Everybody knows first days at a new job tend to be stressful.
But you know what’s even more stressful?
Starting said job while running on two hours of sleep—I’m sorry, did I say hours? I meant minutes. At least that’s what it felt like when I dragged myself out of bed at seven this morning.
The icing on the cake? None of this is my fault. There’s only one person to blame for the dark circles under my eyes, and that’s Kane.
I made the mistake of looking him up last night.
Call it a mix of curiosity and boredom. I hadn’t been able to quiet my thoughts since I’d found him singing by the pool the night prior, and I needed to put my questions to rest once and for all.
Anything I’ve seen of Kane’s in the past five years, I’ve only seen because of Maggie. I’ve heard most of his songs, sure—it was hard not to with every radio station playing them on repeat—but I never let myself fall into a rabbit hole like this.
I searched his name online and wound up watching his music videos, interviews, fan edits. All the shit I’d been avoiding for ages. I even checked his song credits on Spotify.
Just as I suspected, he hasn’t written any of the songs on his last albums except for “I’m Still Yours.”
He’s been singing other people’s words for five years now. The thought pissed me off to no end.
What a waste.
But that’s not even the craziest part.
I stumbled upon one of his live performances and found out that Kane is one hell of an entertainer. He has this presence onstage. This… magnetism I can’t explain. He owns every show, exuding so much charisma and talent it’s impossible to look away.
I thought surely, he couldn’t knock me on my ass any more than he already had. That’s when I clicked on one of his acoustic performances.
And realized that I was wrong.
I was certain Kane played a thousand different guitars onstage, but… the only guitar he’s playing is mine.
Well, the one I gave him.
He plays it at every show.
Every. Single. One.
I must’ve gone through a hundred clips to make sure it wasn’t a onetime thing, and it doesn’t matter if the video was filmed off a fan’s phone or by a professional crew, I haven’t found a single clip of him playing another guitar.
Not one.
I put my phone down shortly after that.
Problem is, sleep was hell-bent on eluding me.
Why did he keep it this long? Why would a millionaire keep a hundred-dollar guitar I got off Craigslist when he can afford the best instruments ever created?
It just doesn’t make sense. I’ve gone years assuming that he forgot all about me as soon as he stepped foot on that plane, but could it be…
Could it be that he didn’t?
“Hadley? You still with me?” I’m transported back into the crowded restaurant in a microsecond.
Shit, I spaced.
Again.
“I’m with you.” I force my focus back onto Jamie. She’s been trying to show me how to operate the register for the last ten minutes.
Her mouth curls into a smile. “Liar.”
I’m lucky she’s the one training me instead of Ania, another waitress. Ania had to call in sick, but she’ll be continuing my training as soon as she’s back, and from what Jamie’s told me, the woman hates having to repeat herself.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I’m focused. Totally focused. Carry on.”
“It’s cool. It’s just me. But word of advice, don’t get distracted with Ania. Patience isn’t her strong suit.”
I give a nod. “Hear you loud and clear.”
“Now, where were we?”
By some miracle, I manage to keep my mind from straying for the next few hours. I write down as much information as I can, nearly filling out the notepad I brought with me.
I’m grateful that Fred said we should start with a few short shifts to avoid overwhelming my newbie brain. It’s already jam-packed with information, and I haven’t even been here for an entire day.
Thirty minutes before I clock out, Jamie asks me to handle payment for a customer with a to-go order.
“What customer?” I ask, examining the empty restaurant. It’s 2:00 p.m., and the place is dead save for an older couple and their grandkid.
“We have an order getting picked up in a bit,” she explains before ambling over to the kitchen and returning with two takeout bags.
The door opens just seconds later, and two guys walk in. My chest inflates with joy, disbelief, and nostalgia from the moment I recognize my childhood friends.
It takes me a solid second to dissociate the two good-looking guys in front of me from the fourteen-year-old shit stirrers they used to be.
Vincent Park was always cute, with his tanned skin, baby blue eyes, messy blond hair, and surfer vibes, and yes, he might be taller and more muscular now, but apart from the stubble on his jaw and the ink snaking down his neck, he still looks like the guy I grew up with.
Cal, on the other hand…
He looks like a whole new person.
Cal was always shorter than the rest of the guys—Gray, Kane, and Vince used to give him so much shit for it. He was the skinny guy who got picked on and friend-zoned by every girl with a heartbeat.
But now… shit…
Not only has he gotten tall, but his T-shirt looks like it can barely contain the muscles underneath it. He’s still a few inches shorter than Vince, but he looks like a man now.
Growing up, he always had a buzz cut, which explains why I never knew his brown hair had curly potential. I swear he looks like he just spent an hour at the hair salon.
Vince flashes a dimpled grin. “Just picking up an order for Park.”
“I don’t even get a hi?” I say, rounding the counter and making my way over.
Vince’s arms open on cue, and I walk into his embrace without hesitation. I have no idea why I thought this would be weird.
I guess I always thought that since the boys were as thick as thieves with my brother, we weren’t really friends, but it doesn’t change the fact that we spent every summer together growing up.
“Holy shit, how long has it been? Like a decade?” I chuckle when Vince wraps his arms around me, lifting me up and spinning me around.
The last time I saw Vince was at Gray’s funeral, which makes it three years ago.
“More like a century. At least.” Vince puts me down, and I need a second to steady myself from all the twirling he had me doing.
I turn to Cal as soon as Vince and I separate, and my breath gets stuck in my throat. His eyes are so dark and deep I can’t see his pupils. Almost makes me wish I could tell if they were dilated—I have no doubt mine are.
“Pink look goods on you, Queen,” Cal teases, and I know he’s talking about my hideous uniform.
Cal stretches his arms out for a hug, and I don’t miss a beat, moving into his embrace.
He smells good.
Good hair, smells good, rocking body.
Nice one, puberty.
“Damn, Hadley, you look…” Vince pauses. “Different.”
I let out a nervous chuckle, pulling away from Cal. “Is that a good or bad thing?”
Jamie snorts. “Trust me, that’s a compliment in Vince’s world.”
Cal throws an arm around Vince’s shoulders. “I think what the dumbass is trying to say is that you look good.” He gives me a once-over, and I’m pretty sure I see his eyes flare. “Really good.”
My cheeks heat up. “I could say the same about you, Doctor.”
Am I seriously flirting with Jamie’s brother right in front of her?
Who am I?
“How’s medical school?” I add as if to make them forget I just shamelessly hit on Cal.
I feel his smirk deep in my stomach. “Kicking my ass. What about you? Do you still paint?”
I’m surprised he remembered that. “Not really. I’m so busy with school. But I’m hoping to start back up this summer.”
I’m usually not a fan of small talk, but the conversation that follows keeps me invested all the way through. I come to find out that Vince’s working on opening his own business—surfing related, of course—and he just started dating this girl in college.
I wrestle with the urge to ask Cal if he’s seeing anyone, but I figure it would be too obvious.
It isn’t until Fred walks out of the back office fifteen minutes past the end of my shift and asks me what I’m still doing here that I remember the guys haven’t paid for their order.
Jamie walks me through the process one more time, and I ace her test, making the boys pay for their food without looking at my cheat sheet once.
Cal checks his phone. “Hate to cut our reunion short, but Kane’s waiting for us.”
Kane?
They’re going to see Kane?
I had no idea they were talking again.
Cal offers me a panty-dropping smile. “Good seeing you again, Hadley.”
“You girls are coming to my pool party tonight, right?” Vince asks as they’re walking to the door.
“There’s a pool party?” I ask.
My ignorance seems to amuse Jamie. “Don’t you check the group chat? It’s all these assholes have been talking about.”
I haven’t.
Not since two days ago.
I’m not very active on social media. I must have two posts on Instagram, tops, and I rarely ever use Facebook. Plus, I had to mute these clowns before my phone exploded.
Worry sinks into my stomach like a rock. “Who’s going to be there?”
They tell me they’ve invited Brooke, Shay, Jamie, me, a few guys I don’t know, and that they’re planning on asking Kane.
I almost tell them there’s no way Kane is going to attend without everyone there signing an airtight NDA, but I decide against it. They’ll find that out soon enough.
“You should invite Drea. She’s fun,” Jamie suggests.
There’s a good chance she’ll say no since she already took the night off yesterday, but it can’t hurt to try.
“Is that okay?” I ask.
Vince shrugs. “Sure. The more, the merrier.”
“So, you coming?” Cal chews on the inside of his cheek, an adorable, hopeful glimmer in his eyes.
I don’t think twice. “I’ll be there.”
They head out a few minutes later. Jamie nudges me in the ribs with her elbow as soon as they’re out of sight.
“Am I crazy, or is there hella tension between you and my brother?”
I want to dig myself into a hole at her question.
“I don’t know. Maybe? Would it would be so horrible if there were?”
She laughs. “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for a girl to come around and make him realize there’s more to life than school. Even better if that girl’s you.”
So, I have Jamie’s blessing.
Good to know.
I saunter out of Sandy’s fifteen minutes later and get into my mom’s car, an overwhelming amount of pride surging in my chest.
There I was, worried about my old feelings for Kane ruining this summer.
Kane Wilder who?
KANE
“So, this is your life now, huh?” Cal asks as he drops onto the L-shaped sectional in the corner of my backyard.
Vince sets out in the opposite direction, plopping down onto the hammock on my right, and it’s like he just clocked me in the face with déjà vu.
We used to hang out here all the time as kids.
Vince would continuously swing the hammock like he was trying to knock the thing off its anchors, and my mom would almost have a heart attack every time his ass went flying.
“What is?” I sit in the armchair across from the guys, kicking my feet up on the coffee table in front of me.
“Making people sign paperwork just so they can talk to you,” Cal elaborates.
Doesn’t take me long to understand he’s referring to the NDAs Drea practically shoved down their throats when they walked through the door.
She skipped the pleasantries, jumped right to the ultimatum, and told them they weren’t getting anywhere near me unless they signed it.
I know she’s just doing her job, but I also get why it can seem like overkill to people that are unfamiliar with the industry.
If they think NDAs are bad, I can’t imagine what they’d do if they knew I had to use an app on my phone to hit them up from a fake number.
Can’t have them knowing my real number. The only people that have it are my family members and people I’d trust with my life.
I learned my lesson the hard way when one of my backup dancers posted my number online for fifty grand when I was just starting out.
Then again when some model I hooked up with managed to get into my phone and call herself so she’d have my number. She went on to share it with her two-million-something followers.
My phone didn’t stop ringing for forty-eight hours straight. I had to shut it off so that I wouldn’t chuck it out the window.
Granted, it’s not that big of a deal, but having to change my number every few months was getting to be fucking annoying. Phone numbers are linked to a bunch of things like your bank account, social media, and email address, just to name a few.
I’m not dealing with this shit again.
“Must be weird as hell,” Vince comments.
I shrug, slouching into my seat. “Meh. You get used to it. If you ask me, it’s getting followed everywhere you go that sucks balls.”
Cal cringes, the pity in his eyes making me sick to my stomach. “I bet. How do you even go anywhere?”
I scoff. “I don’t.”
I just buy big-ass mansions with gyms, tennis courts, and a fucking water park so that I never have to leave my house. Although something tells me saying it out loud would make me sound like a douche.
The truth is, most of the properties I own are at least three times the size of the beach house. I only bought this place for my mom because I know how much she loves it here.
I buy big houses to help me get over the fact that I’m basically a prisoner of my life. It helps, but I still have those moments where I forget who I am and want to go for a walk around my neighborhood like a normal person.
“What happens if you break an NDA?” Cal asks, and my blood begins sizzling.
I stare daggers at him. “Why?”
Cal pauses, taken aback by my accusatory tone, but he doesn’t get offended.
His voice is calm as he says, “Dude, will you just relax for five minutes?”
I hate to admit it… but he’s right.
I’m on edge.
To be honest, I have been on edge since I texted them yesterday and asked if they wanted to hang out.
I wasn’t sure if they’d be pissed about me ghosting them for the past five years, but they answered right away.
We’re guys.
We don’t hold grudges.
Or if we do, we keep that shit bottled up and live in complete denial until we can’t take it anymore.
“We knew you when you were eating sand, bro,” Vince reminds me.
Every muscle in my body unwinds.
“We were there when you and Gray were having ‘who can piss farther’ contests. We watched you throw up in your mom’s flowerpots on the Fourth of July,” Cal adds.
Ironically, the mention of Gray makes me feel ill all over again. It’s as though I could puke everything my stomach contains at any given moment.
“You know us, man. We’re not going to talk to the media or sell your fucking pictures,” Cal guarantees, and to my own surprise, I believe him.
We haven’t seen each other in five years, but I trust these assholes. I trust them a hell of a lot more than any of the vipers I’ve met since I moved to LA.
Vince snorts. “Although, we would make mad bank on those pictures of you and Gray bawling your eyes out that time you got stung in the ass by a jellyfish.”
The memory makes me laugh.
The guys had dared us to go skinny-dipping. It was the middle of the night, and we couldn’t see shit. Gray almost got stung in the dick, and I got stung in my left ass cheek.
Shit, I miss Gray.
Even though I’ve spent the last three years trying to block out any memories I have of him.
Cal and Vince were my friends, sure, but Gray was my brother. We shared a house every summer until I was fifteen. We even shared a goddamn bedroom.
I always suspected he didn’t want me sleeping in his room when we moved in with them—the feeling was mutual—but he didn’t let it show. He knew my mom and I had nowhere to go, and it wasn’t about him.
We were two teenage boys with raging hormones. Neither of us wanted to share a bunk bed while in our “jerking off until my dick falls off” phase.
In the end, I liked sharing a room with him more than I thought I would. We’d stay up late making knock-knock jokes, playing video games, and talking about girls.
Well, he’d talk about girls—mostly cheerleaders he wanted to score with—while I listened, wondering if I should tell him about the girl I really wanted.
I never did.
I was too fucking ashamed to tell him about all the nasty things I was doing to his sister in my head.
I push thoughts of Gray into the darkest corner of my mind. “Sorry, it’s just… I’m fucking paranoid these days.”
Cal nods. “It’s cool. Can’t be fun having people shove cameras in your face every second of every day.”
He has no idea.
I can’t recall the last time I wasn’t on high alert when I left my house. I’m always checking my surroundings, waiting for the paps to jump out of a bush and rob me of my privacy.
They have no boundaries, no respect for the people they photograph, and no concept of compassion.
They crashed Gray’s funeral, for fuck’s sake.
What kind of monsters crash someone’s funeral for a fucking picture?
“You know what you need?” Vince rises off the hammock. “A night off. You need to unwind, have a shot, take a break from being Mr. Celebrity Guy.”
As good as that sounds, my mom’s right.
I need to get my drinking under control before I can even think of getting my career back on track.
This is the first day in God knows how long that I’ve woken up without a killer headache and nausea. It felt good. I felt like a human being for once.
“I don’t drink anymore,” I tell them. “Especially not strong liquor.”
Cal leans forward, resting his elbows on his spread legs. “You sober?”
I blow out a sigh. “Trying to be.”
“How come?” Vince questions.
“Last time I drank the strong shit, I put a guy in a wheelchair.”
They look so shocked I immediately know that they had no idea.
On one hand, I’m surprised they didn’t hear about it, considering it’s all everyone’s been talking about lately. But on the other, I’m glad they didn’t know.
“Oh,” Cal says.
“No drinking, then.” Vince resumes talking like I didn’t just tell them I ruined someone’s life.
They don’t seem to think I’m a horrible person.
That’s good.
“I’m throwing a party tonight. My folks are gone for the weekend. You should come.” The invitation is as tempting as it is unfeasible.
“Can’t.”
“Why not?” the guys ask at the same time.
“It’s too risky for me to go to a party full of strangers. Too many phones and witnesses. If word gets out that I’m here, I’ll have the paparazzi camping outside my house before the day’s out.”
“What if everyone there signs one of those NDA thingies?” Vince brainstorms.
I’m not a fan of the idea. “Eh, I don’t know. Sounds like a lot of work for one night.”
“We could take everybody’s phone at the door?” Cal suggests.
“Look, guys, I appreciate the effort—”
Cal cuts me off. “We’ll make them sign the paperwork and only invite people you know, how’s that?”
If I were to say yes, Drea would definitely insist on tagging along to watch over me. Scar, too. The guy has never turned down a party in his life.
Cal takes my hesitation as a sign to keep talking. “I can un-invite everyone you don’t know personally. It’d just be us and the girls. Come on, man.”
The girls.
Does he mean…
Don’t ask.
Don’t fucking ask
I lose the battle against curiosity. “Define girls.”
“My sister and Hadley.”
I just had to ask, didn’t I?
“Speaking of Hadley, did you see her? Girl got hot. Like real hot,” Vince says.
“Hey, I’ve got dibs, motherfucker!” Cal interjects.
He’s got what?
“Since when?” Vince asks.
“Since you have a girl back home?” Cal mocks.
“Oh, that? It’s not serious.”
Meanwhile, my brain’s still stuck on the dibs thing.
He thinks he has dibs.
The asshole thinks he can just call dibs on a girl like Hadley Queen and that makes her his? He thinks he can claim her and we’re all just going to sit back and accept it?
“Hadley’s mine. Deal with it,” Cal declares, flat-out ignoring Vince’s protests.
Fuck that.
Hadley’s not his.
Not in his wildest fucking dreams.
Cal turns to me. “So, you in?”
I’m going to show him just how wrong he is.
“Fuck yeah, I’m in.”
