips. A constant reminder of all the ways I’ve fucked up. It’s a nightmare.
I’m betting River is the reason she’s here. I know twins have a thing, but the way he is with her is borderline psychotic—more so than the way things used to be with her and me. And that was pretty messed up.
I don’t have the energy to deal with more of Lavender, so I grab my hockey equipment from the trunk of her car and slip the keys in the mail slot. Then I walk to the house three doors down, where I live with Quinn Romero, one of my fellow hockey teammates, and BJ Ballistic. Our fathers have been friends our entire lives, and it made sense for them to pool resources and buy a house for us to live in while we’re here.
They all played on the same NHL team for a while, and when they retired, they decided to start a foundation—a hockey training program that subsidizes the costs for kids who otherwise wouldn’t be able to play competitively. Hockey is expensive and time-consuming.
When I enter, Liam, one of the Butterson twins and Maverick’s older cousin, is chilling in a gaming chair, one earbud dangling loose, messing around with a set of metal rings—I think it’s some kind of brainteaser, or a sex toy, who knows? He lives a few blocks over with his twin brother, Lane, but he spends a lot of time with Quinn, which explains why he’s here. BJ, otherwise known as Randy Ballistic Jr., is passed out in the lounger, one hand cupping his junk.
Quinn is sitting on the couch, playing a video game, with some blonde girl I’ve never seen before all up in his space. He’s on the rebound and taking the breakup particularly hard, from what I’ve witnessed. The girl’s wearing a pair of tiny shorts and a crop top. Based on the way her nipples are saluting everyone, she’s not wearing a bra. A broken necklace of purple hickies decorates her throat. She glances up from her phone, and her mouth drops open. “Oh em gee! Kody Bowman! You are so flipping hot.”
Quinn pauses the game and gives her a look that would bury most people. “Could you be less chill?”
“Geez. It’s just an observation.” She makes this face like she can’t believe he’d get upset about the comment.
“You were all over me less than half an hour ago. Give it a few hours before you go after my roommate.” It half sounds like he’s joking, half not.
Liam makes a noise, as if he’s waiting for shit to go down.
“So, you guys do share, then?” The blonde twists the end of her ponytail around her finger. When we all just stare at her, she tacks on, “And you’re hot too, Quinn, just . . . different hot.”
Quinn rolls his eyes and tosses aside the controller. “I gotta roll out. Enjoy my friends.” He stalks across the room, brushes by me, grumbling about bad choices, and slams his way outside.
I can already predict where he’s headed: the garage. There’s a gym out there with a punching bag, which we’ve had to replace more than once because Quinn uses it a lot. He’s a good guy with a big temper, which he tries to control with nonharmful outlets.
The blonde sits there, eyes wide, and repeats, “It wasn’t an insult.”
“It kinda was, though,” Liam says.
I don’t stick around to hear her flawed defense. Instead, I head upstairs. I want to shower again before my next class because I had practice, and I don’t like the showers at the arena. Technically there’s nothing wrong with the facilities, but I have issues with public showers and bathrooms and their questionable cleanliness. I have issues with a lot of things, actually.
I unlock my door—it’s always locked unless I’m in my room. I might like my housemates, but I don’t necessarily trust anyone they bring back here not to go snooping around—see the girl downstairs for details. My dad taught me that one.
I have two hours before my next class, so before the shower, the first thing I do is sit at my computer desk and open the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. I lift the false bottom and sift through the contents until my fingers close around a stack of old photos.
I freeze at the sound of a soft knock on my door.
I don’t even have a chance to say anything, such as fuck off and leave me alone, before the knob turns, and I instantly regret not locking it. A blonde head appears. Obviously this girl is clueless. Or desperate. Or both.
I drop the photos and close the filing cabinet on an annoyed sigh. Turning the key, I slip it out of the lock and toss it in the top drawer of my desk, sliding a few miscellaneous items over it before I close that too.
I spin in my chair as she steps inside and shuts the door behind her. She scans the room, taking in my personal space. I don’t like people I don’t know in my room. I don’t like people much period.
The list of humans I tolerate and who tolerate me on a regular basis is fairly short.
“Wow. Your room is really clean.” She lets go of the doorknob and crosses over to my bed. Taking a seat on the edge, she smooths her hand over my comforter. “Is this a king?”
“What’re you doing in here?”
She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall, gaze shifting from the hockey posters on my wall to the raw canvas I never bothered to have framed, and back to me. “I was curious.”
“About?” I bite, even though it’s essentially pointless.
“You.”
I remain silent, because that’s not really an answer.
She crosses her legs. They’re long and toned, and mostly bare because her shorts cover very little. Her top leaves the vast majority of her tanned stomach exposed. There’s nothing particularly unique or compelling about her features. I guess she would be considered attractive in the general sense of the word. But her desperation is unappealing.
She drags a single finger along the neckline of her top purposely drawing attention to her cleavage. Compared to Lavender’s, it’s pretty unimpressive. Which is something I hate myself for thinking.
She gives me what I imagine is supposed to be a coy look. “Can I tell you something?”
“Seems like that’s your plan.”
Her laugh is high-pitched and nervous, her bravado faltering. “I wasn’t really interested in Quinn.”
“Probably shouldn’t have hooked up with him then, huh?” What’s with this girl?
She licks her lips. “I really came here for you.”
“Is that right?” I don’t feel like entertaining this after what happened with Lavender.
She nods. “I don’t have class until five.”
It doesn’t take a genius to see where she’s going with this. “You were just with my roommate.”
“He said I could have fun with his friends, though, and I’d like to have some fun with you.”
Her persistence isn’t a turn-on. Not for me. Liam isn’t interested in
the bunnies, so if she propositioned him, I’m pretty sure he said no. BJ might bang her, even if she’s been with more than one of us, but she’d have to wake him up, and he sleeps like the dead.
“You realize that would basically make you the house bunny.”
She bites her lip. “I kind of figured that would be the case. And I don’t mind, so long as I get to fuck you.”
I’d like to say this kind of behavior is uncommon. But it’s not. And unfortunately, Quinn, who is not very discerning as of late, has made a habit of picking up exactly this kind of girl.
“Are you high?”
“No.” She laughs. “Do I look high?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “Not particularly, but it’s always a possibility.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
I run my hands down my thighs, noting the dried streak of Lavender’s blood still staining my skin. Driving her home was a reckless mistake. I should know better than to think I have control when it comes to her. All I want is to get her out of my head. “I don’t have condoms.”
She stands and digs into her pocket, tossing a few foil packets on my bedspread. “I came prepared.”
Present day
IT TAKES ME twenty minutes to find my glasses, in part because the second I close—and lock—the door, leaving Kodiak standing in the driveway, I lose my shit. As in, I start bawling like a toddler who lost her favorite binkie.
A lovely panic attack ensues, because I’m terrified I won’t be able to stop crying now that I’ve started. I don’t like tears. They exacerbate my anxiety, which is often present, and once the spiral hits, it can be tough to get out of.
Also, trying to find a pair of glasses while crying isn’t easy, especially since my vision is crap to begin with. Eventually, I manage to get myself together. I put in some eye drops, wait for the redness to abate, and pop in my contacts.
My left eye doesn’t feel like it has sand in it anymore, so I’m thinking I might be able to get away with contacts for at least a few hours. I have to reapply concealer and fix my makeup, thanks to the tears, but at least I can see again. And if nothing else, my car is mine for the rest of the day. Screw my asshole brothers.
I hate that Kodiak, who used to be the answer to calming my attacks, now incites them. I hate that he affects me at all, and that I don’t affect him.
“You and me? We’re toxic together.” I rub my temples and squash the memories, packing them into the box in my head where I store all the things I don’t want.
The worst part is, he wasn’t wrong then, and he isn’t now. Five minutes trapped in a car with him, and I’m already a mess. Thinking I’d be able to handle seeing him again was stupid. If I’d stayed at home for one more year, he’d have graduated by the time I got here, and I wouldn’t be dealing with any of this.
I make sure I have my contacts case and a spare pair of glasses. It’s a lot easier to find them when I can actually see more than a blur. I have forty-five minutes before my next class. I toss a few granola bars into my backpack so I have something to snack on and find my car keys downstairs on the floor under the mail slot. At least Kodiak didn’t leave them in the ignition. I nab them from the mat and lock up behind me.
My stomach somersaults as someone steps out onto the front porch three doors down, which incidentally is where Kodiak happens to live with my cousin BJ—short for Balls Junior—and Quinn Romero. Quinn and Kodiak play hockey for the college team, as do a lot of the other guys who live on this street. So basically, I live on hockey row with a bunch of guys I’m related to—apart from Quinn and Kodiak, the latter of whom I loathe with the fire of a thousand burning yeast infections.
I’m instantly relieved the person on the front porch isn’t Kodiak, or one of my cousins. It’s just some girl. Probably a puck bunny, which is another thing I’m going to have to get used to again. Last year was a nice break from my brothers and their gaggle of endless girls.
I can only imagine what it would have been like if I’d come last year. River moved in with Maverick and my oldest brother, Robbie, and even I can admit my brothers have good genes and are easy on the eyes. This place probably had a revolving door of girls. So nasty. Robbie’s now spending a year abroad, working on his master’s, and I took his room.
River’s football cleats are on the floor in the back seat, which accounts for the aroma of stinky feet in my car. I’m not sure how I missed it earlier—other than I was too busy being mortified. I pick them up by the laces and walk around the back of the house so I can leave them in the garage, which smells like sweat and stale sports equipment. However, there is a separate washer and dryer out here for their crap.
When I return to my car, the girl who was on Kodiak’s front porch is strutting down the sidewalk. She’s wearing heels, tiny shorts, and a crop top that barely covers her underboob. Her neck is dotted with purple suction marks, made all the more obvious on account of her haphazard ponytail. She’s wearing earbuds, and apparently she’s on a call and has no idea how loud she’s being.
“Oh my God, you will never guess whose bedroom I was just in!” She barely takes a breath before screeching. “Kody Bowman, bitch! And oh em gee, he’s so f’ing hot up close.” She snaps her gum. “I know, right? And the best part? There’s a party on Friday night, and we are so going.” She glances in my direction, giving me a once-over before dismissing me as irrelevant. “I heard the whole team is gonna be there. It’ll be a free for all.”
My stomach feels like a lead weight has dropped into it. I shouldn’t be the least bit surprised that Kodiak humiliated me, made me feel like a bag of shit, and then went back to his place and hooked up with some random girl five minutes later.
I don’t want it to hurt.
But it does.
The nice boy who protected me, stood up for me, who honestly and truly cared is long gone, and in his place is a man I have no interest in knowing.
I watch the girl’s retreating form and realize this is going to be my life this year. I wonder if I can still get on a list for the dorms.
Present day
WHEN I GET back to campus, all the parking lots are full. It takes half an hour to find a damn spot, so I have no time to grab coffee or food before my next class, which happens to be psychology. I’m well versed in things like cognitive behavioral therapy, so this class should be okay—except for group assignments. I hate those, because it often means talking to, and working with, people I don’t know. Josiah was an anomaly this morning. I don’t usually make friends easily because I can be shy and quiet and people mistake that for standoffishness. Hence, the majority of my friend base is made up of my extended family.
We didn’t all end up here by accident. It started with Quinn and Robbie, who both happened to apply and get accepted. Then Liam and Lane followed, also ending up in Chicago. By the time Maverick was submitting college applications it had become a running joke that we’d all end up in Chicago. Except both him and Kodiak were accepted too. Then Lacey, Lovey, and BJ all applied. By the time it was mine and River’s turn it was assumed that we’d come out here, too, if we were accepted. Only I deferred my acceptance for a year.
After psych class, I meet up with my twin cousins Lacey and Lovey since I have some time to kill before my next class and no desire to go home. At least River, Maverick, and I aren’t the only ones with odd names in our family. They’re sisters to Liam and Lane, who are also twins.
I find them sitting in the back corner of the campus café, and of course, they’re not alone. My cousin BJ is lounging in one of the chairs. His long legs are stretched out, and his head is tipped back, mouth hanging open, because he’s passed out cold. There are three pencils stuck in his man bun, and someone’s decorated his forehead with a row of reinforcement stickers.
“Lavy!” Lacey hops off the couch, jumps gracefully over BJ’s legs, and pulls me into an enthusiastic hug. It means my face is almost mashed into her chest. Lacey and Lovey are willowy, and very nearly identical. There are sub
tle differences, but unless you know them well, it’s almost impossible to tell them apart. They look very much like Barbie dolls come to life and are the kindest, most genuine girls I know. I’m so glad I’m going to school with them this year.
Lacey and Lovey are in their junior year, both studying public relations. They pledged the sorority and live off campus in a house with six other girls. They’re involved in pretty much every fundraising event there is, and they’re super outgoing. They invited me to pledge, but the idea alone makes my mouth dry, so I declined.
Lovey waits until I’ve made it past BJ before she gets up to hug me. “I love this dress! Do you think I can borrow it?”
Lovey is almost six feet tall, so I’m thinking the skirt would be a micro-mini at best, but if she’s cool with her underwear showing, so am I. “If you want, sure.”
They pull me down, so I’m sitting in the middle of the couch, sandwiched between them while they volley questions at me.
“How are you?”
“What’s your schedule like?”
“Are your brothers driving you nuts yet?”
“Are there any cute guys in your classes?”
“Have you seen Quinn? I heard he got into a fight this morning before the guys even got on the ice,” Lovey says, eyes wide and thumbnail between her teeth.
“Quinn is always getting into fights.” Lacey rolls her eyes. “There’s a party at our house this weekend. You should come and sleep over at our place! It’ll be so fun!”
I make a time-out sign before they can launch any more questions. “Overwhelmed,” I whisper and then realize, with horror, that I’m on the verge of tears and not sure why.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Today has been a clusterfuck, and I still have one more class before I can go home and eat all the marshmallows out of a box of Lucky Charms.
“Oh no!” they both whisper back, and suddenly I’m engulfed in a hug from both sides. “We’re so sorry.”
“We know better.”
“Take deep breaths.”
